Off Roading Through Grief and Dusty Baseboards

The elephant in the room? Grief has been driving my life for the last six years. Sometimes quietly in the passenger seat, sometimes full-on grabbing the damn wheel. And when you let grief (or fear, or autopilot) take control, you don’t glide gracefully down a smooth road. No. You find yourself off-roading through cornfields in a Subaru.

When Nick first bought his Subaru, who we lovingly call Susan, my dad said, “Careful with that thing. Put it on auto-pilot and she’ll gladly take you off the road into a cornfield.” And he wasn’t wrong. That’s exactly what I did with my life after my mom passed. I let fear take the wheel, and instead of cruising, I ended up stuck in the mud wondering, “what the f* just happened?“

My mom passed away six years ago. Two months later, the custody battle I’d been tangled in finally ended, but by then I was shell shocked. I was coming out of my second divorce and into a new relationship with Nick—the one that would become my third (and final!) marriage. On top of it all, I was trying to figure out how to blend a family. My joy flatlined. My confidence tanked. Fear drove, and I went along for the ride.

Fast forward. We moved into our new home two years ago, and I swore it was going to be a fresh start. For a while, it was. New house, new routines, new hope. But then… life. Eight years of blending a family, raising kids, and trying to hold it all together will test anyone. Somewhere along the way, I crawled into a chrysalis and stayed there longer than I meant to.

And oddly enough, what’s pulling me out isn’t some grand life event. It’s dust! Dust on the windowsill while I did dishes. Dust on the baseboards in the teen’s bathroom. Suddenly, I was transported back to when we first moved in and my realtor gushed about how “well-maintained” the house was. **Quick side note: Sara DelSignore is a realty angel sent from Howard Hanna Heaven. If you need one, please, please, please call her! Anyhow, back then I had routines, systems, cleaning days and chill days neatly planned around Evelyn’s sleeping schedule. I was crushing it. These days? I can’t remember the last time I deep-cleaned my own bathroom, let alone washed my own hair!

But here’s where the metaphor smacks me in the face: maintaining a house is exactly like maintaining yourself. At first, everything is sparkling and full of good intentions. But then life happens. Corners get neglected. Dust settles. And before you know it, you’re standing in your own bathroom thinking, “when did I stop taking care of this shit?“

The old me would’ve spiraled. Bad Bridgette, bad, bad, bad! But this time, I just wrote. Because maybe the point isn’t keeping everything spotless. Maybe it’s giving yourself permission to do a deep clean now and then. A reset. For your house, and for yourself.

Of course, my brain still spirals. Even now I’m thinking: the bathroom needs scrubbing, the laundry needs folding, the dogs need out, the lawn needs mowing, and oh right—the endless dog poop piles. (Nick probably did it already, but have I told him how much I appreciate him? Add that to the list.)

But the breakthrough is this: the list will always be endless. What makes me feel alive isn’t a gleaming floor. It’s sitting at the park, talking to a new friend while Evelyn makes her own friends. It’s coming home, tucking her in, and writing. Even if it’s just this messy, honest, unfiltered shit.

Someone once said I wasn’t a “real parent” because I don’t contribute financially. But you know what I contribute? Time. Patience. Kindness. Love. Wisdom. Raising daughters into decent, kind, loving humans is work. Into strong women who will have their own identity and know their own worth. I don’t get paid, but I show up every damn day. My mom taught me that. I’m not doing her any justice by burying myself in grief.