life

Uprooted, Adjusting, and Now Learning to Heal

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I feel like my whole life’s been flipped upside down lately. I packed up everything and moved 2,700 miles away from the place I called home for the last 27 years, all because I wanted a better future for me and the kids. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t expect the small things to get to me the way they have.

Take the water, for example. Not only does it taste off, but I don’t like all the stuff in it — the chemicals, the fluoride, the PFAS. It just doesn’t sit right with me. So I started filtering the water in the kitchen and even went as far as buying distilled water jugs for the bathrooms so we could brush our teeth with something cleaner. I even bought filters for the shower heads. It might sound over the top, but honestly, it gives me peace of mind.

Even with all that, I probably drink less water than I should. And now I’m realizing how much that might have been catching up with me. Yesterday I ended up in the ER for seven hours. They ran everything — bloodwork, urine sample, CT scan — and finally told me what was going on: diverticulitis.

So here I am on a three-day broth diet, on top of 10 days of antibiotics, and after that, I’ll have to completely change the way I eat. No corn. No popcorn. A whole list of things I’ll have to avoid forever. Which feels overwhelming, because I was already so limited with food. I’m gluten intolerant, allergic to chicken, and my body just rejects a bunch of other things. Now it feels like I’ve got to become a full-on food cop with myself just to stay healthy.

It’s exhausting. I already gave up so much by moving, and now my body is asking me to give up even more. But at the same time, I don’t really have a choice. If I want to be here for my kids and actually thrive in this new chapter, I have to figure out how to work with it.

I never imagined my “fresh start” would look like this — standing in my kitchen sipping broth, keeping mental tabs on everything I can’t eat, popping antibiotics, while giant jugs of distilled water sit in the bathroom. But here I am. And honestly? All I can do is take it day by day, and try to see it as part of the journey I was meant to be on.

☕ 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

My Maryland Driver’s License Adventure

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Today I did the thing and went to the MVA (that’s right, not DMV… I’m still reprogramming my brain) and applied for my Maryland driver’s license! As a Recovering Californian, this feels like a milestone. I’m slowly shedding my West Coast habits, well, except for saying “the freeway.” I keep calling it that, and while no one here in Maryland has corrected me (yet), I know I’m sticking out like a palm tree in a forest of oaks.

On the East Coast, it’s all “highway” or “route.” You’ll hear people say, “Take 95” or “hop on Route 40”—not a freeway in earshot, linguistically speaking. But old habits die hard. I’m trying, okay?

Now, let’s talk about the real challenge: the vision test. I’ve got a cataract in my right eye that covers my pupil, and those little letters? They looked like alphabet soup. I finally gave in and put on my driving glasses at the suggestion of the MVA clerk for my right eye. I saw a smidge better, just enough to pass. So, yes, “corrective lenses required” will now be part of my driver’s license.

But the good news? I passed. I survived the MVA. And in 7–10 business days, I’ll be holding my shiny new Maryland license, officially making me a licensed East Coaster.

One more step on my “Leaving California” healing journey complete.

Next stop: learning to remember to say “MVA” and “highway”.

☕ Support the Journey:
From failing to call it a “highway” to barely passing the vision test thanks to my right eye doing its own thing, this Maryland chapter is already full of character. If you got a chuckle or felt a little less alone reading about my license saga, you can always fuel the ride with a cup of coffee at:
👉 coff.ee/smalltownmichele

When the Universe Hits Pause: A Car, a Delay, and a Bigger Lesson…

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Our car, which my daughter drives, has been sitting in Philadelphia since late Friday afternoon. That’s three days ago. Just 51 miles away. Close enough to reach, yet still out of reach. And every day that passes, it gets a little more frustrating.

We were expecting it to arrive by now. We planned, rearranged, and made space, emotionally and literally, for it to show up. But it hasn’t. It’s just been sitting there. No movement. No updates. Just… stillness.

And if I’m being honest, it’s taken everything in me to not let the frustration bubble over.

But here’s the thing I’ve come to realize in times like these: Sometimes the universe puts things on pause for a reason.

I don’t always understand why, and I won’t pretend I do now. But I’ve seen it enough in my life to recognize the pattern. When there’s a delay, when something doesn’t happen exactly when I want it to, it usually turns out that it was never supposed to.

