A Quiet New Chapter I Didn’t Know I Was Ready For

I didn’t expect this week to change me the way it did.

On December 19th, my mom’s birthday, I sent out an email that felt tender and nostalgic. It was written from a place of remembering her, of honoring everything that’s been lost and everything that’s been carried forward. After I sent it, I did something I don’t always do very well. I paused.

I didn’t rush into the next thing.
I didn’t try to be productive.
I let myself be still.

And in that stillness, something inside me quietly shifted…

A few days later, I picked up the final check from my mother’s estate. On the surface, it was paperwork, another task to complete. But standing there, holding it in my hands, I felt the weight of what it actually meant, it was the end. This was it, the last piece. The final closure of her life in the practical sense. No more forms. No more loose ends.

When I came home later that same day, my son told me he wants to propose to his girlfriend.

He’s going to use my wedding ring. When my grandmother passed away back in 1987, I inherited a pair of diamond earrings. Of course, I lost one of the earrings as a young girl, and the other diamond I held onto eventually became my diamond engagement ring when I married his father. I’ve kept that engagement ring for over 30 years because I always knew, deep down (even before they were born), that one day one of my children would get married and that ring would keep going as a family heirloom. A legacy I wanted to start with me.

As I sat there listening to him talk, I thought, Of course this is how life works. One chapter closes and another is opening almost at the same exact moment.

Endings and beginnings rarely come one at a time like this.

The Last Five Years Changed All of Us

I think it’s important to say this out loud. Not just for me, but for all of us.

The last five years have been a lot.

Since the pandemic, life has felt fragile in a way most of us had never experienced before. Plans stopped being guarantees. Certainty disappeared. We all learned, in real time, how quickly everything can change.

And like many people, my life during that time was layered with things I never could have predicted.

In 2021, I lost my favorite uncle to COVID. That same year, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. Then in 2022, my son was in a serious accident. At the time, I was running Her Worth Circle, my book club, a space I loved so much. On a Saturday in July of that year, it came to a screeching halt.

The irony? He was on the way to Publix to pick up my mom’s cancer medication.

I became a full-time caretaker. For my mom’s cancer treatments. For my son’s physical therapy and recovery. And for all the other life logistics that don’t stop just because your world feels like it’s falling apart.

Living in that level of adrenaline and chaos does something to you. Your nervous system stays on high alert. You’re always bracing, always waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for bad news. Waiting for the next emergency.

Doctor appointments. Prescriptions. Early mornings for scans and treatments. At the same time, trying to figure out how bills will get paid, how work will get done, how you’ll hold everything together when you feel like you’re barely holding on yourself.

Even when the emergencies ease, your body doesn’t instantly relax. My mom passed in 2023. My son’s healing continues, though the worst is behind us. And then comes the long, quiet work of dealing with grief. Of integration. Of learning how to feel safe again in a body that’s been on edge for years.

There are layers to that kind of season that are hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.

Sitting in the Quiet and Realizing It’s Okay

On Christmas Eve, I found myself home alone.

One son was with his girlfriend. The other was out to a holiday dinner with coworkers. The house was quiet. The Christmas tree was glowing. Presents were wrapped and waiting. I ordered my favorite pizza, curled up on the couch with my knit weighted blanket, and put on a home renovation show.

Then suddenly, I realized something.
The phone wasn’t going to ring.

No one was going to call me crying or panicked. No one needed me to fix anything, schedule anything, or rush somewhere. No one was waiting on me to hold everything together.

And that realization hit me harder than I expected.

The peace felt overwhelming. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was unfamiliar. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this level of calm in my life.

This year wasn’t about letting go for me.
It was about integrating.

Letting my body finally exhale.
Letting joy and grief sit in the same room without fighting.
Letting life settle instead of constantly pushing forward.

Faith, Without the Performance

A few months ago, the story of Job kept coming to mind. Not in a dramatic or preachy way. Just the essence of it. Being tested. Losing so much. And still staying rooted in faith even when it’s tested to its full capacity.

That story resonates deeply with me now.

Through every hard season of my life, faith has been the one constant. Even as my mom was actively dying, my faith didn’t disappear. If anything, it became stronger, quieter, closer, and more honest.

My faith today doesn’t look like performance. It doesn’t look like it used to with full moon rituals or optics for the Gram. Now, for me, it looks like quiet prayer. Stillness. And conversations with God that are real and unfiltered. Spiritual walks where I feel guided instead of rushed and on display.

There was a time when spiritual tools like crystals and candle rituals mattered deeply to me, and I honor that part of my journey because I needed to see and witness something tangible I could hold. For me now, faith is simpler, unseen, grounded in deep knowing, and integrated into daily life.

It’s less effort.
More presence.

And sitting here now, in this peace, I understand something I couldn’t see before. This calm, this clarity, this feeling of things finally settling feels like a long-awaited blessing, the finally answered prayer. Because when you hold onto faith through the hardest moments, it carries you into seasons you could never force on your own.

We only really understand life in hindsight.

And this feels like one of those moments where hindsight has become 20/20.

What This Means Going Forward

As the year closed, I don’t feel the need to reinvent myself anymore. I’m not interested in chaos, urgency, or proving anything anymore.

I want continuation.

More calm.
More clarity.
More grounded confidence.
More maturity in how I lead, work, and show up.

This is where my messaging comes from now. This is where my work comes from now. I meet people where they are. I’m not interested in drama, emergencies, or fear-based energy. I believe in stability, alignment, and building a life that feels peaceful and powerful at the same time.

This is a new chapter for me.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just deeply real.

And if you’re craving that same kind of grounded clarity, you’re in the right place.

What’s Coming in 2026

In the year ahead, I’ll be sharing more from this grounded place, including:

Free resources focused on clarity, confidence, and financial alignment
Continued conversations around money, faith, and conscious leadership
The launch of my book A Zen Girl’s Guide to Money
The launch of my podcast, Karmic Currency: Unfiltered
Private one-on-one coaching, available by request and appointment only

If this resonates, explore the free resources on this site and join my email list. There’s more unfolding, and I’m grateful you’re here.

With love and intention,

Sandy