When I don’t allow myself the time to rest, I notice that frustration and “spikiness” building up inside, like I’m a cute little puffer fish that’s been pushed to her limits. Before I know it, I erupt into self-defense and lose touch with my real self.

“I feel reconnected when I’m digging up a handful of soil to pot a new houseplant, letting the afternoon sun warm my face, biting into a strawberry that’s still sun-warmed, climbing into clean bedsheets, or getting lost in fiction, music, or poetry.”

The subsequent breakdown looks like this: I stop taking care of myself, stop nourishing my body, stop tending to my apartment and my pets in the way they deserve, and stop pursuing creative and fulfilling hobbies. It becomes more difficult for me to listen to and accept counterpoints in conflict, especially with my partner, and instead I focus on being right than really listening to the issues at hand.

Yet, I am reconnected when I’m digging up a handful of soil to pot a new houseplant, letting the afternoon sun warm my face, biting into a strawberry that’s still sun-warmed, climbing into clean bedsheets, or getting lost in fiction, music, or poetry. These softer moments, the ones that “don’t matter” in the same way that we perceive actionable conversations and profitable progress to matter, are actually essential to our balance as humans. I argue that these moments are the feminine energy we can call on to balance the move-forward-at-any-cost energy of the masculine.

Lately, I’ve lived too deeply in my masculine and neglected the feminine. Or, to say it without the gendered language, I’ve pushed too far into the yang without allowing myself to properly embrace the yin. And both are foundational to our lives. Regardless of our gender, sexuality, or identity — the yin, or the feminine energy, however you put it, is not just for women. We can all embrace these dual energies to arrive at our truest self.

“I’ve pushed too far into the yang without allowing myself to properly embrace the yin. And both are foundational to our lives.”

What is feminine energy and who is it for?

I view feminine energy as the other side of production: Instead of focusing on output, this energy invites us to consider the inputs that are creating the ebbs and flows in our lives. Feminine energy, like the moon, is steadfast, essential, long-term, guiding, thought-provoking, life-sustaining, and always present, no matter what phase it’s in. When you consider that in relation to the sun, which is equally essential and steadfast yet alternatively short term, illuminating, productive, and life-generating, you have an idea of what I mean when I talk about these two energies: Feminine and masculine, moon and sun. One does not exist without the other, and all the stages of the spectrum in between.

But why focus on the “feminine” when I argue we should look to find a balance that’s unique to each of us?

We all hold a balance of energies, and sometimes the softer, quieter energy goes less noticed than a loud, proactive, productive, and profit-driven energy. It’s the difference between taking a walk in a park and driving down the 405 in LA. One is non-linear movement for enjoyment, the other is progress despite the pain (and the dreaded waste of gas). Again, both valid and important energies, but it’s easy for the traffic to drown out those sweet moments of stillness that aren’t about pursuing results.

Importantly, feminine energy isn’t limited by gender or identity. I believe it’s the essential counterpoint to busyness; it’s about receptivity, creativity, intuition, nurturing, and cyclical living. We all deserve to make space for it; doing so doesn’t have to mean rejecting the more “masculine” energies most of us spend a lot of time with.

Because of the stigmas and oppression that femininity has faced in the patriarchal system, you might feel like embracing feminine energy invites in submissiveness and relinquishes power, making us smaller. I don’t believe that. It’s not about shrinking into a box. Instead, feminine energy has always felt, to me, like something that wants to expand and diffuse through every part of my life, bringing wholeness wherever it goes.

Ultimately, when I get too caught up in binary “feminine vs masculine” rhetoric, I try to remember all the ways these energies present in the world: Sun vs moon, sugar vs salt, creating vs consuming, music vs silence, water vs land. Neither exists in a vacuum; each, as Mary Oliver writes, “has its place in the family of things.” Feminine and masculine are both solitary and complementary — and both are needed.

“Sun vs moon, sugar vs salt, creating vs consuming, music vs silence, water vs land. Neither exists in a vacuum; each, as Mary Oliver writes, ‘has its place in the family of things.’ Feminine and masculine are both solitary and complementary — and both are needed.”

How do we know we’re out of balance?

When we aren’t balanced in the ways that work for us, our lives start to feel chaotic and stressful. To quote my own mother: “If you feel like something is missing, then it probably is.” So, how do you know if — and what — you’re missing out on?

In my experience, the most obvious sign of imbalance is clutter: A cluttered mind, home, news feed, or to-do list can indicate that things are out of balance. That doesn’t mean we’re failing, it just means that there’s a need for more rest, or even more activity. This looks different for all of us; I like to think that each of us has our own “formula” for balance, and that ratio changes over time.

“Balancing our yin and yang, our feminine and masculine, means we aren’t ambivalent about the world’s pain, nor are we so outraged that action is impossible.”

Personally, I notice how anger or other outbursts of emotion beyond my control might be a sign of imbalance. Conversely, ambivalence, or feeling like nothing matters, can also be a signal. Isolation and insignificance are clues too: either being too solitary, or feeling lost in the world’s noise. Balancing our yin and yang, our feminine and masculine, means we aren’t ambivalent about the world’s pain, nor are we so outraged that action is impossible. The balance between the two finds us in a space of radical compassion, where we work to soothe the pains of the world, without neglecting our own individual griefs and needs.

How to invite more feminine energy into your life

I’m not going to tell you to put on a flowy dress, pink lipstick, and dance to Taylor Swift, unless that genuinely feels joyful. When it comes to actually embracing feminine energy, it’s more about engaging with your own softness and presence in life. Reconnecting to feminine energy is an ongoing experiment; it’s not prescriptive or standardized, so I’ll share what works for me in hopes it’ll inspire your own practices.

