Shedding Season
The kids are heading back to school this week. The air is starting to shift — that first almost-imperceptible hint that summer is releasing its grip and fall is quietly moving in. The trees aren't turning yet, but they will be soon. And I'm feeling twitchy again.
Not restless-leg twitchy. Not pent-up-energy twitchy. Something different. Something deeper.
It feels like what I imagine a snake feels when it's ready to shed its skin. Or maybe — more poetically — like a butterfly beginning to push through its cocoon. That particular kind of discomfort that signals something is getting ready to change.
Maybe the season is trying to tell me something. Maybe we're all shedding something right now.
And yes — it might also be partly because I just started my period. I say that without apology, because it's true and it's relevant. Every month, our hormones shift dramatically, and those shifts don't just affect our bodies. They amplify everything. Our emotions sit closer to the surface. The things we've been carrying feel heavier. The things we've been suppressing finally find the exit.
Women carry a staggering amount — professionally, personally, physically — across a 30-day cycle that most of the world treats as invisible. So no, I'm not dismissing this feeling as just my hormones. I'm acknowledging that my hormones are probably helping me feel something that was already true. And I'm choosing to listen.
Butterfly — The Stacy Mansion, Tecumseh, MI — July 25, 2025
Roots Before Fruit
I came across a reel recently featuring Myron Golden talking about what he calls the fruit system and the root system.
He uses the image of a tree — and the way a tree grows in two directions simultaneously. The root system grows gravotropically: away from light, toward gravity, into the dark and damp and difficult. The fruit system grows phototropically: toward light, away from gravity, into the open air where the world can see it.
His point is this: it's the work you're willing to do in the dark — unseen, unglamorous, exhausting — that creates the conditions for the fruit others see in the light.
I've returned to that idea several times over the past few weeks, and each time it lands a little differently.
Because I've been doing a lot of root work lately. And the roots are tired.
Banyan Tree — Greenwell Farms, Captain Cook, HI — August 25, 2021
Tired. But Not Quitting.
I've been working hard. I've been hitting walls. I've been battling challenges that I didn't anticipate and navigating terrain I didn't fully map before I started walking it.
Like the duck I've always aspired to be — because ducks can swim, and I absolutely cannot — I look calm from the surface. Moving gracefully. Seemingly in control. But under the water? My feet are going absolutely wild.
I'm tired. Genuinely tired. But I'm not quitting.
And here's the thing: when I'm this tired, when things have felt this hard for this long — historically, that's when a breakthrough comes. The uncomfortable is growth preparing me for what's next. I've learned to trust that pattern even when it's inconvenient. Especially when it's inconvenient.
The Sounds of Waves — Myrtle Beach, SC — July 5, 2026
Giving Myself the Credit
Now — I can already hear some of you. Serena. This sounds like burnout. Maybe you just need a break.
And you're not wrong that I need some things.
I need more quiet for my brain. More rest for my body. I need to audit my boundaries and make sure they're still holding — that I'm not hemorrhaging energy in directions I haven't consciously chosen. I need to share more with my circle instead of carrying so much silently. And I need to look honestly at how I'm spending my time and make some adjustments.
I'll do all of that.
But I don't quit. That's just not how I'm built. I slow down. I tweak. I adjust. I rest when I need to rest. And then I keep moving forward, because forward is the only direction I'm interested in.
Mel Robbins said something recently that I keep returning to: "I need to give myself more credit for how hard I'm trying."
The effort matters. Even when it's invisible to everyone around you. Even when the results aren't visible yet. The trying is the evidence that you haven't given up — and that counts for more than we usually allow ourselves to believe.
I'm giving myself that credit. And I'm extending some grace, too.
The Fruit of a Year of Root Work
This past week, we launched our wedding services webpage for The Stacy Mansion.
View our wedding services and pricing →
And I want to be honest about what that represents, because on the surface it looks like a marketing asset. A nice webpage. A pretty PDF.
But it's not just that.
That page is the physical proof of an entire year of root work.
It represents the unexpected expenses we absorbed and figured out anyway. The planning and construction of our wedding arch — which required more creative problem-solving than I have words for. The permits and approvals we navigated to fully expand into outdoor events. The community we've been slowly, intentionally building. The stretching of our knowledge and experience to create offerings we're genuinely proud of. The constant primming and pruning required to keep something beautiful and functional in the middle of everything else that's happening.
And it represents the execution of two weddings — back-to-back, different sizes, different complexities — that we used as laboratories to learn, iterate, and grow.
All the kicking. All the feet going furiously underwater. Presenting something elegant at the surface.
That webpage is the fruit. A whole year of roots made it possible.
Time to Emerge
Maybe that's what's making me restless.
The readiness for more success. Or the nerves about the challenges that come with the next milestone. Most likely both — because that's usually how it works when you're building something real.
Either way, I'm convinced we're onto something. And we're not quitting.
So it's time. Time to shed what's not serving this next season. Time to tweak and adjust for what we're growing into — in business, and in life.
The skin is ready to come off. And what's underneath? I think it's going to surprise us. 🦚
"The uncomfortable is growth preparing you for what's next. I've learned to trust that pattern even when it's inconvenient. Especially when it's inconvenient." - Serena Riley
