Coming Home to Myself: The Art of Compassionate Reframing

As I prepare for tomorrow's family brunch, I find myself caught in a familiar dance of excitement and anxiety. There's a palpable energy in the air as my husband Scott and I move through our home, putting final touches in place. This past week has been a whirlwind of preparation—from building my garage office/studio to transforming our living space with new sound systems and carefully placed pictures, each task bringing us closer to creating the perfect welcome.

We moved into this house in July, drawn by its promise of being able to host our blended family of five children. It's the perfect gathering space we'd dreamed of, and I can't help but want to show it off. Hosting runs deep in my blood—there's nothing I love more than creating experiences that bring people together.

Before our children arrive on Saturday with their partners in tow, my family of origin will be the first to cross our threshold: two siblings, their husbands, and my parents. As I anticipate their arrival, I notice something fascinating. At 57, I still find myself slipping back into my childhood role as the youngest, the rebellious one. In these family gatherings, I often become unusually quiet—something that would amuse anyone who knows my typically talkative nature. It's as if an old script begins playing: feelings of inadequacy surface, memories of past mistakes echo, and gentle reminders of my family's perception of me creep in.

Despite my best intentions to remain calm about the house preparations, I find myself caught in moments of frantic energy. It's precisely in these anxious moments with family that I'm called to practice what I teach others: the gentle arts of self-compassion and reframing.

I try to extend the same kindness to myself that I would offer a child feeling overwhelmed and anxious. I remind myself that my sisters are likely wrestling with their own narratives as they prepare for this gathering. We each carry these stories, but within them lie hidden gifts waiting to be discovered through reframing:

 When I see myself as "the rebellious one," I can recognize my gift for thinking outside the box and offering fresh perspectives that our family sometimes needs. When I fall quiet, rather than seeing withdrawal, I can appreciate my capacity for deep observation and the meaningful insights I contribute when the moment calls for them.

This practice of self-compassion and reframing isn't a singular achievement but a continuous journey—much like a meditation mantra that requires regular return and renewal. Each family gathering offers another opportunity to practice, to grow, to see ourselves and each other with newer, kinder eyes.

Looking beyond the anxious preparations, I feel deep gratitude for my siblings and parents. Hosting them alongside Scott in our new home is truly a blessing. Tomorrow, as we gather around our table, I'll continue this practice of gentle self-awareness and compassionate reframing, allowing both the challenges and the joy of family to coexist in this space we've created.