When I’m feeling disconnected, I love to indulge in sonder by recognizing that while I am full and complex, so is every person around me. I do this during solo dates, while gazing out the window, or simply pausing in conversation to wonder: “Look at that person feeding the birds. I wonder what brought them here today?” Fierce and solitary individualism feels more masculine to me; community, connection, and empathy help me feel my feminine energy more deeply.

Or, I step outside and lose myself in nature, sometimes for a whole weekend in hot springs, but often just by slipping off my sandals and walking through grass, or inhaling jasmine on a short walk. If nature is far away, I listen to nature sounds, buy and care for a new plant, or take a shower with fragrant essential oils; engaging my senses in these ways always helps bring me back to that sacred balance.

Creativity helps, too! I make time for tactile, offline art like watercolor, crochet, writing, singing, or playing an instrument. I don’t do these things for profit or force my skill improvement, simply doing them for pleasure’s sake. And, when I consume art by visiting museums, attending lectures or theater, I always carry a burst of feminine energy with me afterward.

“Some of my favorites rituals are savoring foods fresh from the earth, pulling tarot cards, or spending time in prayer (whatever that looks like for you.)”

And, of course, with the resurgence of witchcraft on social media, I acknowledge how powerful rituals can be in reconnecting ourselves with feminine energy and bringing ourselves into balance. Some of my favorites are savoring foods fresh from the earth like herbs and berries, pulling tarot cards, or spending time in prayer, whatever that looks like for you. Practicing witchcraft, despite the fears and stigmas around it, is a reminder of how women’s intuition and feminine energy are powerful and subversive, even in the face of violent persecution.

Other things I return to when I feel my energies are out of balance:

• Meditative movement (like yoga, stretching, or slow dance)
  
• Boundary setting and conscious rest
  
• Marking transitions (lighting a candle, changing clothes, curating playlists)
  
• Nurturing community by writing letters, participating in gentle activism, and organizing group rituals
  

Why does this balance matter?

For me, nurturing feminine energy is about nurturing nuance. In a world of “hot takes” and certainty, we deserve both objectivity and subjectivity — a balance of facts and feelings — to foster real growth and understanding. Both are needed if we want a more compassionate and honest world.

This is a personal journey. It’s not about checking boxes or following a script; your connection with feminine energy is yours alone. Consider this a gentle invitation to notice what feels unbalanced, whether it’s physical, emotional, spiritual, or something else, and explore what might lie on the other end.

Whether you find that connection through ritual, care routines, wild walks, or a single moment of mindful rest, you deserve every part of your wholeness. As we sit now on the cusp of another seasonal change, I’ll sit in the sunshine, light a candle as dusk falls, and remember: Feminine and masculine aren’t just sun and moon — there’s so much magic in every sunset and moonrise, and plenty of space in between to be your truest self.

Emily McGowan is the Editorial Director at The Good Trade. She studied Creative Writing and Business at Indiana University, and has over ten years of experience as a writer and editor in sustainability and lifestyle spaces. Since 2017, she’s been discovering and reviewing the top sustainable home, fashion, beauty, and wellness products so readers can make their most informed decisions. Her editorial work has been recognized by major publications like The New York Times and BBC Worklife. You can usually find her in her colorful Los Angeles apartment journaling, playing with her cat, or crafting. Say hi on Instagram or follow along with her Substack, Pinky Promise.

The post How To Get In Touch With Your Feminine Energy appeared first on The Good Trade.

We had been too old for that, maybe. But we had put it on our summer bucket lists. So we had to do it. That was the last summer I had made a bucket list, wanting to commemorate my final summer before starting high school. I remember it in brief flashes of equally juvenile adventures: Throwing water balloons, face painting, rom-com marathons, and staying up to watch the sunrise.

“Lately, I felt as though my summers have faded into one brief blur of hundred-degree weather and promises to make the most of it that never come to fruition.”

While I still consider myself to be a summer girl, I realized in that moment that none of them have been as vivid as that one. And lately, I felt as though my summers have faded into one brief blur of hundred-degree weather and promises to make the most of it that never come to fruition. In the past few years, I haven’t taken summer as seriously as I did those years I was making bucket lists. As a freelancer, I even found myself working on my vacations — the pictures of me in Europe or beside pools in Long Island were always ruined by my bulky laptop in my tote bag or the sight of me hunched over by the pool with everyone else inside of it.

As I’ve gotten older, summer has become an abstract concept rather than something to savor. Instead of embracing the season and all the things I love about it, I make vague promises to enjoy it, but spend every day pulled away by responsibilities and distractions. This year, I decided I wanted to be intentional about the summer I wanted to have — so I took drastic measures. I made a summer bucket list.

The case for making a summer bucket list

Making a summer bucket list is more than a nod to nostalgia. Thanks to my Capricorn placements, I make lists for everything. And I knew that to take my summer seriously, I wanted to approach it with the same tenacity I approach the rest of my life. Like scheduling fun and rest into your daily calendar, I was determined to schedule time to enjoy my summer.

“Research supports this: The best way to achieve your goals is to write them down, make a plan, and get your support system on board.”

The research supports this: The best way to achieve your goals is to write them down, make a plan, and get your support system on board. Therefore, instead of setting an abstract goal to be more present or promising myself to log off more without making a plan to do so, I decided to turn to the tried-and-true method of creating a bucket list.

I wasn’t the only one who undertook this endeavor this summer. The idea came from my own reminiscing, but was reinforced by multiple Substack articles and social media posts about people I admire undertaking a similar mission. If it was the summer of anklets and flip flops, it was also the summer of bucket lists. Surrounded by an echo chamber of support and enlisting friends to join me on this whimsical mission, I was even more motivated to make a bucket list and tick off as many boxes as possible.

