Finding Normal Again After Divorce, Motherhood, and Perimenopause
I did not mean to disappear for a couple of months.
It just happened one distracted day at a time. I would think, “I should write an update,” and then someone needed a ride, or laundry needed to be switched, or work needed me longer than expected, or my brain simply refused to form another sentence after a full day of pushing through.
Then one week became two. Two became a month. Suddenly I was looking at this little space of mine, the one I truly do consider part of my self-care, and realizing I had gone quiet again.
So here I am.
Still here. Still figuring things out. Still trying to find something that feels like normal after divorce, motherhood, work, relationships, and now the added fun of perimenopause deciding to join the party.
I have been divorced for almost two years, which sounds like enough time to have everything sorted out. At least, that is what part of my brain keeps trying to tell me. Two years should mean steady routines, healed feelings, organized closets, calm co-parenting, and a version of myself who wakes up refreshed and knows exactly what she wants.
That is not quite how real life works.
Healing has not been a straight road. It has been more like trying to carry groceries, answer a text, remember which house the kids are sleeping at, and keep a loaf of bread from falling out of the bag, all while wondering why I walked into the room in the first place.
The silence was full of life
When people disappear from their blogs or creative spaces, it can look like they lost interest.
For me, it was the opposite. I wanted to come back. I missed writing. I missed sharing photos. I missed putting words to all the messy and beautiful things that happen in an ordinary life.
But every time I reached for it, something else pulled me away.
There were the obvious things, like kids, work, and the constant schedule math of a split household. There were also the quieter things, like exhaustion, guilt, and that strange feeling of not knowing what version of myself I was supposed to be on any given day.
Am I the mom who has her life together?
Am I the divorced woman rebuilding from scratch?
Am I the partner trying to show up in a relationship while still learning what she needs?
Am I the employee who can take on more, work harder, push through, and still smile?
Am I the woman standing in the kitchen wondering why my body feels unfamiliar lately?
The answer is yes. I am all of them. Sometimes all before noon.
That is what makes this season so hard to explain. Nothing is only one thing. Divorce can bring relief and grief. Motherhood can bring joy and total depletion. Work can bring purpose and burnout. A new relationship can feel comforting and complicated. Perimenopause can make a regular day feel like someone changed the settings on your body without asking.
So when I say I fell off the face of the earth, I do not mean I stopped caring.
I mean life got very loud.
Divorce changed the shape of normal
Being almost two years divorced has taught me that “normal” is not something you simply return to.
The old normal is gone. That can be painful to admit, even when the divorce was necessary. The routines, the expectations, the way holidays looked, the way mornings worked, the way decisions got made, all of it changes.
At first, I think I expected myself to rebuild quickly. Make a new routine. Create a peaceful home. Be emotionally mature. Keep everything stable for the kids. Move forward. Do not look back too much. Do not fall apart.
That is a lot to ask of one person.
The truth is, life after divorce is full of tiny adjustments no one sees. There is the mental work of tracking who needs what at which house. The emotional work of helping kids move between homes. The quiet work of sitting with your own feelings after everyone else is asleep.
Some days, I feel strong and proud of what I have built.
Other days, I feel like I am still standing in the middle of the transition, holding half a plan and hoping it is enough.
Finding normal again after divorce, motherhood, and perimenopause has meant letting go of the idea that normal has to look polished. Maybe normal is simply knowing what matters most today. Maybe normal is making dinner from whatever is left in the fridge. Maybe normal is apologizing when I am short-tempered and trying again tomorrow.
Maybe normal is not a destination.
Maybe it is a rhythm I keep learning.
Motherhood in a split household is its own kind of tired
I love my kids deeply. That has never been the question.
But motherhood after divorce comes with a special kind of tired that is hard to describe unless you have lived it. It is not only the physical running around, though there is plenty of that. It is the emotional tracking.
Who needs shoes for school?
Who left their charger at the other house?
Who is pretending to be fine but seems quieter than usual?
Who needs extra patience today?
Then there is the guilt. Guilt when they are with me and I am distracted. Guilt when they are not with me and I enjoy the quiet. Guilt when work takes too much. Guilt when I am too tired to be the fun mom. Guilt when I realize I have not done something special in a while.
Split household life can make everything feel doubled. Two homes. Two sets of routines. Two calendars in your head. Two versions of “Did you pack that?”
At the same time, there are moments of deep gratitude. The slower mornings when the kids are home. The little conversations in the car. The way they keep growing, changing, becoming more themselves.
Motherhood has always required flexibility, but this season has asked for a level of stretching I did not know I had.
Some days, I manage it with grace.
