Getting Our Hands Dirty

What do you do when you have a feeling of longing? A feel that you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s not emptiness at all, but just a tether, pulling you towards something new. I think to myself, I know this feeling- I recognize this feeling.

 I received this feeling right before I wanted to have another child  and I mustered up the courage to tell Matthew that I wasn’t done having children. Before you freak out….. and me too, I am done having biological children, but lately that thought has been weighing on me because I know it’s the end. Moving through the emotions of raising babies—the joy, the exhaustion, the deep love. That moment when your little one snuggles into you, their laughter lighting up the room—pure magic. But then, reality hits. Am I doing this right? Will I screw up this child’s life? Where’s the manual for motherhood and why the hell didn’t I receive one?

Yet, somehow, we find our rhythm. We stumble, we teach, we grow. And just when we think we’re done, a familiar longing resurfaces. We see friends with newborns, hear tiny giggles, and feel the pang of nostalgia. We know we're biologically done, but the yearning lingers. Maybe it’s not about having another baby but maybe it’s about birthing something new—a book, a creative idea, a passion waiting to take shape. I know this feeling. I have this feeling.

This phase of life is about shedding and letting go—stripping away what no longer serves us to make room for what’s next. And yet, that transition can feel overwhelming. Who are we if we’re not bringing new life into the world? One moment, we're knee-deep in diaper changes and potty training; the next, the house is quiet, and we’re left wondering—what now? The love we poured into parenting is still there, but where do we put it?

The newfound freedom is beautiful, but it’s also terrifying. We’ve spent years putting ourselves aside, and now we’re faced with looking inward. What do I want? It’s a daunting question. Doing the “inner work,” journaling, rediscovering passions—it’s all uncharted territory after years of nurturing others. How do we even begin?

But maybe this transition isn’t an ending—it’s a beginning. Like spring, it’s a time to plant new seeds. It’s no longer about just checking off tasks to survive the day but about taking a moment to ask, What truly fulfills me? It’s about digging deep, getting our hands dirty, and uncovering something that’s been waiting beneath the surface all along.

Breaking the cycle isn’t easy. We mourn, we adjust, we mourn again. But perhaps, in peeling back the layers, we don’t just find a new purpose—we find ourselves. And isn’t that worth getting our hands a little dirty?