To make the most of summer, I split my bucket list into three sections:

• Easy wins: These were things I could do with minimal effort, but often neglected due to a busy schedule or because they weren’t my priorities. I wanted to make sure that even when I wasn’t embarking on flashy adventures, I was making the most of summer by doing the little things to make it special. These included going to my favorite workout classes with friends, trying new coffee shops and studios, dining al fresco, having a pool day or a picnic in the park, and hosting friends at my apartment for a movie night.
• Adventures: These were things that took a little more planning, a little more effort, and often required friends to come along. Some of these were things I’d done before and wanted to try again, others were brand new experiences. They’re the typical “bucket list” experiences: Things that come with a lot of pictures and memories, but take a little push to plan. And I wanted to lean into them. They included things like taking surf and tennis lessons, attending a pool party or a barbecue, going to karaoke with a big group, going to an outdoor movie, taking a class in something, and more.
• Tourist vibes: My third category was strategic. I knew I would be traveling to Copenhagen and London with friends this summer, as well as taking visitors around my home city of Los Angeles. I wanted to plan for my biggest bucket list items in each of the cities I was travelling to — then also keep that same energy at home and lean into being a tourist in my own city. In the cities I was visiting, I picked out the museums, restaurants, and activities I wanted to try, then I did the same for Los Angeles, making reservations at restaurants I’d been meaning to try, booking architecture tours, exploring new neighborhoods, and going to my favorite museums — even if they were a little out of the way.

Just writing down the things I wanted to do made one thing obvious: Most of them were about connecting with friends and experiencing culture. And a lot of them were pretty achievable. Looking at the list in front of me, I realized what I really missed about summer was the permission to slow down and make time for the things and people I love. I didn’t want to skydive or explore uncharted terrain. I mostly just wanted to hang out with my friends and do things that spark inspiration, instead of hunching over my laptop.

With my intentions set and my bucket list in front of me, I decided that even if I didn’t check off every box, I wanted to take the mentality of intentionality, connection, and inspiration with me in everything I did. And with that in mind, I charged into summer with a plan.

How to actually do the things on your bucket list

Like I said, I have Capricorn placements, so I was very strategic about committing to the items on my bucket list. While I wanted to leave room for spontaneity, I know how quickly you look up from your laptop to find chilly weather and earlier nights at your door. So, the first thing I did after making my bucket list was look at my calendar and slot in each of my activities.

“The first thing I did after making my bucket list was look at my calendar and slot in each of my activities.”

In the spirit of planning for my summer the same way I plan for vacations, I looked at reservations I could book in advance. I checked the social media of my favorite LA restaurants to check for special summer events and pop-ups — a waffle pop-up at my favorite brunch spot, a special seasonal Corn Matcha Latte at a local coffee shop. I checked the dates of the museum exhibits and book readings. And I made sure to text friends to ask about their availability so we could get plans on the books — because one thing about adult friendships is you’ll play tag forever if you don’t make a plan. 

What I found most motivating was momentum. The very next day after making my bucket list, I checked off the first item: Do an architectural tour in Los Angeles. Architectural tours of the Barragan houses are always my favorite parts of visiting Mexico City, so I decided to replicate that experience in Los Angeles, which is famed for its unique and historic architecture. After scribbling at my desk all night making my bucket list, I woke up early the next morning to visit the Neutra VDL House in Silver Lake. I’d passed it all the time, but never taken the time to tour. Though I almost didn’t drag myself out of bed, it was so worth it. The tour itself was invigorating, but even more so was being surrounded by tourists, people who were visiting my city and didn’t take the magic for granted.

Getting summer started early with that burst of inspiration kept me going, even through the stressful seasons. It got me to look up from my laptop and go to a museum on the opposite side of time that ended up being one of my favorite moments of the summer. It got me to say yes to invitations to parties where I didn’t know many people and left with new friends. It got me to wake up earlier to meet friends for workout classes, and go out at night to spend the day with friends and not with my laptop.

I found that interspersing my easy wins with my big adventures gave me something to look forward to every week without tiring me out or making my bucket list feel like an obligation. One day I went to a new coffee shop alone, the next I wrangled together a big group of friends to do karaoke at my local dive bar. Every day felt different. So my summer felt longer than it had in years.

“I found that interspersing my easy wins with my big adventures gave me something to look forward to every week without tiring me out or making my bucket list feel like an obligation.”

After dedicating time to having an intentional summer, I realized that the reason I love the season so much isn’t necessarily just because of the weather (though that is part of it), it’s because it’s the season I spend most time devoted to the people and things I love. Though most of us don’t have the luxury of summer vacation anymore, my bucket list reflected my desire to set aside my responsibilities (not abandon them completely), and get back in touch with the playfulness and lightness that defines who I am at my best.

Now, as fall falls upon us, I am resolving to treat this season with the same intentionality. I’ve decided to lean into the feeling of back-to-school season just like I leaned into the memory of summer vacation. I’m making reading lists, blocking out time for cozy hobbies, and making a fall bucket list that includes things like writing letters, having a hot chocolate night at home with friends, and embracing the dark academia vibes at museums and libraries.

After a summer embracing whimsy, I am determined to keep in touch with my inner child through every season — the girl who was excited for the possibility of every day and not deflated by the monotony of routine, the girl who looked for creativity and inspiration everywhere, the girl who rolled down hills for fun.

Langa Chinyoka is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She is a writer and strategist based in Los Angeles.

The post I Made A Summer Bucket List For My Inner Child, Here’s How It Went appeared first on The Good Trade.

Humans have long celebrated and even planned their lives around the phases of the moon. Without modern electricity, a full moon meant you could work or gather longer into the evening thanks to its benevolent glow. Nowadays, it’s much easier to sequester ourselves from the natural world. We huddle around our television screens like the hearth of a fire and let the days slide by in a flurry of to-do lists and chores. A full moon is a chance to slow down, reflect, and remind ourselves that we do not exist separately from the universe; we are a part of it.

