A Heart In Transition

Hello Loves,

Welcome back to Everything Bagels and Grace. It’s been a whirlwind of a week, and I’m sorry I went quiet for a bit. But I took my vacation seriously—spent time with the family, did some house hunting, and tried to be fully present in that space.

I had considered throwing up a prewritten piece for you in the meantime, but honestly? That felt disingenuous. It wouldn’t have reflected real time, real life—and that’s something I deeply want for this space. I want real, raw, honest, and genuinely authentic content. Not just recycled writing that doesn’t match where I am now.

I know a lot of people batch and schedule their posts in advance—and I’ve tried that too—but for me? It just doesn’t work. My writing is rooted in my current mood, in what’s stirring in my spirit and my soul. And I’m realizing more and more that for this space to be real, my words need to reflect right now—not something I wrote weeks ago when I felt totally different.

So thank you for bearing with me as this little corner of the internet grows and changes alongside me. I’m learning what I want this space to be—and what I don’t—as I go.

Now, enough of the housekeeping. Let’s dive into what you really came here for—a peek into the ever-evolving mind of an empath. Buckle up, buttercups.

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Last week, we made the 18-hour drive back home to Chicago—part vacation, part house-hunting mission for our upcoming move. It had been a year and a half since I was last there—since my grams passed away—and going back was deeply emotional. We stayed in her bedroom, and walking into it for the first time since she died hit me hard. I had a mini breakdown, but once the tears subsided, it felt… right.

I miss her more than I can ever truly express. But, with all that’s happening in the world right now, I’m also grateful that she doesn’t have to witness it. (I’ll leave it there—I promised myself I wouldn’t get political.)

So much has changed in Chicago since I last lived there—not just in the city, but I will say this: as I age, so do my parents, and that’s been a hard truth to sit with. There’s a heaviness to it that I’m still processing.

Still, I know—deep in my gut—that God is calling us back. His timing has always been impeccable, even when I don’t understand it in the moment.

We have some loose ends to tie up here in Georgia, so the timeline is a bit stretched. We were hoping for an early August move, but it’s looking more like late October or November. And honestly? Leaving Chicago last week felt like having my heart ripped out. I didn’t want to go. If I could have paid someone to close up our home here and ship our stuff north, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat.

I think part of me is scared—scared that the obstacles and delays mean we won’t make it back. That maybe I’m being tested or punished for past choices, forced to stay in a place where, if I’m really honest, my heart never settled. I’ve been going through the motions here in Georgia, trying to mold myself to fit in, when really… all I’ve done is bury the truest parts of me just to survive.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it costs to belong—or rather, to try and belong in a place that was never really meant to hold you.

Georgia has taught me a lot, don’t get me wrong. It gave me space to rebuild after so much loss. It gave my kids a slower pace for a season. It gave me time to remember who I was after years of hiding in plain sight. But it’s never truly felt like home.

I’m tired of performing wholeness. Of slapping on smiles and pretending like I’ve rooted here when really, I’ve been spiritually and emotionally homesick since day one.

And I think that’s why the trip back to Chicago was so overwhelming. It wasn’t just about the houses we looked at, or even the people we saw. It was the feeling—like my soul exhaled. I remembered parts of myself I didn’t even know I had forgotten. The girl who walks faster, laughs louder, and says “pop” instead of “soda.” Well, maybe not “pop”, I think I’ve always said “soda” The girl who still remembers how the air smells near the lake in the morning. The girl who doesn’t apologize for being a little too much. Okay, that too, I think I have always felt like I needed to apologize for being too much, just maybe not as much back home.

Coming back to Georgia felt like being zipped back into a costume I’ve outgrown. One I never really liked wearing in the first place. And now? I’m just trying to find the courage to unzip it for good.

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I’m learning that it’s possible to grieve what’s behind you and long for what’s ahead at the same time. That there can be tears in your eyes and fire in your chest. That moving toward something better doesn’t mean you didn’t learn anything from where you’ve been.

I’m carrying so much in this in-between space: the ache of leaving, the urgency of returning, the guilt of not being fully present in either place. There are boxes half-packed and prayers half-whispered. And under it all, this sense of sacred restlessness that keeps me leaning in—keeps me trusting that something is unfolding even when I can’t see the full picture yet.

I keep thinking about my grams. About how she’d tell me, “Don’t rush it, take your time.”And maybe that’s what this season is. Dust. Discomfort. Divine waiting.

And maybe that’s okay.

Because what I want—for my family, for myself, for this little corner of the internet—isn’t a life that looks good on the outside. It’s one that feels good on the inside. I want to wake up and feel settled in my bones. I want my kids to know what it means to come home to love, to laughter, to something real. I want to write words that mean something, not just fill space. And I want to live fully, even in the uncertainty.

Especially in the uncertainty.

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If you’re still with me—thank you. Thank you for letting me show up messy. For not expecting a highlight reel. For being okay with the fact that this isn’t polished or perfect. It’s just me—mid-move, mid-prayer, mid-heartache—trying to listen, trying to love, and trying to be honest about what it’s like to hold it all.

Until next time,
with grace and a little everything on top,
—J.