In 2020, the whole world fell into a tailspin and then suddenly stood still. It felt like nothing good was happening, and the future seemed bleak. Panic, chaos, trauma, repeat. Was everyone dying? Were we allowed to leave our homes? Was anything safe anymore?

But for me? It was different.

It was almost as if a lifetime of anxiety had quietly prepared me for that moment. I had spent years imagining worst-case scenarios, bracing myself for what could go wrong…and then something did. Instead of panic, I felt an unexpected exhale. I felt steady. Calm. Confident. Healthier. And, dare I say it, more peaceful than I had been in a very long time.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on that season. While my anxiety today is nowhere near where it was before or after 2020, I can’t help but wonder: why did peace come so easily then, and why does it feel harder now?

I’ve spent time flipping through old photos, scrolling through my Instagram story archives, and really taking stock of what my life looked like then. As I look toward 2026, I don’t want to recreate the circumstances, but I do want to reclaim the rhythms that anchored me.

The World Was Loud, but My Life Was Quieter

In 2020, the world was loud, but my life was quiet. Much quieter.

Right before everything shut down, I had left a very stressful, toxic administrative job at a local childcare center. I was also teaching art part-time at a Christian school, working with students from preschool through eighth grade. I had just finished my college degree, graduating cum laude from an accelerated program. I had no idea what the future held employment-wise, but for the first time in a long time, I could breathe.

Leaving that administrative job and then being “stuck” at home felt like a gift.

Our schedules were simple. I worked out every morning, ate a nourishing breakfast, and read my Bible before my (then) ten-year-old son, Cole, started his day. Those mornings almost always started with movement, nothing fancy, just showing up for my body, and that simple habit grounded my mood, boosted my confidence, and set a peaceful tone for the rest of the day.

My husband, Charles, was considered an essential employee and worked as a mechanic on a rotating schedule that kept everyone physically distanced. I felt safe knowing he was protected and that our household still had an income.

I taught remotely just two days a week. While teaching art online came with challenges, it also stretched me creatively and gave me flexibility. Most importantly, I was present. Present with Cole as I helped with schoolwork. Present during long afternoons outside. Present during porch reading sessions, hikes, and time spent playing in the woods and swimming in the lake.

Because the world was shut down, we had nowhere to be. I had stocked up on groceries ahead of time, so we rarely left the house. That year, we started a garden entirely from seed. I experimented with food based on what we had on hand. Creativity flourished in the kitchen and in our daily routines.

Social media even felt different then. People were genuinely looking to connect. My feed was filled with home workouts, shared recipes, encouragement, and community. I offered to pray for people daily, and my messages were filled with prayer requests. Communities were being built. I didn’t feel the comparison, the doom, and the gloom that I feel so often now.

I fell deeply in love with caring for my home and family again. I already valued homemaking, but now I could truly live it. Cooking, cleaning, reading the Bible with Cole, and tending to our home filled my days, and I loved every minute.

What Anchored Me Then

Looking back, there were clear rhythms that anchored me.

Slower mornings.
Starting my day slowly changed everything. I tackled my hardest task—working out—first thing, took care of myself, and filled my cup before caring for anyone else.

Fewer outside expectations.
At the time, I was in full perfectionist mode. Being home gave me permission to set unrealistic expectations down and rediscover confidence without an audience.

More intentional faith time.
Slower mornings allowed space for Scripture. Cole attended a faith-based school, and his daily assignments included worship music and Bible lessons. Our days were deeply rooted in Jesus.

Less consumption of news and noise.
Early on, I decided we weren’t watching the news. I truly believe we were never meant to consume fear-driven media all day, every day. If it wasn’t happening inside our home or close community, we didn’t carry it.

Being fully present with family.
I wasn’t distracted by “what ifs.” When my husband was at work, I missed him but didn’t spiral. When he came home, we were fully present together.

Letting go of “shoulds.”
There was nothing to live up to. No performance. No pressure. It was incredibly freeing.

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If you’ve been craving this kind of steadiness again, I share weekly reflections like this in my newsletter—gentle encouragement for real life.

What’s Crept Back In Since Then

As life resumed, so did the noise.

Busyness returned quickly, and unresolved trauma surfaced in my body in 2022, forcing me to slow down again, this time not by choice. Healing required intention, rest, and reevaluating how much I was carrying. While I’ve been mindful about not overloading my calendar, I’ve felt busyness creeping back in during recent work seasons.

Pressure still sneaks in, especially professionally. While I’ve learned to manage it better, it’s a reminder to put healthy systems in place before burnout takes hold.

Comparison hasn’t disappeared either. While my identity is firmly rooted in Jesus, I still find myself seeking approval…from peers, leadership, even loved ones. Thankfully, I’m often reminded that God isn’t asking me to be like anyone else, just faithful.

And then there’s the noise. Notifications everywhere. Ads telling us we’re sick, unsafe, or not enough. Social media that feels less curated and more chaotic. It’s exhausting, and I don’t believe we were ever meant to live this way.

Even overcommitment has made a brief return. This holiday season was full and joyful, but heavy. As much as I loved it, my soul is craving a lighter, slower pace again.

What I’m Intentionally Letting Go Of Now

As January approaches, I’m resetting our rhythms.

Overfilling the calendar.
That means overhauling our systems and routines so peace can take priority again. A full calendar doesn’t equal a full life. I’ve learned that I function best when there’s margin. Part of this reset includes intentionally adding working out back into my days. During that quieter season, movement was foundational for my mood, confidence, and overall well-being. It grounded me, helped me feel strong, and set the tone for calmer days. I don’t want to overplan my life, but I do find peace in having simple routines, meals, movement, and home projects that support the life I want to live.

Hustling for approval.
In January, I’m taking a different approach to my work…more ownership, more confidence, and less permission-seeking. I’m embracing an “ask forgiveness, not permission” mindset that allows me to trust the gifts God has given me and step forward boldly.

Carrying worry that belongs to God.
This is something I’ve practiced letting go of and will continue to place at the cross. Since I fully submitted to God, I put down my decades-long anxiety, and I’m never picking it back up again.

Saying yes out of guilt.
My “no” is allowed to be loving and firm. I can say no without any explanation.

A Faith Reflection

Matthew 6:34 says, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

This verse isn’t about ignoring reality. It’s an invitation to stay anchored in today. In 2020, whether I realized it or not, I lived fully in the present. Somewhere along the way, I picked tomorrow back up again.

Peace didn’t leave because God changed. It faded because my attention shifted.

I’m learning again that peace isn’t found through striving or control, but through daily trust.

Closing

Peace isn’t found in perfect circumstances or quiet seasons that last forever. It’s found in where we place our trust, and what we allow to shape our attention.

Looking back reminds me that peace is something I’ve known before, and something I can choose again.

What anchored you during hard seasons? Comment below to let me know!

And until next time, I’m praying for you, friend.