Digging for Perspective When You’re Flat on the Floor

Perspective sometimes has to be dug out from the very bottom rungs of the darkest days inside you.
And that is absolutely the season I’m in right now.

Let me paint a picture.

Christmas was… a lot.
Beautiful and messy and loud and exhausting in the way only a house full of adult children who instantly morph back into kid-dom can be. As any mamapause woman knows, the serving never really stops. There were meals and conversations and cousins and boyfriends and one more person just arriving. The push was real.

By the time everyone left, my body began to shut down—but the needs didn’t. More people. More hosting. More giving. The leisurely day I was craving? Not happening.

Until my body finally said, “Here it is, Jenny.”

Neck pain. A headache. That deep, achy fatigue that gently—but firmly—puts you flat on your back. No New Year’s Eve partying for this mama. I disappeared into sleep. Deep, necessary sleep.

Meanwhile, the partying continued for everyone else in the house. Late nights. Loud voices. Champagne-fueled drama. And then—of course—it was me up at 5am with the puppy.

Only this time, I stepped outside into a blizzard.

Pajamas. Slippers. Coat.
I figured it would be a quick pee and back inside for breakfast.

Except the door locked behind me.

I rang the doorbell—useless.
Pounded on the door.
Nothing.

So I tromped through a foot of fresh snow around the house, the puppy following me, crying and barking, snow soaking into my slippers, feet freezing. No phone. No neighbors. We were at our winterized summer home—everyone else long gone for the season.

I screamed.
HELP. HELP.

For 33 minutes.

Eventually, my husband heard me.

I went straight to the shower to thaw out, sat in the tub, and cried.
I mean really cried.

Is this my life?
Taking care of everyone. Holding it all together. And no one hearing what I need—even when I’m screaming for help at the top of my lungs.

It took me a full day to unwind from that moment. I was bitter. Resentful. Exhausted. Still responsible for de-Christmasing the house, cleaning up after “fake adults,” and then packing up a car—overloaded with stuff and a puppy—for a nine-hour drive back to Boston.

So we did that.

And I wish I could say it stopped there.

But nope.

We came home to an overflowing bathtub. A pipe had burst in our under-construction bathroom. The water was forceful enough to punch an eight-foot hole through the kitchen ceiling below and send water cascading straight into the basement.

My basement.

My home gym.
My quiet morning workspace.

Gone.

Notebooks. Photos. Scrapbooks. Games. Puzzles. Workout gear. Bands. Mats. Pillows. TV.
All of it—done-zo.

And honestly? There was more after that. A lot more shnizzle.

So why am I sharing this?

Because I had a choice.

Do what I’ve always done when crisis stacks on crisis—shut down, hibernate, disappear.
Or… pick up the pieces and move forward. One imperfect step at a time.

I wanted to delay everything. New classes. New clients. Retainers. Packages. All of it. I had every reason neatly lined up in my head. Every justification ready to go.

But here’s what I know now, in this tender, scrappy-raw season:

Perspective doesn’t arrive wrapped in a bow.
Sometimes it shows up soaking wet, barefoot in the snow, asking you to listen—to your body, your limits, your needs.

Sometimes strength isn’t pushing harder.
It’s choosing not to disappear.

So I showed up anyway.
Not perfectly. Not polished.
But present.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Yep. That’s me too,” please know this: you’re not broken for feeling overwhelmed. You’re human. And you don’t have to wait until everything is fixed to take the next small step forward.

That’s where healing actually begins.

Starting work again—after a break that didn’t really feel like a break—was actually good.

Only because I said YES to help.

Friends showed up with meals at my door.
There were hugs, followed by more tears.
And there was the home gym basement of my dear friend Lindsey, who welcomed me in without question at 5am on Monday morning so I could run classes and show up for clients galore.

I allowed help.
I said yes.

This is not my usual way. I’m the strong one. The capable one. The one who figures it out.

But saying YES, and allowing others to hold me up for a moment, gave me a lightness in my heart that I desperately needed. Just enough light to step forward into a new week. A new month. A new year.

And it goes without saying—help, support, and accountability are exactly what I offer my clients as they work to move the needle in their holistic health and wellness.

It will feel hard to say yes.
It will feel hard to start.

But we don’t do it alone.

We work together to gently shine light on your gut health, heart health, bone health, and spirit health—so you can feel confident in your body, steady in your energy, and supported as you move forward.

One step.
One yes.
One little bit of light at a time