“A full moon is a chance to slow down, reflect, and remind ourselves that we do not exist separately from the universe; we are a part of it.”

There are (usually) 12 full moons a year, three of which will occur in autumn. In the guide below, we’ll explore what makes these autumn full moons especially potent, the historical significance of each moon, and how you can channel its unique energy for self-care and celebration. 🌝 

(Even more moon-curious? Learn how your menstrual cycle can align with the moon phases, or how to set intentions during the next supermoon on October 6, 2025.)

What’s the significance of the full moon?

For thousands of years, the moon has swayed human life. Full moons have historically marked time via lunar calendars, which were vital for both agriculture and hunting. It is believed that the first of these calendars was developed some 30,000 years ago, when ancient people would track each full moon by marking it on animal bones.

“Throughout folklore, a full moon has long been linked to fertility, divinity, emotions, and transformation.”

The moon’s gravitational pull also influences tides, leading to the widespread (though scientifically inconclusive) belief that it affects human behavior and health. Throughout folklore, a full moon has long been linked to fertility, divinity, emotions, and transformation.

Across continents and centuries, the story is the same: When the moon is full, people gather. Witches were said to commune and cast spells under the full moon. Ancient Egyptians used full moon rituals to seek spiritual clarity. Celtic practitioners gathered for storytelling, dances, and bonfires. People use the full moon to feast, pray, dance, and connect, all in search of that magical energy that turns the oceans and lights the night.

The full moons of autumn

In autumn, there are three full moons. Thanks to centuries of moon lovers before us, each full moon has a poetic and seasonally indicative name. Many of these names were coined by Indigenous tribes centuries ago, though some are Celtic or European in origin. These names speak to what is ripening, what is needed, and what is sacred in that month.

“The full moons of fall are especially potent because they carry the weight of transition.”

The full moons of fall are especially potent because they carry the weight of transition.

“Unlike the energetic growth of spring or the high vitality of summer, autumn full moons reflect a turning point,” says Janet Rae Orth, a Tucson-based Intuitive Life Coach & Clairvoyant. “They mark the gathering in, endings that feed beginnings, of the conscious shift from outward expansion to inward reflection.”

September: The Corn Moon 

In September, we have the Corn Moon. During this period, crops have ripened and are ready for harvest. This signals a season of abundance and gratitude. As we begin the transition into fall, this moon inspires us to gather all we can of summer’s magic before the Earth grows quiet, whether that’s food, resources, or days spent soaking up the sun.

In 2025, the Full Corn Moon rises on Sunday, September 7. 

October: The Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon is the full moon that’s closest to the Fall Equinox. In 2025, this comes in October. “The Harvest Moon is special in that it rises immediately after sunset for several nights in a row, giving extended hours of moonlight, brighter and more prolonged than any other full moon of the year,” explains Orth. “Historically, this extra light allowed farmers to harvest their crops well into the night, making it the quintessential ‘harvest’ moon.”

In 2025, the Full Harvest Moon rises on Monday, October 6. This special lunation is a time for gathering, celebration, feasting, and preparing for the colder months. It’s also going to be a supermoon this year!

November: The Beaver Moon

In November, the Beaver Moon marks a time of rest and inner reflection. As the winter slowly begins to take hold, there is one final month of essential hunting. Other names for the November moon speak to the early onsets of winter: First Snow Moon, Little Winter Moon, etc.

In 2025, the Full Beaver Moon rises on Wednesday, November 5. This moon signals the final preparations before winter. It reflects our instinct to turn inward, conserve energy, and prepare for the long nights ahead.

Full moon rituals for this fall

Full moons in the spring and summer often signal growth, fertility, and outward expansion. They align with long days, abundant crops, and the joy of movement. But the full moons of autumn invite us inward, calling us to slow down, reflect, and tend to the quiet work of the spirit. 

“The full moons of autumn invite us inward, calling us to slow down, reflect, and tend to the quiet work of the spirit.”

I selected the rituals below specifically for the full moons of autumn. To make the most of your full moon ritual, start with a few moments of meditation before anything. Take a moment to close your eyes, deepen your breath, and tap into what this season means for you, how it’s manifesting for you in this moment, and why you chose the practice you did.

Afterward, take a few moments to journal on your experience and how it made you feel.

Attend a local fair or community gathering

Full moons were often celebrated in community — a far cry from the shrouded, mysterious air we sometimes give them today. During early fall, these communal celebrations are abundant. County fairs, farmers’ markets, and other community festivals are a wonderful way to honor the harvest spirit. Get together with friends or your partner and load up on candied apples, popcorn, and lemonade under the hazy September sun. Allow yourself to be fully present with those around you and prioritize joy. 

Make a summer scrapbook

Use the final breaths of summer to catch up on everything you’ve done this season. Odds are, it’s a lot more than you think! You could make this low-fuss by simply looking back through your photos, perhaps reminiscing with your friends or partner over a glass of wine. If you’re feeling more crafty, print out some of your favorite images, paste them in a journal or scrapbook, and take a moment to write about your experiences and what you’re grateful for. If you set intentions at the beginning of the year, this is a great time to look back and see how far you’ve come in achieving your goals. 

Make moon water

This ancient ritual turned TikTok trend is a moon magic fan-favorite. It’s particularly appealing for autumn, as it allows us to harness the festive spirit of harvest season and carry it with us in the challenging winter months.

To make moon water, fill a clean container with spring water or filtered tap water. Glass mason jars are a great option, but a sterling silver container is more traditional, associated with the moon, and is believed to enhance energy collection. To honor the harvest, you could also add some corresponding plants like sage, chamomile, or sunflowers. At night, place your water in a spot where it’ll be directly exposed to the moonlight. When you wake, make sure to retrieve it early in the morning.

