Coming Home to My Peace

After a day of ringing phones, problem-solving, and pouring out care, I cross my threshold and exhale. My home is where the noise softens and my spirit remembers itself. Musty posts up at the window like a tiny security guard. Ghini shuffles close, offering that warm, wordless comfort only cats know how to give. The light fades over West Seattle, and the world finally slows enough to hear my own breath.

Peace, for me, isn’t silence—it’s belonging. It’s the familiar creak of the floor, the leopard throw across my lap, and the steady purr that says, you made it through. I don’t need perfection; I just need presence.

Here’s my simple evening ritual that resets me after a long day:

Unplug & land: Bag down, phone face-down, three slow breaths (in 4, hold 2, out 6).

Soft light, soft body: Lamp on, shoulders unclench, jaw releases.

Gratitude check: One thing I did well today. One moment that felt kind.

Nourish: Water first, then something warm (tea or soup).

Create a little: A paragraph in my journal, a line for tomorrow’s blog, or a photo I love.

Protect the peace: Say no to anything that stirs chaos tonight.

I’m learning that coming home isn’t just a place—it’s a practice. Every small choice I make here becomes a promise to my future self: We will keep choosing peace.

Tonight, I choose quiet, warmth, and love. That’s enough.