I wasn't very introspective as a child. Growing up with older parents in two contrasting yet conservative households, I often viewed the world in black and white.

It wasn’t until this past August, at 25, that I began to acknowledge my feelings and trauma.

I hope writing from time to time will help heal some of my open wounds. There are no rules or themes to this blog and I plan to write what comes to mind when it comes.

Today feels like a typical day for the first time in a while. I spent the latter half of last month in a different city, advocating for my mom in the hospital and giving "the best foot rubs in the world." As an only child, much of the responsibility for her care during recovery has fallen on me. While I wouldn't have it any other way, it's important to acknowledge the mental and physical load of being a caregiver — and the guilt that comes with feeling like you're falling behind while the rest of the world moves forward.

I’ve been here before, caregiving for my father in 2020. Back then, I was on autopilot, working 8-10 hour days and caring for him the rest of the time. I didn’t sleep, lying awake at night watching his chest rise and fall. It’s only now, with some distance, that I can reflect on that time without detaching from the world around me. I don’t share this to elicit pity but to acknowledge how far I've come — and to express gratitude for the space I now have to pause, reflect, and rest.

There’s one moment from my mom’s recovery that I must share, one that has inspired me and refuelled my desire to design residential spaces.

Just over a week ago, I felt overwhelmed at the thought of my mom being discharged, unsure about the resources available outside of a hospital setting. In hindsight, I should’ve known that the change of environment would be incredibly healing and a positive step forward in her recovery. Within days of being home, her energy and mobility improved more than during her entire stay in the hospital. I saw firsthand how the layout and lighting of her space improved her mental and physical health, bringing peace, joy, and a sense of belonging amid uncertainty.

I never would’ve guessed that I’d be in a similar position as a caregiver twice in such a short time. Yet, I’ve never felt more present, more grateful for the silver linings of this experience. Little by little, I’m learning that much of life lies in the grey area, and not everything is black and white.

Truly, Julia