A Flash Flood Took My Home on Christmas Day — Here’s What I Learned About Myself and My Stuff

A Flash Flood Took My Home on Christmas Day — Here’s What I Learned About Myself and My Stuff

On Christmas Day, a flash flood took my home.

I won’t get into the logistics here — not because it wasn’t intense (it was), but because that’s not the part that matters most to me now.

What matters is what the experience revealed.

Because when your life gets reduced to what you can grab quickly, what you can carry, and what you can live without for a while… clarity shows up fast.

A Note on “Everything Happens for a Reason”

I know it’s cliché — and honestly, sometimes dismissive — to say everything happens for a reason. So I won’t.

But I do believe this with my whole heart: Growth requires challenge.

If there is one lesson life has taught me — the one lesson I’ve integrated more deeply than any other — it’s this:

Challenge is inevitable. Growth is not.

Growth is a choice.

And I want to choose it. Intentionally. Every single time.

Not because it’s easy or pretty — but because I’ve lived the alternative. And I know what stagnation costs.

What 2025 Asked of Me

2025 wasn’t a quiet year for me.

It was a year of choosing myself more deliberately than ever before — sometimes awkwardly, sometimes imperfectly, sometimes with my knees shaking.

It was the year I built Tidy On Your Terms into something real.

The year I wrote books, created journals, gathered reviews, built systems, registered a business, learned about insurance, bookkeeping, and taxes — all things I once believed were “not for people like me.”

It was also the year I searched, almost desperately at times, for the balance between rest and work.

Not hustle vs. burnout — but care vs. avoidance. Devotion vs. depletion.

And then the year ended by stripping everything back to the essentials, if only temporarily.

What I Learned About My Stuff

I’m a professional organizer.

And still — this experience showed me how much I’m still learning.

I saw clearly how much I’m ready to let go of next.

Not because it’s bad or wrong — but because it no longer supports the life I’m building.

I noticed how I still hold onto things:

• even when they don’t carry good memories

• even when I haven’t used them in years

• even when I know why I’m holding them

And that didn’t make me ashamed.

It made me compassionate.

Because holding on makes sense when your nervous system learned safety through “just in case.”

Letting go is a practice — not a personality trait.

And even knowing all of that… living with fewer options for a week taught me something new.

It felt better.

In a hotel room, with only what we truly needed, my mind was quieter. My son played happily with one toy. The decision fatigue disappeared.

Less didn’t feel like loss.

It felt like relief.

What I Learned About Myself (The Part I Didn’t Expect)

One thing I wasn’t prepared for this year was the grief.

This self-love and self-forgiveness journey has opened my heart in ways I never imagined — and with that openness came more pain than I’ve experienced in a long time.

It caught me off guard.

But instead of bracing against it… I let it come.

I let the sharp, piercing pain move through me.

I let the tumbleweed of anxiety sit in my gut.

I let the waves rise, crest, and fall.

And then — just as fluidly — they passed onward.

Years ago, this would have taken me six months to process. I was numb then. Closed off. Surviving.

Now, I know that when the body and mind are allowed to feel fully — deeply, authentically — emotions don’t have to fester. They don’t calcify into resentment or leak out sideways into our relationships.

They move. They complete their cycle. And here’s the truth I’ve come to accept:

An open heart means more vulnerability.

It means more grief. It means more pain.

But it also means more joy.

Those moments of pure bliss and laughter with my children? They exist because my heart is open and full.

The pain is the trade-off.

And I would take that trade — a hundred lifetimes over — if it means living fully instead of safely numb.

What I Learned About Strength

When push came to shove, I learned that I will fight — fiercely — for myself and the people I love.

That matters deeply to me, especially in the context of my long arc of people-pleasing and self-abandonment.

I learned that the “escape from the rat race” I once believed was impossible… was available all along.

It just required a kind of bravery that looks reckless from the outside and deeply aligned from the inside.

I learned more about my strengths.

I learned where I still need support.

I learned how to navigate other people’s strengths and limits with more grace.

And maybe most importantly — I saw clearly who showed up.

Why This Matters (And Why I’m Sharing It)

I’m not sharing this because everything is wrapped up neatly now. It isn’t.

But I am sharing it because I want you to know this:

Life will always move toward entropy.

Homes will get messy again.

Plans will fall apart.

Things will change.

And none of that means you’re failing.

What creates peace isn’t control — it’s trust. Trust that you can adapt. Trust that you can respond.

Trust that you can soften and return instead of starting over from scratch every time.

That’s what this year taught me.

And that’s what Tidy On Your Terms has quietly changed my life around.

Not perfection. Not minimalism. Not rigid systems.

But self-love.

Self-forgiveness.

And the kind of self-trust that holds steady — even when the ground shifts.

If 2025 was heavy for you, I hope this reminds you that meaning often arrives disguised as disruption.

And if you’re stepping into this new year feeling tender but hopeful — you’re exactly where you need to be.

Here’s to choosing growth.

Even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

🌿 About the Author

Hi, I’m Jocelyn—the heart behind Tidy On Your Terms. I help people create home systems rooted in self-love, not shame. My work blends cleaning and organizing with nervous system support, forgiveness, and flexibility—because your space should feel like peace, not pressure.

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