love letter 03: The Unexpected Joy and Contentment of Returning Home, Literally.

“Well, guess I’m back to just being a housewife, stay-at-home mom, homemaker, or whatever…” I grumbled to my husband, hitting publish on a Facebook post announcing that my astrology business was officially closed.

A business I had built from the ground up.

A business that had taken off during that strange Covid blip, when so many of us found unexpected success—when things moved faster than we could’ve ever predicted.

The same business that sometimes made me pause and think, Girl, how did you even get here? You wanted to be a romance writer.

The same business that, for a time, became more than just work. It became my identity. My idol.

Until God checked me real quick on that.

And by checked me, I mean He snatched me up by the edges I had left, knocked me between the washer and dryer like an overdue load of laundry, and let me sit there on the spin cycle until I understood.

It. Wasn’t. Pretty.

At one point, I’m pretty sure He looked down at my stubborn ass like, “You done? Or should I run another rinse cycle?”

Like, damn Big God - chill out, bro! :: hands up ::

Even after I walked away, people kept reaching out. “Can I refer you?” “Are you sure you’re done?” It still happens. Just last week, someone asked. And every time, I tell them the same thing: I’m uninterested.

Because that chapter needed to close.

And when I finally worked up the courage to end it, I felt good. Lighter. Free.

But still, there was that small voice whispering in the back of my mind:

"Look at you. Right back where you started."

The Ego Loves to Play Games

You know that ego of ours loves to play games.

It creeps in, whispering doubts, twisting the truth, making you question decisions you were so sure about.

I knew closing that chapter was the right move. I had prayed on it. Talked to my husband about it. Talked to my Therapist about it. Felt peace about it.

But still—there it was, that little voice in the back of my mind, poking at my pride, making me wonder if I had somehow failed.

Yet I barely had time to dwell on it.

I was getting lost in romance books.
Swept up in my kids’ activities.
Writing and sharing my stories out loud again.

And beneath it all, something else was brewing—something I only shared on a need-to-know basis.

We were building a new house.

And while there were moments when I felt the pressure to figure something out, my husband would remind me to relax.

“Things will come to you when they’re ready,” he’d say. Just do what brings you joy in this season. Focus on you.

And so, I did.

I read. I wrote. I obsessed over the new house.

I drove by damn near every day. Sometimes just to see it, other times to walk through the construction site—tracing my fingers over the unfinished walls, trying to picture our life inside them.

I could not wait to get in here.

A Shift in Perspective

In that in-between season—living at my mom’s place after selling our house, waiting for our dream home to take shape—I started reflecting.

I realized just how much I loved making a house feel like home and couldn’t wait to do it again.

And then I started to wonder—why was there ever a time I felt like that wasn’t enough?

Managing a home is both a huge responsibility and an honor.

Creating a space where my children feel stable and safe.
Where my husband finds reprieve after long days of work.
Where family and friends gather, knowing they’ll be met with warmth, love, and laughter.

It made me sad to think there was once a version of me who didn’t see the weight of that—who overlooked the impact simply because it didn’t come with paychecks, promotions, or applause.

There were moments when outside voices crept in—whispers of what I should be doing, who I should be, and what counted as "real" success.

But in my heart, I knew the truth.

"She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness." - Proverbs 31:27 (ESV)

All I wanted in that season was my family, my books, my stories, and our new home—a place where we could settle in and create new memories.

That was what mattered. That was where I found genuine happiness, untouched by outside pressure.

Homemaking as Ministry

Recently, I was on the phone with my friend Maya, telling her how much fun I’m having in this season—pouring into myself, my husband, my children, and our home as my primary focus.

I shared my plans, what I was currently up to, the joy it’s bringing me, and how, for the first time in a really long time, I feel fully present.

That’s when Maya paused and said, “Have you ever considered that homemaking is your ministry?”

And listen—I almost threw my phone across the room.

I sat there staring at the screen, her words echoing in my mind.

Homemaking is my ministry.

I had never thought about it like that before.

Ministry, to me, had always felt like something out there—something done in churches, on stages, in communities. Something official. Something seen.

But the more I let her words settle, the more I realized…

My home is my ministry…yea…

The meals I cook. The stories I tell. The laughter that fills these walls.

The way I nurture my children.
The way I love my husband.
The way I create a space that feels safe, warm, and whole.