Maybe this wait is protecting us. Maybe it’s redirecting us. Maybe it’s just slowing us down so something else can catch up.

Maybe that car, sitting in the city, is keeping us from a moment or a road or a situation we were never meant to cross paths with. AND maybe it’s not about the car at all.

Maybe it’s about trust.

And patience.

And letting go of control, even when everything inside of me wants to scream, “Just deliver my damn car already!”

So I’m sitting with it. All of it – the irritation, the surrender, the mystery. Because I know that even when things don’t make sense, there’s often something bigger at work. Something unseen.

And when the car does arrive? We’ll appreciate it a little more. Not just because we waited, but because we trusted the timing.

☕ 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

Still Unpacking and Still Processing

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Some boxes aren’t just cardboard. Some are emotional.

It’s been four weeks since the move, and I still have a bedroom full of boxes. Cluttered corners. Stacks that make me sigh just looking at them. Every morning I wake up and think: I just want my room back. My space. My peace. My normal.

But the truth is, moving across the country meant leaving a lot behind, not just things, but pieces of a life that held meaning. It’s honestly mind-blowing how much we had to let go of back in Tahoe. Furniture. Keepsakes. Familiar comforts. Even my daughter’s car had to stay behind… until now.

Thanks to my dad, her car is finally on a transport truck headed for Maryland — so she’ll have wheels for college. That moment gave me a breath of relief, a tiny win in the middle of this chaos. Because even when it feels like everything is too much, little wins still matter. And that car will give my daughter a little more freedom to explore as well as not rely on me to take her to school at the end of August.

The truth is, it’s not easy. I’m over the mess. I’m over the boxes. I want my room back. And I want to feel settled, not constantly like I’m digging for socks or that one charger that’s still hiding somewhere under a pile labeled “Misc. Bedroom.”

Unpacking is exhausting. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I’m realizing it’s not just about stuff. It’s about letting go and starting over while still holding the weight of everything that came before.

Maryland is a fresh start, yes. But new beginnings come with growing pains. And sometimes, a bedroom full of clutter feels like a reminder that I’m still in the middle of it.

But here’s the thing: boxes don’t stay forever. They will get unpacked. My room will feel like mine again. And this chapter — even with all its messiness — will be part of the story I one day look back on with pride.

One box at a time. One breath at a time.

☕ 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/sm

The Itch I Didn’t Pack For…

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If you told me a few months ago that I’d be dealing with ticks in my house, I would’ve laughed and probably made a face. But here we are.

Back in Tahoe, fleas and ticks just weren’t part of daily life. I never had to think about them. But now that we’re in Maryland? I’ve already found three ticks inside the house. It’s giving me that mental itchiness you can’t quite shake. You know where you’re not even sure if something’s crawling on you, but your brain says “probably.” The stupid phantom feelings, LOL.

It’s not just ticks either. The mosquitoes here have made me their personal buffet. I’m completely covered in bites, and I’ve just about had it. The kids are fine (I haven’t put anything on them), and the cats are indoor-only, so they’ve been spared. Me? Not so lucky.

So, I’m trying the natural route. I’ve started using essential oils in the yard, and I’ve been working on planting herbs outside that are supposed to help repel ticks and fleas, like Rosemary, Mint, and Lavender. I also ordered a product called No-Bite off Amazon, hoping it’ll give me some kind of relief. No chemicals, no bug sprays on the kids — just me trying to keep the bugs off my body and out of my space without losing my mind. I even ordered the Wondercide Flea & Tick Concentrate for Yard & Garden and sprayed the whole backyard the other day. Not totally sure I did it right or if I used enough, because I still found a tick in the house today. So… yeah. I’m learning as I go. Maybe I need a second round, or maybe the ticks didn’t get the memo yet.

No one warned me about this part of East Coast living. The trees are beautiful. The air is soft. The backyard is green and alive… but so are the bugs.

Still, I wouldn’t trade the peace we’ve found here. I just didn’t expect to be sharing it with quite so many six-legged roommates.

One bite, one oil blend, and one deep breath at a time.

If this post made you laugh, cringe, or feel just a little more seen in your own messy moments, you can always support my writing with a cup of coffee. Your kindness helps me keep sharing the real stuff, one bug bite at a time: 👉 coff.ee/smalltownmichele