Quarterly Reflections / Q3 2025

One of my intentions for the year is to pause and reflect on each quarter—not only on Pure Luxe Apothecary, but on life as a whole. Why? Because I’ve learned that looking back can offer valuable perspective, grounding, and a re-orientation of sorts for the path ahead.

Research supports the benefits of this kind of intentional reflection—for our health, our focus, and our sense of meaning.

Holistic health isn’t just about what we apply to our skin or what we eat—it’s also about how we process our experiences. Reflection helps us notice patterns, deepen self-awareness, regulate stress, and make choices that support our whole being—mind, body, and spirit.

My hope is that these notes offer space to take stock of what’s working, what might need a shift, and what truly matters. And maybe they’ll inspire you to pause and reflect, too.

Summer Into Fall

It took me a while to gather the threads of July, August, and September. The months felt murky. Prickly, even. The kind of season that doesn’t make sense right away. It came into focus slowly, in its own time.

I'd say this quarter felt like the beginning of a quiet reset—nothing dramatic or sudden, just slow and tentative. One that's still unfolding. (Life rarely fits neatly into months or quarters, after all.)

Here’s what surfaced as I sifted through things.

The Close of a Long Season

After the intensity of April, May, and June for my sister and me (I shared more about that in my Q2 reflection), July was filled with the practical work that follows loss. Sorting, organizing, finding, packing, deciding — all under the deadline of clearing out our mom’s apartment by mid-July.

For me, there was also an unspoken energetic deadline: finish this before it completely overwhelms us. The work of going through her belongings—on top of everything emotional—was heavy. A little bit crazy-making.

And while there are still boxes and bins to sort through further over winter, something shifted after turning in the keys. The caregiving era—the long stretch of supporting our mom through illness and decline—quietly rounded a corner.

Ever so slowly, there was a little more space to breathe. A little more rest. A sense that I could return to my own life again. To remember lightness. To remember my body. To remember myself.

Rebuilding, Slowly

The truth is, my nervous system felt fried. There were days I couldn’t rest even though I needed to—tired-but-wired. And days I rested without meaning to—waking up hours after telling myself I’d just close my eyes for a minute.

Looking back, this stretch of time was about small steps. There were many moments I wanted to sprint ahead—catch up, fix, rebuild—but my system just didn’t have the juice.

I didn’t just need rest. I needed to somehow rebuild capacity: the ability to hold more. Daily life, work, joy, care, creativity, and myself again.

I came across a graphic around this time that offered some perspective. And the idea has stayed with me. 

So what helped?

First, the basics. The simple, obvious things you read in every wellness article and sigh about — because they only help if you actually do them. Good sleep. Real meals. Gentle stretching. Time outside. Slow walks. Trying new recipes. Quality time spent with friends and family. 

And when I had a little more bandwidth and resources, I added a few extra supports: acupuncture to help my system recalibrate, deep tissue massage to release what had settled in my body, and a couple of low-key weekend road trips to connect with dear friends — hikes, long conversations, shared meals, easy joy.

And one especially meaningful experience: a holistic retreat with my sister — not to escape life, but to remember ourselves in the midst of it.

I cleared space in my home. Returned to small Pure Luxe projects. And, slowly, began hearing my own inner voice again.

(What didn’t help? Scrolling. Staying up too late. Stress-snacking. Sitting inside too much. Overthinking. Isolating. All the classics. 🙄)

Note to Self: Clearing Physical Space = Clearing Internal Space

After weeks spent sorting through my mom’s belongings—every drawer, box, and “I’ll deal with this later”—I found myself staring at my own basement and garage differently. I couldn’t keep overlooking the storage I’d been pushing off for years. Some of my mom’s things were now there too. The irritation was real, and it was a message I couldn't ignore. 

I’d seen firsthand how overwhelming it is to leave belongings unorganized. I didn’t want to repeat that pattern or for the “I’ll deal with this someday” to become someone else’s burden later on.

So I started clearing. One shelf. One bin. One box at a time. Donating. Recycling. Editing.

Things got messier before they got clearer (also annoying). But each time an area was reclaimed, my mind felt lighter. The physical space translated directly into internal space — space to think, feel, rest, and simply be.

This is still a work in progress. Plenty of bins and boxes to go yet. But it feels very right for this season: choosing what comes with me, and what doesn’t.

What Capacity-Building Really Is

Looking back, I’m starting to understand more about my own capacity and how to expand it. It’s not about productivity. Or reinvention. Or a dramatic transformation.

It’s about softness. A gentle re-centering of your own life. A patient clearing of what’s no longer needed—so there’s space for what is.

Honestly, this feels like the real work of midlife right now:  Clearing. Reclaiming. Re-rooting. Choosing again.

This season's work hasn't been linear. Some days feel lighter; others slide back into old unhelpful patterns. But slowly—very slowly—I've felt my nervous system begin to unclench. A breath of space here. A flicker of ease there.

Small movements, repeated. That’s how I’m finding my way back to myself.

If You're in a Similar Season

We’re so often encouraged to just 'toughen up, power through, and keep going.' And to somehow keep up a relentless pace. But for me, rebuilding has asked for something different. Softness. Patience. Choosing the next right small step, again and again.

So if you're in a chapter that feels disorienting, messy or slow:

You’re not behind.
You’re rebuilding capacity.
And that's sacred work.

Here’s to tending what’s tender and rebuilding in your own time.
xo

Lake Superior magic with a full moon.

Late-summer coneflowers + neighborhood deer in the back yard.

Jasper turned another year wiser - 13!

Reminders that resonate.

This is the third in a series of quarterly reflections I’m sharing here and with my email community. My hope is that it becomes a soft place to pause—a seasonal check-in to take stock, share a little of what’s been meaningful behind the scenes, and offer something grounding, thoughtful, or simply human for your own path, too.

Thank you for being here!
Love + gratitude,