Simply

A Tale of Simplifying Life

This collection of questionable decisions chronicles my stumbling journey to self-discovery. Along the way, I encounter wayward animals, accidental treasures (and a few regrettable finds), and outdated beliefs so deeply rooted they force me to question everything - including my own sense of direction.

Part One:

Checklists, Chaos, and the Courage to Feel Lonely

My 40th birthday fell on a Monday. It had snowed all weekend, and by Monday morning, two feet of fresh snow blanketed the ground, glistening under the rare February sun. I woke up to find my three-year-old’s foot pressed firmly against my stomach, resting on the spot where she had kicked me at some point during the night.

That bright February morning, I had everything I thought I’d ever wanted. I was married, had the child I had dreamed of and worked so hard to have, and lived in a sweet, small home surrounded by towering woods. At my feet lay two brave, funny, and slightly wayward dogs, both sound asleep. So, why was I so lonely?

Icy February Morning in New England - Photo by the author, Julie Droege

I wasn’t supposed to be lonely. It didn’t feel like I was even allowed to be lonely. I had everything I’d worked for, including a successful career with people I truly loved and who loved me in return.

Yet, loneliness crept inside me like wisteria roots under an unsuspecting front porch—tender leaves and vibrant blooms on the surface, but just beneath, thick, gnarly vines twisting through every inch of the foundation. Over time, my insides felt less like myself, less like bone and more like invasive roots, sprawling unchecked.

I had spent my adulthood checking boxes but never checking in on myself. I wasn’t raised in a society that even entertained the idea. Growing up, it seemed like the women around me were quietly lining up for their turn at what the adults ominously called a “nervous breakdown.”

I was oddly fascinated by the diagnosis. Women in their forties and fifties would vanish for weeks, suddenly relieved of all their duties—no work, no church services, no relentless obligations. Meanwhile, those who managed to avoid the dreaded breakdown wore their weariness like a badge of honor, congratulating themselves for keeping their emotions buried deep.

But the cracks always showed. Their dead eyes and no-fuss, no-muss haircuts betrayed their surrender to the dark side. They didn’t realize - until life had all but passed them by - that refusing to feel pain meant also forfeiting their access to joy. These are the old women who stop you at the grocery store, urging you to savor every moment and warning you about the blink-of-an-eye speed at which time passes. All the while, they touch your baby’s toes and unapologetically misgender your child, whether it’s because of her army green pants, his pink sweater, or their purple stuffed bunny.

That February morning, I was faced with a choice - a choice I would confront over and over again in the years to come, until I finally chose correctly. Was I ready to feel all my feelings and let myself break down? Or would I add another layer of stoicism, letting my eyes die just a little more each time, all in the name of earning my own badge of honor?

Selfless mom who put her child first? Check. Adopter of the dogs no one else wanted? Check. Saver of injured animals, cooker of favorite meals, finisher of all work projects? Check, check, check. Thrower of all holidays, maker of all fairy magic (tooth-related and beyond)? Oh, absolutely, check.

Two Official Wayward Love Bugs. Photo by the author, Julie Droege

Good job, me! Or, at least, good job to whoever I was pretending to be.

While I’d like to say that honorable intentions fueled my destructive choices, the truth, painfully clear in hindsight, is that I was embarrassed to be lonely. Even now, I struggle with this: loneliness feels like failure.

By definition, loneliness is “sadness because one has no friends or family.” Synonyms include friendless, companionless, outcast, forsaken, rejected, unloved, unwanted, and, of course, alone. Oof. I mean, I have friends! I am loved! Stop bullying me, dictionary!

And yet, I still felt, and often still feel, lonely. Because the hard truth is that I had forsaken and rejected the parts of myself that wanted and deserved joy. Instead, I poured all my energy into checking the boxes I thought would bring me happiness.

I chose a husband who could never love me the way I wanted or deserved. I picked a house that was too small and too broken for me to fix. I adopted dogs who bite. I threw myself into a career where my value was tied to constantly raising the bar, taking on unwanted projects and impossible partnerships, and turning them into successes with my Southern-Midwest charm and a heavy dose of crippling imposter syndrome.

I had distracted myself with chaos - an endless need to manage animals, volunteer hours, and the bulk of parenting a vibrant child. I handled all the school drop-offs and pickups, hired the babysitters, did the shopping, paid the bills, maintained family connections, and worked early mornings and late nights to make up for the deadlines I was constantly on the verge of missing.

I helped people set up their chicken coops, baked my own bread, learned to sew, learned to knit, and even figured out how to nurse fallen spring birds back to health. And that’s just a sampling of the dozen or so utterly ridiculous, super effing stupid things I took on to try to fill the gaping holes that were tearing through my reality.

It would take me four more years from that sunny February morning to finally make the right choice: to begin to clear the chaos from my life and begin the surprisingly simple journey of embracing my loneliness in order to rediscover the real me.

Simply said: Loneliness doesn’t mean failure, and simplicity doesn’t mean ease.

Next: Part 2 - It All Starts with a Dead Dad