Repotting

Fourth quarter is an especially busy time for me, both personally and professionally. As you can see from the gap in posts, 2024 was no exception. In addition to my busy work life, I spent my “free” time creating the most memorable Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas experiences for my four-year-old daughter. We even worked in some extra special crafts and good deeds in celebration of Veteran’s Day. And, of course, we dedicated some very special time to what would have been Greyson’s 6th birthday.

By the time Christmas arrived I was completely spent. I managed 24 straight days of Elf-on-the-Shelf shenanigans, a full blown “Whoville” front yard (complete with a surprise visit from the Grinch himself), baked goods, the proverbial annual Santa meet-and-greet photo, multiple holiday parties, a local live theater performance, pre-school programs, gift exchanges, and so on. It was the most magical time in my daughter’s life, according to her daily squeals. My metaphorical cup overflowed like a volcanic eruption in the very best way.

Then 2025 arrived.

My brain shut down.

My social meter dropped down to empty.

I wilted like a struggling house plant.

I became physically and mentally weak. Overwatered, excessively fertilized, deprived of sunlight, with some root damage, too.

I recently read this philosophy suggesting that people “repot” or uproot themselves roughly every five years to allow for new experiences. Looking back, my past five years have seen some extreme changes. I became pregnant with my rainbow baby and walked right into this second chance at single motherhood during a global pandemic. My [now] husband and I joined forces when our stars aligned and built a whole new life together in a brand-new state. I got married and continue to parent my now 4-year-old daughter alongside my best friend. At the end of last summer, I walked away from my six-figure salary and traded it for more predictable hours and time with my family. The year before that last repot began . . . I lost my son. No wonder I wilted the way that I did. It’s definitely time to repot myself.

Repotting doesn’t have to include extreme life changes, though. Life happens, and some extreme changes are simply unavoidable. But I’ve reached a point where I love and appreciate my everyday life the way it is now. I just need a bigger pot for my soul to grow.

Overcommitting is something I’d like to shed like a crunchy old leaf ready for compost. The holidays wiped me out because I didn’t allow myself to say, “No.” I became wildly ambitious in my efforts to create a magical experience for my child but stripped this tired plant of a chance to truly enjoy those moments, too. Part of this next repotting will have to include setting better boundaries.

Learning to hold space for myself on a regular basis will also be part of my growing pot. I started out by reading two books at the beginning of this month and cannot begin to describe how much more alive I have felt as a result of those small accomplishments. I even signed up for a 2-hour drawing class through the local parks and recreation program next month and can hardly wait!

I expect my biggest personal challenge will be giving myself grace to do things imperfectly. I may still overcommit from time-to-time. Those two books might be the only ones I read for pleasure all year. And I may never draw anything beyond a few stick figures. But I will learn to give myself more credit for trying and look at tomorrow as another day.

What will you do with your new pot?