LESSONS FROM 33, GOALS FOR 34!

Birthday reflections from a year of becoming — learning to trust what unfolds, release what isn’t mine, and hold the good without gripping it too tightly.

33 was a big year. The year I became a mother, among many other beautiful things. I expected it to feel seismic, a full 180º. But in many ways, the growth felt quieter than that — more subtle, more like a deepening than a disruption.

If I’m honest, I think a lot of that has to do with the groundwork I laid beforehand. I often draw parallels between building a house and building a life. I remember journaling for years — dreaming up a structure to welcome loved ones into. A table lit with candles, a thoughtfully designed space, a room filled with warmth and ease. A roof over our heads, a soft place to land at the end of the day. Yes, in the literal sense — but more so in the way a life feels.

I knew it would take time. I wanted it to be sturdy. Something that could hold us, long-term. Something worth doing slowly and doing well. And like any house project, it took longer than expected. It was messier than expected. There were seasons where I felt like I was just staring at a pile of rocks, unsure where to begin. Digging, clearing, trying to trust that the foundation I was pouring would eventually hold something meaningful. At the time, I didn’t have much perspective. I didn’t know if it would all come together the way I hoped. I just kept going, because something in me believed it might.

A lot of my twenties were spent in that space — doing work that wasn’t always visible or linear or easy to measure. So to be where I am now… it feels a little surreal. To look around and recognize pieces of those early dreams reflected back in my real life — our marriage, our home, our daughter, our community. It’s not lost on me.

33!

33 was an incredible year — in no small part because of everything that came before it. It felt important to acknowledge that. Not in a “look what I built” kind of way, but more in a “wow… that season mattered more than I realized” kind of way. A few recent lessons that stayed with me:

TRUST THE PROCESS —

Our journey to a family started before we knew it and ended before we wanted it to. Before conceiving Elliot, I experienced a miscarriage. I went in for an 8-week ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. I may share more about that one day, but for now, it feels like a quiet part of the story that shaped everything that came after.

That experience cracked something open in us — it made it clear how deeply we wanted this. And as we kept moving forward, “trust the process” became something I returned to often. Not as a way to bypass what was hard, but as a way to steady myself inside of it. Letting go of what I couldn’t control didn’t feel passive — it felt necessary, intentional. Eventually, we found our way to Elliot. I spent most of my 33rd year growing, delivering, and beginning to raise this tiny human. A miracle!

ROTTEN FRUIT FALLS ON ITS OWN —

For a long time, I felt responsible for addressing anything that didn’t sit right. I pride myself on being someone who speaks up, who tries to clear the air before things have a chance to fester. And while that instinct comes from a good place, it can also be exhausting. This year, I started to understand the value of stepping back — of not needing to resolve everything, of allowing space for things to unfold without my intervention. When I heard the phrase “rotten fruit falls on its own,” something softened. It reminded me that not everything requires my energy. Not everything is mine to carry or to fix.

TOO FAR TO FAIL —

This summer, we renegotiated our biggest contract — putting a meaningful partnership on the line and advocating for ourselves in a way we never had before. It stretched us financially in ways that felt uncomfortable, uncertain. It was really hard, but we had a sense that this kind of discomfort was necessary if we were ever going to grow.

After ten years in business, we have the experience, reputation, and proof of what we’re capable of. Advocating for ourselves felt vulnerable. But with a baby on the way, something shifted. Money stopped feeling like a measure of survival and started to feel like a tool — a way to support our family, to create stability, to build a life that reflects what we value.

So, in the thick of negotiations, when the thought of losing it all crept into my mind, I told myself we’ve come too far to fail. Not because failure isn’t possible, but because going back to playing small no longer feels like an option.

IT’S NO ACCIDENT —

This is the one I’ve been sitting with the most. Because on one hand, I look around at my life and feel so much gratitude. And on the other hand, I know that none of it came easily or quickly or without its share of doubt. There were seasons of uncertainty. Nights where everything felt fragile. Conversations that were hard, but necessary. Work, both internal and external, that no one really sees.

