Why "Everything Changes"
I sat down to write a technical post about seed starting for 2026, ready to dive into soil blocks and heat mats as if I hadn’t been gone for an entire year. But I realized I couldn’t just jump back in without acknowledging the silence.
2025 wasn’t just a year away from the blog; it was a transformative turning point for my life.
The year before, I walked away from my corporate career. For years, I had been grinding in a 9-to-5 that was more like a 7-to-9. I was leaving before the sun came up and returning long after it set. I had effectively become a "weekend parent," relying heavily on my amazing husband to hold down the fort.
The wake-up call came from my teenage son. He looked at me one day and simply said, "I never see you anymore." When an opportunity to leave with a payout presented itself shortly after, I took the leap. I wasn’t fired, but I was terrified. Even now, most days, that fear is still there. Initially, I was determined to "do the most" with my newfound freedom, but I quickly realized that wasn't what I needed. I didn’t need a new hustle; I needed to rest. I was burnt out in a way that only a hard "pause" could fix.
I am incredibly grateful that my years of hard work afforded me the ability to take this time. And where did I spend it? In the garden.
I spent 2025 planting seeds, adding raised beds, installing a water fountain, and laying down irrigation. I built a safe haven—a space designed by me, for me, to recharge and renew.
The garden teaches us many things: it teaches us patience in the waiting, grace in our failures, and the quiet thrill of success. But most importantly, it teaches us seasonality. Just like the soil, we cannot be in "bloom" all year round. We need our winter. We need our time to lie fallow so we can come back stronger.
That realization is exactly why I titled my very first YouTube video for 2026, "This Year Everything Changes." For a long time, "everything changing" meant the scary transition of leaving my career and facing the unknown. But now, it means something different. It means I’m no longer a weekend visitor in my own life. It means I am choosing to grow on my own terms—not just in the soil, but in how I show up for my family and for this community.
2025 was the year I stayed quiet and listened to the garden. 2026 is the year I share what I’ve learned.
Have you ever had a year where you just needed to hit 'pause'? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.
