Summer doesn’t leave all at once.
It slips away slowly — like the light at golden hour, soft and unhurried. You don’t notice the shift right away. One day you’re sharing strawberry slushies at the fair, watching your child ride a carousel for the first time — and the next, you’re folding up the beach towels for what might be the last time this year.
And suddenly, it’s September.
There’s always a quiet ache in saying goodbye to summer. Not because it was perfect, but because it was real. Messy, loud, sun-soaked, ordinary — and full of moments that held more than they seemed.
For us, this summer was layered.
There was a little boy’s last swim class, where water dripped from his curls as he climbed out of the pool braver than before. It was our ninth wedding anniversary — no grand adventure, just a mall massage chair and Chick-fil-A for dinner, and somehow, it felt just right.
There were the fireflies after long park days, the sticky fingers from cotton candy at a baseball game, and the quiet joy of watching our son’s face light up with every “first.” First fair. First fireworks. First library dance party with bubbles floating through the air.
There was rest, too — or at least the beginning of learning how to rest. Slower mornings. A few more naps. Permission to breathe deeper. To stop pushing. To feel tired without shame.
And there were the soft celebrations — the kind that don’t ask for fanfare. A candle-making class with a best friend. Tennis at the park turned into a game of chase. A car picnic with cupcakes and cream puffs by the river. A lemon posset shared at sunset. The clink of glasses filled with sparkling rosé in the trunk of our car — our own kind of sacred ritual.
Summer, for all its brightness, also held shadows.
There were days when the weight of everything — even the good — felt like too much. When anxiety slipped in quietly and tried to take up space. But even in those moments, there was grace. A reminder to slow down. To reach for support. To breathe through it all.
And in the quiet corners of the season, I began to see something new: a softer version of myself emerging. One who no longer needs to do everything to feel enough. One who is learning to sit in the in-between, the imperfect, the “still trying.”
Maybe that’s what this summer taught me most — that joy and sorrow, celebration and struggle, can live side by side. And that even in the most ordinary days, there is magic when we choose to be present.
As I say goodbye to this season, I do so with a full heart.
Not because everything was perfect — but because everything was real. And because I was here for it.
🍋 Your Own Slow Send-Off
If you're looking for a gentle way to bid farewell to summer, may I offer a small suggestion?
Grab a blanket. A few lemon possets or your favorite soft dessert. A bottle of sparkling something. Sit outside — even if it’s just your backyard or the back of your car — and let the light fade slowly.
Toast to the season. What does it give you? To what it took. To how you grew.
No pressure. Just presence.
Sometimes, the most beautiful endings are the ones we whisper our way through.
🌼 A Love Note to Women Everywhere
To the mama who’s still finding her rhythm…
To the woman catching her breath between the joy and the overwhelm…
To the one learning how to rest instead of hustle…You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re growing.And that’s enough.
Here’s to September. To slow shifts. To softness.
To you.
Always.
