This morning, all three of us sat together and cried.

We’re in it — the messy, tender, wild middle of moving.
Yesterday, we had photos taken of our house, the same house where we built a life full of little rituals and big memories. It’s felt like a marathon sprint: cleaning, decluttering, making endless donation runs to the thrift store, even trading in enough books, toys, and games at McKay’s to make nearly $1000 (best store ever, by the way). We’ve been gardening, weeding, repainting walls, packing carloads to Pittsburgh — every day another goodbye tucked into a cardboard box.

And underneath it all, the real work is happening: we’re preparing our hearts to leave.

No matter how many lists we check off, this transition isn’t just practical.
It’s deeply, heartbreakingly emotional.

I keep thinking about all the things we’re saying goodbye to:

• The house that held our loudest laughter and our quietest heartbreaks.

• The friends who became family.

• The streets and stores where we know every creak and every corner.

• The little routines — walking to school with the dogs, Taco Tuesday dinners, binge-watching Stranger Things and Big Bang Theory together, snuggling up on the couch in the spaces that shaped us.

Even our dogs are feeling it.
We moved Olive’s crate out of the house yesterday, and last night she cried.
Otis’ hair is falling out from the stress.
We’re all carrying it, in our own quiet (and sometimes not-so-quiet) ways.

This morning’s big cry wasn’t a breakdown — it was a breakthrough.
It was our bodies telling the truth our brains are too tired to speak:
This is a loss worth mourning.

And the more I think about it, the more I realize — we’re not just moving to something.
We’re moving through something.
Through grief.
Through change.
Through letting go of the version of us that belonged to this particular chapter.

We’re trying to find ways to feel anchored, even when everything feels up in the air. Some things that are helping:

We’re giving ourselves and each other permission to name what’s real:

“I feel sad leaving our friends.”
“I feel scared about starting over.”
“I feel excited and homesick at the same time.”

Naming feelings is powerful — it gives them form, makes them a little less heavy to carry.
(Child psychologists actually say this lowers stress chemicals in the brain — it’s magic science.)

We’re taking time to walk through the house slowly, remembering together:

• The way the kitchen filled with light in the afternoons.

• The Halloween decorations we put up (too early) every year.

• The family meetings in the living room where we plotted big dreams.

Even saying thank you to the rooms feels sacred.

Small rituals — like a goodbye walk, a last meal at our favorite pizza spot — create a sense of closure our hearts need, even if our heads are still racing with logistics.

Right now, routines feel like little handholds on a rock wall.

We’re still doing Taco Tuesdays.
Still watching episodes of Big Bang Theory curled up together, laughing at jokes we’ve heard a hundred times.
Still walking the dogs to school in the mornings, even if it feels bittersweet now.

And for Olive and Otis — we’re trying to keep their beds, toys, and feeding times steady. Their world is shifting too, and their tiny hearts deserve as much tenderness as ours.

Some days the laundry wins.
Some days we cry in the car after a trip to Lowe’s.
Some days the pizza is cold and the boxes are crooked.

And that’s okay.

Moving is one of the top five most stressful life events.
We’re not failing at this because it feels hard — we’re living it fully.

Survival mode is still a mode. Sometimes, it’s the bravest one.

Before we go, we need to say this —
Thank you, Nashville.

To our friends, our chosen family, our community:
You have made some of the hardest years of our lives the best years too.
You gave us laughter when we needed light.
You showed up with casseroles, texts, hugs, dog walks, spontaneous porch hangs — all the small big things that made survival possible and made living joyful.

We aren’t saying goodbye.
We’re saying: see you later.
You are forever part of us, no matter how many miles come between.

If you’ve ever walked through a big move, a big goodbye, a big change —
What helped you stay grounded?
What carried you through the messy middle?

I’d love to hear.
Share your thoughts in the comments or send me a note.
We’re collecting all the wisdom we can as we cross this tender bridge, and I know your words will be a part of what gets us across.

Here’s to the magic in the middle. 🌻