For our purposes here, I suggest transferring your moon water to a small mist bottle. Add some essential oils of frankincense, neroli, or bergamot, and maybe even a few small crystals. You now have a lovely room or body spray to help you reconnect to the abundance of the harvest season whenever you need it. 

Host a Harvest Moon feast

In traditional Harvest Moon fashion, you could get together with friends and loved ones for a special feast. Serve seasonal food and produce like pumpkin soup, fresh berries, apple pie, or a harvest salad. Gather under dusk and share your meal over fond memories of the past year and the bounty of a plentiful Earth. End with a special bonfire, perhaps inviting everyone to write down one thing they’d like to release to the full moon, and toss it into the fire.

Connect with your ancestors

Autumn is a time of deep connection with the spirit world and our ancestors. Samhain (the traditional Pagan celebration that inspires Halloween) is all about honoring those who have come before us. This coincides beautifully with our Beaver Moon.

In practice, this can be a more intensive experience, like creating an altar to honor lost loved ones or working through past family grievances. Both are lofty but noteworthy endeavors. Alternatively, this can also be a much more straightforward, lighthearted practice. Take a day to spend quality time with family, prompting them to share childhood stories and cherished memories. This simple act of communal storytelling can be incredibly healing and bonding.

Shadow work

Shadow work refers to the process of bringing awareness to the parts of ourselves we tend to keep hidden. This “shadow” can include fears, memories, emotions, learned behaviors, and limiting beliefs formed from past experiences. These are the things we may not consciously acknowledge, but can affect our lives in powerful ways. The meaning of shadow work is to recognize these inner elements and work with them compassionately, ultimately helping us to lead more authentic and empowered lives.

Starting shadow work can be intimidating, but journaling on a few reflective questions can help guide the journey. “What emotions or memories am I resisting?” “What beliefs do I hold about myself that I might be afraid to let go of?” “What habits or patterns do I want to break but feel stuck in?” 🌝

Are you planning to celebrate the full moons this fall? Let us know in the comments what rituals and practices you’re looking forward to.

Sierra Vandervort is a writer and yoga teacher based in Portland, Oregon. When she’s not writing about wellness, culture, or travel, you can find her at a concert, reading a good book, or hiking in the beautiful PNW. Say hi on Instagram or Substack!

The post How To Create A Full Moon Ritual This Fall appeared first on The Good Trade.

“This year is a big one for our family… And we planned absolutely nothing — no vacation, party, or elaborate gifts to commemorate any of it.”

Every time someone asks after our plans, I find myself feeling defensive and a little guilty. If they seem disappointed, I feel almost responsible for it; if they start trying to sell me on how important it is to mark these occasions, I feel anxiety grip my gut in a vice.

This is a year of recovery for our family — a gentle, slow re-entry into aspects of our lives we had abandoned when our daughter’s medical diagnosis upended our world. We can’t really afford to spend any more resources on much right now. Which is okay! I know that trying to find the emotional bandwidth and the money to throw at a whole big thing would feel more stressful than it’s worth. I’d rather go big next year, or whenever the prospect seems exciting instead of exhausting.

And yet even with this intellectual clarity, some deeply rooted, nagging sense that I’m missing out and doing things wrong continues to creep into my thoughts. It only takes 30 seconds of scrolling on my phone to remember exactly why.

Go big (or else)

It’s no secret that social media has been a bit of a mixed bag for us as a society. While community-building, education, and resources are much more accessible, it’s also a lot easier to internalize a standard of living that isn’t really based in real life at all, but in the performative fever dream of personal branding.

Having professional-grade photography and editing tools at our fingertips raised the ante of not just how we were showing off our lives, but also what we were doing in them. Why post a still photo to announce your engagement when you can make a two-minute reel the same quality of most contemporary music videos? And why stop at a simple pregnancy photoshoot when you can have a gender reveal party with a 200 person guest list and pyrotechnics? 

“Having professional-grade photography and editing tools at our fingertips raised the ante of not just how we were showing off our lives, but also what we were doing in them.”

It’s fun and cool to see our lives as glamorous and beautiful, as if in the pivotal scene of a high budget blockbuster, and we get to be the stars. I get it! And also: I feel like the more common it is to see certain types of extravagance online in our peers’ lives, the more likely we are to feel like we’re failing when we can’t/won’t do the same.

I know I’m not the only one affected by this as the school year begins. What used to be post after post of kids standing in front of a chalkboard sign is being slowly replaced by identical lawn-sized displays of their names and grades, bedecked with balloon arches in tasteful pastels. I’m struck by how quickly they all begin to blur together. And the more I see, the more I notice how strained these smiles appear, how fixed and blank their eyes look, as though they’d been standing in front of a camera for far too long, striking the pose they’ve been trained to perform every time they see their parents’ phone. 

The little Carrie Bradshaw voice in my head can’t help but wonder: Who is this all for? 

Is going as big and over-the-top as possible for every occasion the only way to make it feel special? Or does following such a template actually do the opposite, voiding the moment of meaning altogether?

Where did you learn to want that?

Let me be clear: I am not anti-balloon arch. What I want to push back on isn’t the celebrating itself, but the particular pressure many of us feel about what we are “supposed” to do to celebrate certain events in our lives — particularly when the standard is generic and expensive. 

“The idea of being lauded far and wide simply for existing is a concept I am 100% on board with.”

In fact, let me go ahead and make my confession: I am a bit of a birthday princess, one of those people who has claimed October as My Birthday Month. The idea of being lauded far and wide simply for existing is a concept I am 100% on board with. Just ask my husband, who once seriously thought that taking me to a pretty new trail for a run at sunset was how I’d want to celebrate my birthday. (Reader, it was not.)

In some ways, my partner and I are aligned in our sense of occasion: We can both turn a random afternoon into something intimate and memorable with just a bottle of wine and a wedge of cheese. But when it comes to the big events, my husband and I couldn’t be more different. What he thinks of as “extra” I would call “the bare minimum.” While I want to be fěted in very specific and personalized ways, he is happy with a grocery store cake and some time to himself.

