The Mid-Year Shift: When Grief Finally Lets Me Breathe Again

There's something about July that feels different.

Maybe it's because the calendar quietly reminds us we're halfway through another year. Maybe it's because summer is in full swing. Or maybe it's because we suddenly realize Christmas decorations will be showing up in stores in about...five minutes.

For me, though, the mid-year shift is much more personal.

June has always been my hardest month.

It's Garret's birthday. His angelversary. Father's Day. Twenty years later, those dates still carry weight. I still show up. I still work. I still answer emails, pack orders, create content, and do all the normal things life asks of me.

But if I'm honest, I don't really feel like I'm living through June.

The best way I've ever been able to describe it is that it feels like I'm swimming inside a fishbowl. I can see everything happening around me, but it all feels muffled. Heavy. Slower somehow. I move through the month, but it never feels like I'm fully present in it.

Then July arrives.

It's almost impossible to explain to someone who hasn't experienced deep grief, but there's a release. Not because I suddenly stop missing my son. That never happens.

It's more like my nervous system finally exhales.

I can breathe again.

I can think clearly again.

I can create again.

And that's where this funny overlap between grief and business begins.

While most businesses are talking about holiday planning from a purely strategic standpoint, I'm finally arriving at the place emotionally where I can even think about it.

The second half of the year is when Butterflies + Halos usually begins to grow. It's time to create new holiday cards, prepare for wholesale orders, and start dreaming about what the next season looks like.

I'll be honest...I've let some of that slide this year.

Old me would've been frustrated by that.

This version of me? Not so much.

Grief has taught me that every season doesn't have to produce at the same pace. Rest isn't failure. Slower doesn't mean I'm falling behind.

And one of the greatest gifts of owning my own business is that I get to create on my own timeline.

Maybe this year's holiday collection will have six new cards.

Maybe it'll have four.

Maybe it'll have three.

We'll all find out together.

That's the beauty of building something from the heart instead of chasing someone else's expectations.

So now I'm asking myself the same questions I love asking you...

What's next?

Should I bring back Sips of Sunshine?

Would Holiday Heartlift be something you'd love to see again?

Are there products you've been wishing Butterflies + Halos offered? Apparel? Memory keepsakes? Something completely different?

I'm listening.

Lately I've also found myself pulled back toward writing.

Not because I have to...

Because I want to.

Maybe that's another book.

Maybe it's a grief toolkit.

Maybe it's a small guide people can keep beside their bed.

Or maybe I simply keep showing up here and over on Substack, where this incredible little community continues to grow every single day. Honestly, it's become one of my favorite places on the internet. Less noise. More connection. More conversations that actually matter.

But this whole mid-year shift has me wondering something...

Does grief have seasons?

I think it does.

Not because grief gets easier according to the calendar.

It doesn't.

But our capacity changes.

Some seasons ask us simply to survive.

Others invite us to build.

Some months require us to carry memories.

Others quietly hand us back pieces of ourselves we didn't realize we'd set down.

Neither season is more important than the other.

Both are part of healing.

So if you've felt a shift lately—more energy, more clarity, more hope—or maybe you're still waiting for your own season to change, know this:

There isn't a right timeline.

There isn't a gold star for "moving on."

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply notice the season we're in and give ourselves permission to live accordingly.

As for me...

I'm grateful July has arrived.

I'm grateful to be dreaming again.

And I'm excited to see what the second half of this year holds—for Butterflies + Halos, for my writing, and for all of us walking this winding road of grief together.

I'd love to hear from you.

What does the second half of the year look like for you?