Some days, I manage it with coffee, dry shampoo, and a prayer muttered under my breath.
Both count.
Work has taken more than hours
Working 60 plus hours a week would wear anyone down.
Adding “baker” to my resume has been a whole new level of physical and mental energy. Baking sounds cozy from the outside, and parts of it are. There is something satisfying about creating something real with your hands. There is comfort in flour, dough, heat, and rhythm.
But it is also hard work. Long hours on your feet. Early mornings or late nights. Repetition. Focus. The kind of tired that settles into your bones.
When work takes up that much space, life outside of work becomes a puzzle. The basic things start to feel bigger than they should. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. Texting people back. Making appointments. Drinking enough water. Remembering to breathe.
Self-care becomes easy to push aside because it does not scream for attention the way everything else does.
The kids need me now.
Work needs me now.
The house needs me now.
My own needs tend to whisper, and sometimes I miss them completely.
That is part of why this blog matters to me. It is not just a hobby. It is a place where I get to hear myself think. A place where I can lay down the day for a minute and notice what I am feeling. A place where my thoughts, dreams, photos, and journey have somewhere to land.
When I stop writing, I feel it.
Not right away, maybe. But eventually, I notice I have been carrying everything without setting any of it down.
Perimenopause has made everything louder
And then there is perimenopause.
I am still learning how to talk about it because, honestly, I am still learning how to live with it. It feels like my body started a group chat without me and forgot to explain the rules.
The changes are not always dramatic from the outside. That might be the hardest part. I can look fine and still feel like I am using all my focus just to keep up.
Brain fog can turn simple tasks into obstacle courses. Mood shifts can make me feel like I do not fully recognize my own reactions. Sleep can become unpredictable. Energy can disappear without warning. My patience can run thinner than I want it to, especially when I am already stretched by work and parenting.
This is not medical advice, just my own experience. If symptoms start affecting daily life, it is worth talking with a trusted health care provider. No one should have to white-knuckle their way through changes that deserve support and information.
For me, perimenopause has forced me to pay attention to limits I used to ignore.
I used to be able to push through almost anything. Or at least I thought I could. Now my body is a little less willing to let me pretend I am fine. It asks for rest. It asks for food that actually nourishes me. It asks me to stop acting like sleep is optional.
I do not always listen.
But I am trying.
Self-care does not look fancy right now
I used to think self-care had to look peaceful. Candles. Long walks. Journaling at the perfect time of day. A clean room. A quiet mind.
Right now, self-care looks much smaller.
It looks like writing this post even though I am rusty.
It looks like taking a photo because something about the light made me pause.
It looks like saying, “I cannot add one more thing today.”
It looks like putting laundry in a basket and deciding that is good enough for now.
It looks like telling the truth instead of pretending I have been busy in a cute, manageable way.
I have been busy in a very real way. I have been tired in a very real way. I have been pulled in different directions by people and responsibilities I love, and also by things that drain me.
That is why I am trying to redefine self-care as coming back to myself, not escaping my life.
Sometimes that means this blog.
Sometimes it means a quiet drive.
Sometimes it means letting the kids see that moms are people too.
Sometimes it means resting before everything is done, because everything is never done.
I am not starting over, I am continuing
There is a temptation, after being away for a while, to make a big comeback plan.
I could tell myself I will write every week, post every photo, organize every thought, and become perfectly consistent from here on out.
But I know better.
Life is still full. Work is still demanding. Motherhood is still layered. My body is still changing. My emotions are still catching up with everything the last few years have asked of me.
So I am not making a dramatic promise.
I am simply continuing.
I am coming back to this space with honesty instead of perfection. I am letting this blog be what it has always been meant to be: a place to share my thoughts, dreams, photos, and journey.
Some posts may be deep. Some may be simple. Some may be a handful of photos and a few words about what I noticed that day. Some may be messy because life is messy.
That feels more honest than waiting until I have a perfect routine or a polished lesson.
I do not want to wait until I have found “normal” to write about finding it.
I want to write from the middle.
Thank you for still being here
If you have checked in, read before, or wondered where I went, thank you.
Thank you for sticking around through the quiet months.
Thank you for making space for the real version of this journey, not just the cleaned-up parts. The real version includes missed updates, long workweeks, emotional days, kid schedules, relationship growth, hormone shifts, and the slow rebuilding of a life after divorce.
I am learning that normal may not be something I find all at once. It may be something I build in small pieces.
A morning that feels calm.
A conversation that feels honest.
A photo that reminds me I am still paying attention.
A written page that helps me feel like myself again.
That is enough for today.
And today, I am still here.
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