So when I say “it’s no accident,” I don’t mean it in a way that erases privilege, luck, or timing. This life didn’t just land in my lap. It was shaped over time — gently, imperfectly, out of order, unknowingly and intentionally, piece by piece. Even now, it doesn’t feel like something I fully “arrived” at, for it’s still a journey unfolding. But seeing how many dreams have already come true has me so hopeful for all that’s ahead. With continued effort and grace along the way, I love this life today and can’t wait for what’s to come.

HOW YOU MAKE PEOPLE FEEL —

One of my biggest takeaways from 33 was a simple one. It’s less about what you say or what you do and more about how you make people feel. Not a new concept — we’ve all heard some version of it before, but this year, I felt it land differently. I started to notice it in small moments. Playing with my friend’s kids. Sitting with a friend who had just become a mom. Even looking at my fledgeling daughter. Realizing they don’t always need advice, guidance, or a solution — just to feel seen, held, loved.

It made me more aware of my presence. The energy I bring into a room. The feeling I leave behind after an interaction. Shifting my focus in that way from what I’m saying to how I’m showing up. It’s less about getting it right, more about being there. More often than not, that’s what people remember anyway. At least I do.

34!

The number 34 has held significance in my life for as long as I can remember. Back in my Boston sports era, two of my favorites — Paul Pierce and David Ortiz — both wore #34. 34 found its way into everything: usernames, emails, passwords. It also happens to mirror my birthday: April 3rd, or 3/4 as they write everywhere outside the U.S.

So while some people have golden birthdays, I have a feeling this might be my golden year. Here’s what I’m carrying into it:

CONSISTENCY —

Navigating this season of new motherhood has stretched me in ways I didn’t fully anticipate. I’m so grateful for the time I get with my daughter and for a business that allows for that flexibility. But, without childcare yet, it’s also meant that progress, in all other areas, feels slower. I’ve had to redefine what consistency looks like.

Instead of trying to do everything, I’m focusing on a few things I can return to each week — movement, getting outside (Kiwi makes sure of that), giving TikTok a try, writing here. It’s less about perfection, more about presence. We’ll see where consistency gets me!

TRAVEL —

Last year took us across the country (Minnesota, Montana, Alaska) — and even across the ocean to Italy. After years of being so focused on building Maine the Way, it reminded me how much I value travel to my core. I see this as an investment in new perspectives and experiences, not just an indulgence. This year and moving forward, I want more of that. Big trips (Japan!!), small trips — lots of camping, everything in between. Getting to share those experiences with Elliot makes it feel even more meaningful.

GENTLENESS —

This is the one that feels most important — to be connected to my intuition and have a regulated nervous system. I’ve started to explore what it means to feel truly at home in my body — especially in a season that asks so much of it, physically and emotionally. What I’m realizing is that gentleness isn’t something that just happens, it’s something I have to practice. For me, it looks like offering myself the same grace I’d give someone I love. Not rushing the healing. Not performing the growth. Not mistaking stillness for stagnation. Trusting that soft doesn’t mean slow.

BEST CASE SCENARIO —

Maybe I’ll save my full list of new mom mantras for another post, but this one feels bigger than just parenthood. For whatever reason, my brain is quick to jump to the worst case scenario. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s learned. What if, instead, I let myself imagine the best case?

Not in a naive or overly optimistic way, but in a way that feels just as available as the spiral. Because more often than not, reality lands somewhere much closer to the ideal than I expect. And even when it doesn’t or when things feel hard or uncertain, I’ve found it’s usually more manageable than my mind made it out to be. So this year, I’m working to rewire that reflex. To step out of the anticipatory spiral and come back to what’s actually in front of me. Which, more often than not, is pretty good.

Thank you for being here, for reading thoughts from my heart. As I read this back, there’s still a part of me that wants to take a red pen to it all, to dim the lights a little. Sharing joy can feel more vulnerable than sharing the hard stuff. But I’m proud of myself — the growth, the gentleness, and the gunk in between. So here it is, in full light — 34!