After the Storm

The roof is finished. The gutters are installed. I didn’t expect it to throw my entire rhythm off. I second-guessed everything, and my partner did as well. It turns out that having the roof torn off above your head really affects you. It breaks the peace you often take for granted. Since we both work from home, it was especially stressful.

I couldn’t ignore how energetically loud it all felt. Every hammer hit, every shingle scraped loose — it wasn’t just noise; it was movement. It was release. Even though they tried to clean up, the workers left behind debris. We found bent nails, pieces of shingles, and stray packaging. The post-equinox brought torrential rains, turning a week-long project into two. Even the gutters seemed to resist completion. They left today at the sound of reverberating thunder and the skies opening up to buckets of rain.

As I listened, I realized the house was exhaling years of old energy — everything that had settled into the walls, the ceiling, and the spaces between us. Maybe we were, too.

I often teach about energetic clearing, but this time it felt different. I could sense the vibration in my chest, in my bones, as if the noise itself was asking: What old stories are you ready to let go of?

Renewal is rarely peaceful while it occurs. It’s a storm before stillness — a rearranging before calm.

When I think about it, the whole thing felt very much like a breakup. You know it needs to happen —the old structure can no longer hold—but that doesn’t make it any easier when the noise starts. Suddenly, everything familiar feels unstable. Pieces you thought were permanent begin coming loose. There’s debris everywhere: old habits, shared memories, the weight of what used to protect you.

And yet, just like a roof replacement, it’s the only way forward. The old layers must be stripped away so something stronger can take their place. The process is messy, inconvenient, and often loud. But the silence that follows? That’s where the healing begins.

After the last nail was hammered in and the rain cleared, I walked through the house and felt something shift — not just in the air, but in me. It was lighter. Freer. Maybe the house wasn’t the only thing that needed a new roof. Maybe I did too. A renewed sense of protection, trust, and faith in what holds me.

Renewal comes with noise—it’s the sound of life rearranging itself for your next chapter. The trick is to keep breathing through the mess, trusting that calm always follows. Tonight, I’ll rest beneath the new roof and bask in this quiet renewal.

Have you ever felt that, too? The storm that clears the way for something sturdier to rise? 🌧️