A Taste of Flava — Saturday Reflection

Yesterday felt like one of those days that quietly tells you life is shifting.

The drive into work started with snow falling across the city. Seattle was wrapped in that quiet kind of morning where the streets look softer and everything moves a little slower. I drove in watching the flakes land on the road, thinking about the day ahead and how different things have felt lately.

When I got to work, I saw all the work grandkids — the younger staff moving through the clinic with their energy and their laughter. They always make me smile. There’s something about watching the next generation learning their way through life and work that reminds me how long I’ve been walking my own path.

Buying Starbucks for my work grandkids was my way of saying, “I see you.” In my spirit, it felt like a quiet handoff. Not a final goodbye, because I may still go in from time to time, but it was my way of saying the clinics are yours now. You will figure it out, and our supervisor will too. Grandma doesn’t have to stand in the middle of it anymore.

My appointment with the doctor ended up being more meaningful than I expected. Sometimes conversations like that bring clarity. It gave me the moment I needed to say something out loud that had been quietly forming in my mind.

I asked to work from home.

The response from my doctor and from my supervisor was supportive in a way that meant more than they probably realized. After everything my body has been through, after all the years I’ve shown up in person for patients, coworkers, and the clinic itself, hearing support for this change felt like permission to move into a different season.

Removing myself from being a daily physical presence in the clinic feels… freeing.

Not because I don’t care.
But because I finally understand that caring for others also means caring for myself.

The snow never really stopped in the city while I was there. It fell steadily all day. But the drive home felt even heavier, the flakes bigger and thicker, covering everything as evening settled in.

By the time I got home, my body knew it had done enough. I rested downstairs for a while, letting the quiet of the house settle around me. When it was time to go upstairs, I’ll be honest — those stairs were hard last night. Every step reminded me that healing is still happening.

This morning I woke up slowly. The house was cold. My body felt tired and achy. I slept later than usual, and when I finally opened my eyes, I could feel the exhaustion sitting in both my muscles and my mind.

But underneath all of that… there is peace.

Because even with the tiredness, I know something important:

I’m okay.

And more than that, I’m stepping into a new chapter of my life — one where I can still serve, still show up, still do meaningful work… just in a way that honors my body and the life I’m living today.

Sometimes change doesn’t arrive loudly.

Sometimes it falls quietly like snow, covering the ground overnight until you wake up and realize the landscape has changed.

Today feels a little like that.

And I’m ready to see where this new path leads.

— Lady Flava