Put down the sword

Choosing PEACE over PROVING A POINT

After my Mom passed, she left a list of places where she wanted her ashes spread. One of them was Hawaii. The first Christmas without her, the pain of being anywhere “normal” felt unbearable, so I turned to her list. Hawaii just felt right. When I shared the idea in my grief group, someone said, “That’s a beautiful idea,” and that gentle permission was exactly what I needed. That trip became the start of a new tradition: every year around the holidays, I give myself the gift of going somewhere meaningful while I continue to process my grief.

This year is different in a really good way. I’m in a new job that I genuinely love - back to designing engagement rings and jewelry, something I’m really good at. I know my Mom would be so proud, and honestly, I’m proud of myself too. But like every job, the honeymoon phase has settled, and I’ve run into the company’s blackout period (a very normal policy in the jewelry industry, basically from Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day). It means I still get my regular days off, but extended time off is very limited.

This Easter was a good example of how I’m navigating this new chapter. The family I do see lives about four hours away, so even if I had taken Easter Sunday off, I wouldn’t have been able to spend that time with them. I chose to work - not just on Easter Sunday, but the whole Easter weekend. I’m used to working holidays in retail, but the full normal hours still felt heavy. (Not even shortened hours?!) I tried my usual self-care rituals: taking myself out for breakfast and grabbing a fancy coffee on the way to work. It didn’t land the same way it usually does. I brought in cookies for the crew, but even that didn’t give me the same spark. Still, after my shift I went to see a theater performance - taking myself on a date. I walked around the city afterward, just as the sun was setting, and it felt so good. Then a friend called on FaceTime. When I saw myself on the screen, walking with the buildings of Chicago behind me, I recognized her: City Jen. I haven’t seen her in such a long time. I forgot how fun she is. I forgot how fabulous she is. I forgot what she feels like.

And that moment stayed with me: How do I get back to her… while still keeping my Mom alive in what I do and how I do it, but also forging my own way? It’s really hard.

In the past, I’ve honored my tradition with longer trips: Hawaii the first year to spread her ashes, Montreal the next, and New Orleans last year as I met myself in a new chapter of grief. Those trips have been sacred to me. They’re how I give myself permission to fully feel, to explore, and to take care of myself in the most loving way: planning everything, researching, making the reservations, choosing beautiful restaurants and experiences, and allowing myself to feel safe, secure, and cared for… by me.

This year, because I really love this company - the team, the leadership, the kind and thoughtful culture (even their out-of-office messages are charming) - I don’t want to fight the blackout policy. I’ve realized something important since losing my Mom: I don’t need to pick fights just to pick fights anymore. In old jobs, it wasn’t that I didn’t care. It was that the message they were saying versus what they were actually doing wasn’t aligned. As a Libra, I crave balance. When I see “you’re saying one thing but acting a different way,” it pulls me to speak up and push for alignment.

Here, things feel aligned, so the policy doesn’t trigger that same response. The blackout days exist for a reason, and I can respect that.

So I’m putting down my sword.
And I’m gently asking myself: What else can I set down?

Joy is already prominent in my life. I’ve been intentionally finding little delights throughout my day and making sure to schedule in “joy” on my days off or as a reward after a rough, busy, or exhausting one.

My focus now is stretching out that joy - making it last longer instead of letting it pop like a bubble.

Instead of quickly moving on after a “great job on that sale,” I want to linger in the joy a little bit longer. What does that look like? I don’t fully know yet, but I’m curious and open to where it’s taking me. I suddenly have all this spare time and energy on my hands from letting go of the constant spinning (because “fight” doesn’t feel like quite the right word anymore).

This feels like growth. It feels like choosing peace over proving a point. It feels like honoring both my grief and the life I’m building now - by setting down what no longer needs to be carried, reconnecting with City Jen, and giving more space for joy to expand… all while carrying my Mom’s memory forward in a way that feels true to both of us.

~Jen