“When it comes to the big events, my husband and I couldn’t be more different. What he thinks of as ‘extra’ I would call ‘the bare minimum.'”

Deciding how we want to approach celebrations as a family was much more complicated than either one of us could have anticipated — in fact, I don’t think we’d even realized it was something we’d have to work out at all before becoming parents. Not only are we constantly absorbing the rapid trends of escalating social expectations, we’re also building on internalized templates we’ve always considered “normal” — until someone else’s version challenges it. In fact, it wasn’t until we found ourselves in an argument at 1am on Christmas Eve about whether or not Santa wraps presents (I will die on the hill that he does not!) that it first came to our attention that what makes a holiday feel right to each of us is pretty specific — and not exactly the same.

We’re all familiar with the Wedding Industrial Complex — many of us probably fell victim to it ourselves. There’s nothing inherently wrong with marking special occasions with traditional trappings if you have the means and the desire to do so. Bridal bouquets, bridesmaid dresses, groom cakes, and garter tosses might be the things that make the event feel like a “real wedding” for some people; while for others, these might sound as an overly complicated way of setting their money on fire.

“What ultimately matters is what feels meaningful to you, personally.”

What ultimately matters is what feels meaningful to you, personally. The tricky thing is when the explicit and implicit ways we’ve been told we’re supposed to want certain things crowd out our true desires. It’s well worth it to spend the time asking yourself what you really want and not just what you’ve been taught to want.

Which is why you won’t find the answer on Pinterest, Instagram, or TikTok. But you might find some of it in a memory. 

When it felt special

When I was growing up, my mom worked hard to make sure that we felt celebrated. Birthdays meant waking up to a breakfast table decorated with cards and streamers, our favorite foods loaded high on our plate. On Christmas eve we always got to open one gift (a new set of cozy pajamas, well before this was the cultural norm), and on Valentine’s Day we always had a card and sweets with our breakfast. Every major milestone (first day of school, graduation, shows or performances) was honored with a special shopping trip for a brand new outfit to commemorate it. 

“My mom did these things to show us she loved us, and she did so by honoring the people we were at those moments in time.”

My mom did these things to show us she loved us, and she did so by honoring the people we were at those moments in time. She rarely documented it — there were no smartphones or social media, and the family camera was often in need of batteries or lost in some unknown location. But even without the photos, I remember everything.

Take my 18th birthday: I wore a sage green linen shirt my mom and I had bought the week before. It had gauzy, princess sleeves that fluttered around my wrists, and a double V-neck with a wide satin trim that felt luxurious and sophisticated against my skin. I remember the scent of the white chocolate mocha and the warm pumpkin scone she’d secured in the early hours of the morning before I woke up, wafting up through the house. It was still dark when I came down, and the breakfast table glowed with hot pink decorations: envelopes in carnation, bubblegum, and flamingo spread out in a fan; mylar balloons bobbing on ribbons; a spray of roses in a crystal vase. I remember driving to school with the windows down, already feeling like a queen.

“It was a private act of love and care, something my mom did just for me. It was, as the kids say, low-key: a moment of celebration that was personalized and sincere.”

This is the sort of sensory, detailed memory that no Instagram photo could’ve preserved for me. It was a private act of love and care, something my mom did just for me. It was, as the kids say, low-key: a moment of celebration that was personalized and sincere.

And for these reasons I wonder if it wasn’t significantly more meaningful than some expensive blow out party or display that seem designed more for the ‘gram than for the person it was meant to honor. 

More than twenty birthdays later, I remember few of the big parties and the surprise trips or expensive gifts better than I remember that morning of my 18th birthday, when I felt like the luckiest girl in the world — and all because of a new shirt, a scone, and a decorated breakfast table.

Proof of love

My husband does not post anything personal online. While he doesn’t mind me writing about our life, he keeps a hard boundary about what he puts in his socials. I would love nothing more than a full carousel of golden-hour candids he’s secretly taken of me over the years with a long caption professing his love and admiration for me every birthday but, alas, it’s not in the cards. I won’t lie: This used to bother me. But one of the benefits of spending a lifetime with someone is that you learn to understand better when to assign real meaning to something, and when to change your metrics.

“I’d love a public declaration of love, but only because I’m sort of a ham and love a spotlight — and that’s just not more important than my husband’s desire for privacy.”

I’d love a public declaration of love, but only because I’m sort of a ham and love a spotlight — and that’s just not more important than my husband’s desire for privacy. Introverts are gonna introvert, after all. I love my particular introvert, and I’m confident he loves me — even if he doesn’t put the proof on the internet.

Sometimes yielding to the pressure of social media can muddy the waters of not only what we want, but also who we’re doing it for in the first place. We can forget how the quiet joy of a birthday breakfast at our own kitchen table can long outlast the little hits of dopamine we get when a photo of it gets a new like.

It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with a big Instagram moment — but it’s essential to remind yourself that by not having one, you aren’t missing out. Your life, your celebrations, your milestones, are not measured by such flimsy standards. You can, as Brooke Hampton says, “Admire other people’s beauty and talent without questioning your own. Let people live their truth without it threatening yours.”

Quiet, gentle, joyful

Sometimes timing in life is off — I’m having a milestone birthday in a year when going to our neighborhood movie theater feels as rare and exciting as a going to Paris. And though we’d long wished to celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary in a luxury boutique hotel in Spain, I know I’d spend the entire time sick with worry about our kid, glued to the app that monitors her blood sugar. And truthfully, I don’t even have the bandwidth to feel sad about it — we are not in a season where travel is easy and resources are abundant. It’s okay. The thing about seasons is that they change; I don’t want to miss the sweetness of this season longing for another one.