Even the way I write—pouring my heart into stories that reflect love, healing, and joy.

It’s all ministry.

The Beauty of Being Present

People often ask what I’ve been up to, and these days, my go-to answer is simple:

“Being content.”

Because that’s what romanticizing life means to me—contentment.

And no, contentment doesn’t mean settling. It means standing in the middle of your life, exactly as it is, and choosing to see the beauty in it.

It’s gratitude for the season you’re in, even if it’s not the one you imagined. It’s trusting that every season—no matter how slow, chaotic, or uncertain—has purpose.

Honoring the season instead of trying to wish or pray my way out of it.
Expressing gratitude for it.
Finding joy in it.
Having fun with it.

If you’re in a season where you’re struggling to feel content—where you’re questioning whether your life is enough because it doesn’t come with promotions, applause, or the validation of others—here’s what has helped me:

1. Define success on your own terms.
   Ask yourself: What actually makes me feel fulfilled? Not what society says, not what looks good on paper, but what truly fills your spirit. For me, it’s creating a home filled with love, writing the stories on my heart, and being present with my family.

2. Be present in the season you’re in.
   Every season has its own beauty, even if it doesn’t feel like it right away. Instead of wishing time away, find small ways to savor now. Whether it’s through a simple morning ritual, an intentional moment with loved ones, or even just appreciating the quiet, learn to honor the season instead of trying to rush past it.

3. Romanticize the everyday.
   Contentment doesn’t mean settling—it means finding joy right where you are. Light a candle while you clean. Play music while you cook. Savor your coffee instead of gulping it down. Speak gratitude over your home, your body, your family. Little things add up to a life that feels beautiful.

4. Protect your peace.
   Not every voice deserves a seat at your table. If certain people, social media, or expectations are making you question the goodness of your life, take a step back. The more I tuned out outside pressure, the more I could hear my own voice—and God’s.

5. Trust that this season is preparing you for the next.
   Nothing is wasted. The skills, lessons, and growth happening right now are leading somewhere—even if you can’t see the full picture yet. Instead of asking, When will things change? try asking, What is this season teaching me?

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." - Colossians 3:23 (NIV)

& one more thing…

Who knows? One day, I might look back and ache for this season—the way the sunlight hit our kitchen table in the mornings, the laughter and heavy footsteps of my boys running down our hallway like they’re in the middle of a track meet, the joy of simply being here with people I love.

Because seasons change. And when this one is gone, I don’t want to look back and realize I was so busy chasing what’s next that I forgot to love what’s now.

“I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them.”

―Andy Bernard

But for now, I am finding contentment in the role I always seem to circle back to—no matter how many jobs I try to wiggle my way into, chasing success the way I was trained to.

I always end up here.
It always calls me back.

And when I quiet the noise, when I stop trying to fit into someone else’s definition of success—this is where I feel most fulfilled.

Funny how life works.

I spent so much time chasing more—more success, more validation, more proof that I was doing something with my life—only to find that my journey home to myself wasn’t about going out there at all.

It led me right back here.

Back to storytelling. Back to creating. Back to being an artist.
And—ironically enough—back to being a homemaker, too.

The two things I once thought were in conflict turned out to be inseparable.

Because home is where I create. Home is where I love. Home is where I get to be fully me—as a writer, a mother, a wife, a woman.

Turns out, the thing I was running toward and the thing I was running from were the same thing all along.

But make no mistake—I’m still me.

And there will be a season that circles back—one that isn’t so quiet. One where I’m moving bolder, building bigger, serving deeper. Where I step into rooms with a different kind of certainty, carrying the fire that’s always been in me—but now, with the wisdom to match.

A season where I pour into whoever I’m called to with even greater purpose, where I approach success on my terms, shaped by the lessons I’ve learned and the growth that’s stretched me in ways I never saw coming.

Because this season isn’t slowing me down. It’s preparing me.

But right now? This is the work. This is the season I’m meant to be in. And I refuse to rush past the lessons, the peace, the preparation that’s happening right here.

Because when the next season comes? I’ll be ready.

So if you’re in a season where you feel lost—like you should be doing more, like your path makes no sense—trust that one day, it will.

And when it does, you’ll see that you were never lost at all.

You were finding your way home.

And when you get there, you won’t be the same. You’ll be softer. Wiser. More whole than you ever imagined.

—- Jhéanell