The wobbly middle

The Wobbly Middle: When a Dead Plant Becomes a Whole Situation

Somewhere between the excitement of starting a No Spend year and the triumphant finish line, there’s this strange, tender, slightly ridiculous place I’ve landed in — the wobbly middle.

It showed up the day my favorite plant died.

Normally, this would’ve been a non-event. I would’ve sighed, tossed the crispy remains into the compost, grabbed my keys, and replaced it without a second thought. Plants die, I buy new ones. That was the rhythm.

But this year, I froze. Not because the plant was special (though it was). Not because I can’t afford a $12 replacement. But because the decision wasn’t automatic anymore.

And that’s where the wobble lives.

Suddenly I was standing in my kitchen asking myself questions I’ve never asked about a plant in my life:

• Do I need to replace it

• Am I craving the little dopamine hit of buying something pretty

• Is this thoughtful or is this overthinking

• Why does this feel like a moral dilemma when it’s literally a plant

It felt silly and serious at the same time — like my brain was trying to learn a new language and kept tripping over the verbs.

But here’s the truth I’m learning in this middle stretch: It’s not about the plant. It’s about the pause.

It’s about noticing the places where I used to soothe, distract, or reward myself with a quick purchase. It’s about catching the automatic impulse before it runs the show. It’s about sitting in the discomfort of wanting something and not immediately solving that feeling with my debit card.

The wobbly middle is where the real work happens — not the dramatic, Instagrammable work, but the quiet recalibration of habits I didn’t even know I had.

So no, it’s not dumb to question replacing a plant. It’s actually the whole point.

And maybe the empty spot on the shelf isn’t a loss. Maybe it’s a reminder that growth doesn’t always look like adding something new. Sometimes it looks like letting something be empty for a while.

So for now, the dead plant stays dead and the shelf stays empty. I’m calling it a “pause in progress.” And if that sounds like something I made up five minutes ago while drinking coffee and avoiding eye contact with the plant pot… well, yes. Yes it is

A Choice

• Why I Chose a No Spend YearEvery now and then someone will look at me with that puzzled, head‑tilted expression and ask the same question I’ve heard over and over this year.

“Why? Why would someone do something like that?”

Sometimes it comes out gently. Sometimes with a little disbelief. Sometimes with the assumption that something must have been wrong.

And I get it. A No Spend year isn’t exactly a mainstream hobby.

But here’s the truth — the simple, unpolished truth:

I didn’t do this because I had to. Not for financial reasons. Not because I was in trouble. Not because I needed rescuing.

I did it to see if I could.

I did it because something inside me was curious about what would happen if I stopped automatically reaching for more and started paying attention to what I already had. I wanted to know what lived underneath the habits, the impulses, the little comforts I didn’t even notice myself grabbing.

And honestly? I wanted to meet the version of myself who could do something hard just because she decided to.

This year has surprised me in ways I didn’t expect.

1. I had more than I realized

Not just in my pantry or freezer — though those have become their own little treasure chests — but in my routines, my creativity, my resilience. I wasn’t living in lack. I was living in autopilot.

2. Using what I have feels better than buying something new

There’s a quiet pride in pulling a meal together from what’s already here. A satisfaction in finishing a project with materials I forgot I owned. A sense of abundance that doesn’t come from spending a dime.

3. The “why” keeps evolving

What started as a challenge has become a practice. What began as curiosity has turned into clarity. And what felt like restriction now feels like freedom.

Somewhere along the way, this stopped being about money and started being about space — the kind you can see and the kind you can feel.

Spring cleaning has been part of that. Letting things go. Clearing corners. Releasing old versions of myself I didn’t need to carry anymore.

Every bag that leaves the house takes a little emotional weight with it. Every cleared surface feels like a small exhale. Every rediscovered item reminds me that I’ve always had enough — I just wasn’t seeing it.

So… Why Did I Do It?

Because I wanted to know myself better. Because I wanted to break patterns that weren’t serving me. Because I wanted to feel the difference between wanting and needing. Because I wanted to choose my life instead of drifting through it.

And because deep down, I knew I could — I just needed to prove it to myself.

This year isn’t about deprivation. It’s about discovery.

It’s about learning that “enough” isn’t something you buy — it’s something you uncover.

And I’m still uncovering it, one intentional choice at a time

As I move through this No Spend year, I’m realizing that every week teaches me something a little different. This week was about understanding my why — the quiet reason underneath the choice. Next week, I want to explore what happens after the “why” settles… when the dust clears, the bags leave the house, and I’m left standing in the space I’ve created.

There’s a moment when the noise fades and you can finally hear yourself again. That’s where I’m heading next.

THIS IS THE LIGHT,

 

 THAT STOPPED ME IN MY TRACKS

🌿 I Can’t Believe This Is My Life Right Now

This week surprised me in the best way. Not with anything dramatic, but with a feeling I didn’t expect — a kind of quiet disbelief at how far I’ve come. I kept catching myself thinking, “I can’t believe this is my life right now.” And not in a shocked way, but in a grateful, grounded, look at me actually doing this way.

I deep cleaned my sewing room — really cleaned it. Not the quick tidy I’ve done a hundred times, but the kind where you face every little thing you’ve been holding onto “just in case.” And here’s the truth I didn’t see coming:

Some of those things weren’t supplies. They were comfort. They were old habits. They were little anchors to a version of me who thought more stuff meant more creativity.

Letting them go felt like exhaling.

Now my sewing space actually welcomes me. It’s cute. It’s open. It feels like a room that believes in me. And I didn’t buy a single thing to make it that way — I just cleared out what no longer served me.

📅 Oh… It’s April

Another surprise: it’s April. I truly thought this No Spend year would drag, that I’d feel every week like a weight. But the months are moving. Life is happening. I’m not stuck in deprivation — I’m living.

The impulse to buy still pops up, of course. That little spark of “maybe I should just…” still flickers. But I’ve been able to resist. Not with gritted teeth, but with a kind of calm clarity.

I don’t need to buy my way into comfort. I don’t need to buy my way into creativity. I don’t need to buy my way into a life I already have.

So I’m ending this week with a kind of quiet awe. Not because everything is perfect, but because I’m finally seeing the life I’m actually living — not the one I used to try to buy my way into. A tidy sewing room, a calmer mind, a month that didn’t drag… these are small things, but they feel like proof. Proof that change doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it just shows up in a clean corner, a resisted impulse, a moment of noticing.

And right now, I’m noticing that I’m proud of myself. I really can’t believe this is my life — and I’m grateful it is..

A before picture, it is much nicer now.

THIS IS THE SPACE I FINALLY TOOK TIME TO TEND TO. NOT PERFECT JUST MINE!