It’s late. Or at least the clock says it is nearing 4:00 a.m. and I am finally getting tired. Since landing on the East Coast, the kids and I have been floating between time zones, slipping into a rhythm that doesn’t match the world outside our windows.

We don’t have a schedule right now. No alarms, no early meetings or school bells. We sleep when we’re tired, wake when we’re ready. Dinner somehow always lands around 9 p.m., though we never plan it that way. It just… happens.

And maybe that’s okay.

There’s a quiet kind of peace in not rushing to reset. In letting our bodies and minds adjust in their own time. I know structure will return soon. But for now, I’m leaning into the in-between—this soft space between what was and what’s coming.

We’re not lost. We’re just resting. Recalibrating.

And slowly, gently, we’ll find our new rhythm here in Maryland.

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I never imagined starting over in my 50s, let alone doing it with three teenagers in tow. But life has a funny way of pushing us where we’re meant to be, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Moving across the country from the mountains of Lake Tahoe to a small town in Maryland wasn’t a decision I made lightly. It came from a place of love, necessity, and hope for a better life. But I won’t sugarcoat it – this kind of transition isn’t easy, especially not with teens.

The Emotions Are Real — For All of Us

Each one of my kids handled the news differently.

My daughter was the first to see the opportunity, a fresh start. But even with her excitement came the sadness of leaving behind everything she’s ever known.

My boys? They’re still processing. One is nervous about making new friends, and the other is just quiet about it all, but I see it in their eyes. The loss of routine, the fear of the unknown, the ache of goodbye… it lives in the spaces between their words. And I feel it, too.

Being the Constant in Their Storm

When you’re a single mom, especially one with full custody, you become the anchor, the compass, and sometimes the lifeboat. My job isn’t just to pack up a house or secure a job in a new state (which I don’t have as of yet) – – it’s to carry their emotions alongside mine.

Some days I’m up early making sure their new school forms are in, their IDs are processed, and other days, I’m sitting on the back porch with one of them, just listening, because they don’t always need answers. Sometimes, they just need me to be still with them in the storm.

The Push and Pull of Starting Over

There’s grief in starting over. Grief for the life we thought we were building. Grief for the relationship that didn’t work out. But there’s also grace. Grace in knowing I get to choose again. Grace in watching my kids grow stronger, even when they don’t realize they are.

Over the last 3 weeks, I’ve had to relearn how to cook at sea level, figure out new school systems, budget like never before, and tap into a kind of resilience I didn’t know I had. And through it all, I’ve reminded myself, we’re not broken… we’re just building something new.

Why I’m Still Grateful

Even with all the hard moments, I wouldn’t change this decision. This move is about creating stability, safety, and space to breathe. It’s about opening new doors for my kids, and yes – finally for myself too.

And maybe that’s what this new chapter is really about. New roads. New stories. New adventures.

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☕ Support the Journey

If this post resonated with you or made you feel a little less alone on your own path, you’re always welcome to support my writing with a cup of coffee. Your kindness helps me keep sharing real stories and new chapters, one step at a time: 👉 coff.ee/smalltownmichele

Leaving Tahoe wasn’t easy. I had built a life there – raised my kids, worked in the schools, and grew through some of the hardest and most meaningful years of my life. But after everything we’d been through, I knew it was time for a fresh start. So here my kids and I are, in Maryland. A new place. A new chapter.

The air feels heavier here, and the sounds are different — no more mountain wind or the hush of snow falling. Now it’s trains in the distance, crickets at night, and birds I don’t recognize yet. There’s a lot of green. A lot of space. It’s quiet in a new way.

This move wasn’t just about changing where we live. It was about rebuilding. Slowing down. Breathing differently. Letting go of old weight and figuring out how to feel grounded again. I’m still learning. We all are.

I decided to start this blog back up because writing helps me process things. And maybe someone out there is going through their own kind of “starting over” too. So I’ll share the real stuff – the messy, the funny, the unexpected moments – and the things that are helping me settle into this new life.

It’s different here. But that’s the point.

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☕ Support the Journey

If this post resonated with you or made you feel a little less alone on your own path, you’re always welcome to support my writing with a cup of coffee. Your kindness helps me keep sharing real stories and new chapters, one step at a time: 👉 coff.ee/smalltownmichele