Begin Again: What My Children Taught Me About Starting Over

Beginning again is such a simple idea — and somehow one of the most powerful.

Every day we get to begin again.
Every moment, really.

A Lesson Learned in Play

I saw this so clearly in my children the other day that it actually took my breath away.

I was sitting in our art studio writing while my two youngest were in the kitchen, building the tallest block towers in the world. Ivy’s tower fell. She’s two, so she cried a little. And then her sister Aura, who is three, said to her:

“Don’t worry, Ivy. Take a deep breath and start again.”

Ivy started again.

I stopped what I was doing and realized I was watching something profoundly human unfold in the most ordinary way.

No matter where you are in life — and no matter how old you are — you can always pause and begin again.

What made it even more magical was that the very next day, the roles were reversed. Aura’s tower fell, and this time Ivy, at two years old, told her sister to take a breath and start again.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what it means to return to yourself — to begin again without shame or urgency. Hearing my children practice it naturally, without instruction and without me even being in the room, completely undid me.

We learn this early.
Through play.
Through building.
Through watching things fall — and choosing to begin again anyway.

Beginning Again as a Life Choice

Starting again can feel scary — especially when it asks you to let go of something that looks successful from the outside.

In my twenties and thirties, I worked my way up in sales, eventually making good money — enough to build what many would call the American dream. But something didn’t feel complete.

So I gave it all up for a backpack and paintbrushes.

My partner and I traveled the world for two years before coming home, before becoming parents. When we returned, we had to start over. We weren’t the same people we had been when we left — and we didn’t want to come back and build a life that wasn’t true to what we had learned along the way.

It’s easy to ask what if questions.
What if we had stayed?
What if we had more things, more space, more certainty?

But those questions don’t matter.

We did what we did.
And now we are here — exactly where we are meant to be.

We took a chance.
We began again.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that this choice — to let go, to trust, to start over — would quietly shape the way I moved through motherhood later on.

Learning to Wash the Day Away

When Esme was a baby, we used to take nightly baths together. I would tell her we were washing away the day. The water took everything — the good and the hard — and carried it down the drain.

We went to sleep clean.
And when we woke up, we got to begin again.

At the time, it felt simple. Almost playful. But looking back, I see that I was passing on something I had learned myself — that we don’t have to carry yesterday into today.

Beginning again wasn’t just a big, dramatic life decision.
It was something small.
Something repeatable.
Something gentle.

When Beginning Again Isn’t Theoretical

A few days after the block-tower moment, I had to put this idea into practice myself — not conceptually, but physically.

The morning didn’t go as planned. The kids woke up earlier than usual. I hadn’t slept well. My workflow was gone before the day even started, and it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet.

Every little thing put me on edge. Small things felt big.

I had a brief moment alone in the bathroom. I took a deep breath and told myself, let it go.
And immediately someone burst in crying.

I was right back at the edge.

After calming the little one down, I looked at all three of my girls and said, “Babies, mommy needs five minutes to herself. I’m going to put on new clothes, take a deep breath, and release mean mommy. When I open the door, you’ll see nice mommy, okay?”

They looked at me — and went about their business.

About a minute later, I heard Aura calling for me. And then my five-year-old, Esme, said:

“Aura, just give mommy five minutes to herself.”

I am a constant work in progress. We all are.
Some days are easy. Some days I don’t even know how I made it back to my bed.

But being honest with my children when I’m struggling — and showing them small, real ways I calm myself and begin again — feels like some of the most important work I do.

Hearing my five-year-old understand what I needed, and step in to protect that space for me, was everything.

Beginning Again, Over and Over

Beginning again isn’t a one-time decision.
It’s a practice.

It’s something we learn in childhood, forget in adulthood, and are gently invited back to — again and again — through parenting, through discomfort, through days that don’t go as planned.

Sometimes beginning again looks like changing your entire life.
Sometimes it looks like taking five quiet minutes alone in your bedroom.

Either way, it starts the same way.

You take a breath.
And you begin again.