If you read my last blog, then you know we are considering selling our “forever home.”

Yesterday, I sat watching my kiddo at his little picnic table, eating his snack in the sunshine—happy as can be. As I watched him, a thought settled over me. A feeling. A desire. I’m not even sure how to describe it, except this: I just want to give him the absolute best version of a mom and a life that I can.

And his life is good. I know that. I know I’m a good mom.

But if I’m being completely honest—I’m tired. Not just regular tired. I’m past that. I’m the kind of tired that never really goes away. The kind you feel in your bones. In your soul.

So am I really giving him 100%?

Am I fully showing up for him, while also trying to take care of myself and be a good wife?

No. I’m not. I’m surviving.

I’m making it day to day with life raining down on me, and I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being in debt. I’m tired of not having help. I want to be more present. I want to go part-time. I want to want to cook dinner. I want to take care of myself again. But some days my mental load is so heavy that even the simplest things feel overwhelming.

And with all of that… I know in my heart what choice we need to make.

But for someone as sentimental as I am—how do you let go of what was supposed to be forever?

How do you release the memories, the house, the peace and quiet of our perfect piece of land? All the work we’ve poured into this place. Bringing our baby home here. The pride. The love. The roots.

I stand in the yard and I feel it all. I love it here. I’m so incredibly proud of what we’ve built.

So do I want to leave?

Or is that comfort talking? Is it anxiety? Is it the fear of the unknown? Is it the sentimental part of me gripping tightly because letting go feels too hard?

And then I ask myself—does any of that outweigh going part-time? Being closer to family? Living without the constant weight of debt?

I know what God is telling me. I truly do. And for the most part, I have peace about it.

BUT if I’m being even more honest… there’s fear.

What if we move and it’s a mistake?
What if I’m confusing my own exhaustion for God’s voice?
What if this is just my overthinking, my anxiety, my desire for relief talking?

I’ve wrestled with that more than I expected.

There’s a difference between holy conviction and human panic—but sometimes they can feel uncomfortably similar. And I don’t want to make a permanent decision based on temporary emotions. I don’t want to look back and think, Did I rush? Did I mishear Him?

The overthinking can get loud. The “what ifs” multiply quickly. What if we regret it? What if we miss this place more than we imagined? What if I uproot my family chasing something that wasn’t actually from the Lord?

But then I come back to this: fear is loud. God is steady.

Anxiety spirals. God anchors.

When I sit quietly—really quietly—the message isn’t frantic. It isn’t pressured. It’s gentle. It’s clear. It feels like peace mixed with courage.

And maybe obedience doesn’t always feel fearless. Maybe sometimes it feels like trembling hands that still choose to trus

Right now, I’m just working through my own heart. How do you let go… and start over?

I feel incredibly blessed that we even have this opportunity. And I know the Lord is leading me. He always has.

In the quiet moments. In the sunshine. At night while rocking Connor. In worship—those are the moments I hear Him most clearly.

Now it’s up to me to surrender.

Stay tuned, friends.