“The thing about seasons is that they change; I don’t want to miss the sweetness of this season longing for another one.”

This season is quiet, but also good: We have a rhythm to our days with room to flex and pivot if our child’s care needs us to. We are cooking again, introducing our daughter to the pleasures of trying new foods and making a regular weeknight dinner into a candelit event. We listen to audiobooks and paint, watch Project Runway and make doll clothes, go to our favorite ice cream spot and then skip stones along the river.

Sometimes I take photos and sometimes I even put them on my Instagram. But the sound of her laugh is never the same on video as it is in real life; the feeling of my husband’s beard against my skin when he kisses my shoulder can’t be captured anywhere but in my body. Photos from walking our dogs in the late summer light never quite get it right — the moon looks too small and the stars don’t show up on screen at all.

It is its own celebration to be in this season together. It is only without our screens that we can see the fireflies.

Stephanie H. Fallon is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She is a writer originally from Houston, Texas and holds an MFA from the Jackson Center of Creative Writing at Hollins University. She lives with her family in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where she writes about motherhood, artmaking, and work culture. Since 2022, she has been reviewing sustainable home and lifestyle brands, fact-checking sustainability claims, and bringing her sharp editorial skills to every product review. Say hi on Instagram or on her website.

The post A Case For Low-Key Celebrations appeared first on The Good Trade.

Most of us aren’t strangers to the harmful effects of excessive cellphone use. What many of us may not realize is the profound impact that excess cellphone use can have on our happiness. Kostadin Kushlev, an assistant professor of psychology at Georgetown University says “to the extent that we’re spending more time in front of a screen and less time sleeping, exercising or interacting with others, phones can hurt our happiness.” Kushlev believes that while cell phones are not the sole reason as to why we’re less interactive with our surroundings, “phones can have small, often hidden, costs for well-being that can nonetheless add up over time.”

“Phones can have small, often hidden, costs for well-being that can nonetheless add up over time.”

– Kostadin Kushlev Ph.D

Cell phones were designed to be almost addictive, so it’s not a personal character flaw if you find yourself anxious to be without your phone or you have trouble controlling your phone usage. Neuroscientist Andrew Huberman’s advice on managing cellphone usage is a great place to start if you find yourself reaching for your cell phone more often than you’d like.

It’s important to know you’re not totally powerless — the more you get off your phone, the easier it is to stay off, so here are dozens of things you can do instead of reaching for your phone.

If any of these activities spark your interest, see if you can train yourself to reach for something else instead of mindlessly going for the phone. Some are fun, phoneless solitary activities, some involve chores, some involve getting some physical activity, and some help you get social without social media. If you have any activities you love that we haven’t shared on this list, feel free to share them in the comments!

For more inspiration and advice on adopting healthy digital habits, read up on how to create a digital minimalism practice and how to reintegrate after a social media detox.

Creative Things to Do Instead of Reaching for Your Phone

1. Paint or draw a picture.
2. Write a poem.
3. Knit (or learn how to). 🧶
4. Or learn to crochet.
5. Or pick up embroidery or cross stitching.
6. Start a simple DIY project like painting a dresser or table.
7. Sing a song.
8. Write a journal entry, even if it’s only a couple of sentences about what you did today.
9. Pick up an instrument, if you play.
10. Choreograph a dance.
11. Scrapbook.
12. Make your own candles.
13. Color in an adult coloring book.
14. Learn some simple origami.

Activities to Do at Home Rather Than Scroll

15. Do (or start) a puzzle.
16. Read a newspaper or magazine article (keep them lying around to encourage casual reading instead of phone scrolling!).
17. Read a book.
18. Listen to a podcast.
19. Play solitaire.
20. Do a crossword.
21. Do a Sudoku.
22. Play with your dog, cat, or other pet.
23. Play a video game. 🎮
24. Bake something.
25. Learn or practice a second language. Here are some apps to help.
26. Make a music playlist.
27. Watch a show or movie, and stay engaged with it.
28. Write up a bucket list.
29. Find a pen pal.
30. Browse job openings. (It never hurts to keep an eye out!).

Activities to Do Outside the House

31. Go on a short walk. 
32. Or a long walk!
33. Go thrifting.
34. Window shop.
35. Go to the farmers’ market.
36. Volunteer.
37. Run an errand.
38. Pop outside for some fresh air.
39. Go on a bike ride. 🚲
40. Go to the gym.
41. Go hiking.
42. Go to a workout class.

Chores to Complete Instead of Going on Your Phone

43. Set a timer and tidy for five minutes.
44. Empty the dishwasher.
45. Make the bed.
46. Water the plants (or just check them if they don’t need water). 🪴
47. Vacuum.
48. Write a grocery list.
49. Cook a nice meal.
50. Meal prep ingredients you like to use—cook rice, chop up broccoli, or cook dried beans.
51. Make quick pickled vegetables.
52. Go through your closet and choose items to donate.
53. Organize your closet by color.
54. Mend clothing that has a hole in it. 🪡
55. Clean your desk/workspace.
56. Change your bedsheets.
57. Clean the shower.
58. Clean out your purse or wallet.
59. Make a weekly or monthly to-do list.
60. Dust the shelves.
61. Clean out the fridge.
62. Clean the kitchen sink.

Physical Activities to Do Instead of Scrolling

63. Stretch or practice yoga.
64. Do ten push-ups.
65. Or crunches, pullups, etc.
66. Go on the treadmill/elliptical/stationary bike if you have one.
67. Head outside and draw some hopscotch.
68. Hula hoop.
69. Play catch.
70. Lift weights if you have some. 
71. Dance to your favorite song. 💃
72. Jump rope.
73. Roller skate or rollerblade.

