Moving Out West | Starting Over & Chronic Illness Transition | Rochambeau Home

I’m moving out West.

I’ve wanted this since I was a child, the ocean, the wide-open spaces, a life that feels entirely my own. And now, after 13 years in a home filled with memories and after the breakdown of a marriage that left so much uncertainty about our life together, it’s finally happening. I feel like I’m standing at a fork in the road, choosing a path I never imagined I would have to take. There’s no manual for starting over when the future you once pictured dissolves, especially when you’re managing chronic illness and disability.

The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared of the unknown, of being on my own, of the things I can’t predict. I’m scared of building a new life without the safety net so many people take for granted. But there’s also hope, and relief, and even a sense of freedom. All the medical care I need is concentrated in one area, adult geneticists, neuromuscular specialists, neurologists. Finally, it’s accessible, and that’s huge. And there’s the ocean. That dream I’ve held for decades.

I’ve been staying up late, trying to plan every detail, trying to make this transition feel as steady and manageable as possible. But I know I can’t plan my way out of uncertainty. Life shifts. Relationships change. Foundations crack. I’ve been estranged from my family for three years. I have some friends, but much of this next chapter will be navigated on my own. And yet, there’s something clarifying about that. I can make decisions entirely for me. I can follow my instincts. I can build a life that reflects who I am now, not who I was trying to be.

I know many of you understand what it feels like to reach a crossroads. Maybe your relationship changed in ways you never expected. Maybe the future you planned no longer exists. Maybe you’re facing health challenges that make every decision heavier. I see you. I feel you. And I want you to know it’s okay to grieve what you thought your life would be. It’s okay to feel unsteady. Taking one small step forward still counts as courage.

This move is exciting. It’s terrifying. It’s the collapse of one version of my life and the careful construction of another. It’s grief and possibility sitting side by side. I’m navigating a new life in real time. One day at a time. One decision at a time. And I’m inviting you to witness it, to share it, to find your own strength in the middle of uncertainty.

Thank you for being here. For reading, for listening, for holding space for this in-between season. And if you want to support me as I make this transition, my Moving Out West Clearance Sale is happening now — up to 60% off! I’m lightening the load before this next chapter begins — these sale items are temporary, and the shop will still be open after I relocate. Some favorites, like Pretty Little Melts, are on a temporary hiatus but can still be made for wholesale or custom orders — just reach out. Thank you!