Self-Care Activities to Do Instead of Reaching for Your Phone

74. Do a face mask.
75. Meditate.
76. Cut or file your nails.
77. Paint your nails.
78. Take a bath.
79. Apply body lotion all over.
80. Sunbathe outside. 🕶
81. Take a nap!
82. Foam roll tired muscles.
83. Make a vision board or a mood board.
84. Watch a YouTube video to learn something new.
85. Diffuse essential oils or light some incense.
86. Draw a tarot card or spread.
87. Make a cup of tea (and don’t scroll while the water’s boiling).
88. Do your makeup just for fun.

Social Activities to Stay Connected Without Your Phone

89. Strike up a conversation with your partner/roommate/parents if you live with others.
90. Write a letter or note to a loved one. 💌
91. Host a game night with friends.
92. Grab coffee with a friend.
93. Have a conversation with a barista at your local coffee shop.
94. Bake something and bring it to a neighbor or friend.
95. Go to the park and people-watch.
96. Have a phone-free date with your partner.
97. Go on a hike or walk with a friend or family member.
98. Try out a new restaurant with a loved one.
99. Have a manicure/pedicure date.

Natalie Gale is a Boston-based freelance journalist. When she’s not writing about art, food, or sustainability, you can find her biking to the farmers’ market, baking, sewing, or planning her next Halloween costume. Say hi on Instagram!

The post 99 Alternatives To Scrolling On Your Phone appeared first on The Good Trade.

I was matched with a therapist within 24 hours and was able to begin messaging her then. And as someone who had never been to therapy at that point, I had no idea what to say. My therapist guided me along, going through some brief intros and even sent me a goals worksheet to fill out before our first session. Goals? I thought, I didn’t know I was going to have to make goals for therapy, too. I’d always imagined therapy to be a “show up, cry to a professional, become happy” kind of deal. Instead, I was getting homework. Wasn’t I paying someone else to do that for me? I didn’t understand what therapy goals were, or how important they’d become to me.

So, here’s a look at how I’ve set goals for therapy in the past (under the guidance of my own therapists), as well as some tips from experts on how to broach this structure with the mental health professionals you work with.

What are therapy goals?

News flash: Your therapist can’t do the work for you, they can only support you along the way. Therapy goals are the intentions we share with our therapist, who helps us create frameworks for measuring our progress and achieving them. (Plus, hello, accountability!)

Some types of goals for therapy might include: 

• Developing coping skills for anxiety or overwhelming emotions
• Reducing the intensity of symptoms related to anxiety and depression
• Increasing self-esteem and reducing negative self-talk
• Improving sleep quality and prioritizing restfulness
• Learning new communication strategies for complex friendships, romantic relationships, or family dynamics
• Processing thoughts and feelings about past trauma
• Exploring parenting questions and challenges
• Navigating a new or existing disability
• Inviting more mindfulness and presence into everyday life
• Changing harmful or unhelpful behaviors
• Sharpening your decision-making and boundary-setting skills
• Discovering more about who you are, what you want, and where your values lie

Embracing therapy as a safe place is precisely why goals, or intentions, are so important. This is your space, it’s your investment — it’s not a time to meet anyone else’s expectations but your own. I like to think of it this way: Our therapists are the personal trainers who offer meaningful feedback and support while we exercise our goal-setting muscles. If we can practice our goal setting in therapy, we may even be better equipped to set goals outside of it, too.

How do you set goals in therapy?

So say you’ve got a few ideas from the list above, or have some ideas of your own on what you want to focus on in therapy. How do you actually set them?

Not every therapist will use the word “goals,” but it’s common in your first session to let the therapist know what brings you to therapy and which outcomes are important to you. Erin Miller, a psychotherapist, asks first time clients: “If therapy ‘worked’ for you, what would that look like?” This helps focus on the optimal outcome of therapy — which is to journey a little closer to our best selves. 

If you don’t feel like you are setting goals, intentions, or feel like your outcomes are mutually understood, it’s worth exploring how to change the therapist you’re working with. (I’ve found it’s way easier to change therapists online than in person, which is a balm to my anxious mind). I myself have had a few different therapists over the years, two have been with one of the major teletherapy players (who weren’t bad, although I know folks who have had bad experiences) and the others were in-network through my insurance.

The second, and equally important, half to goal setting is knowing how to measure them as you progress. “When I work with clients, I like to have them articulate their goals, and we put them in writing together,” says  Dr. Ruth L. Varkovitzky, a board-certified clinical psychologist. “We also try to identify how we would know if things were getting better, and how we want to measure progress.” That means you’re not just in charge of setting the goals but also having conversations about what progress and “success” looks like for you. 

This progress can be as straightforward as symptom improvement (which can be easier to measure in physical scenarios like fatigue, panic attacks, or sleep patterns). But not all emotional and mental progress is easy to measure, which is why you should create a framework together with your provider. Daino and the professionals at Talkspace encourage us to discuss with our therapists what it means for us to feel more fulfilled, cope with stress effectively, or find a better balance at work or with our partners.

For me, it’s usually — am I showering, eating, and staying hydrated? Am I proactively calling friends and family, and am I easefully doing the things I love to do? I can also always tell I’m on the mend from a difficult time by the state of my apartment; the cleaner it is, the clearer my mind and vice versa. (Full transparency, hah, it’s not very tidy these days but I have a great therapist who is helping me stay on track!).

“Not all emotional and mental progress is easy to measure, which is why you should create a framework together with your provider.”

---

Can your therapy goals change?

I’m several years into therapy, and I speak from experience: let your goals change when they need to.

For Miller, she’s found that clients will frequently come in with one area of focus in mind, only to change it later. “Through their work, they understand new goals and challenges that would be meaningful to conquer in therapy,” she says. “Therapy is a journey, and throughout your work, your goals should be ever-evolving as you grow.”

This can be the same for your approach, too — maybe you thought you needed help solving an immediate problem but instead discover that it’s more worthwhile to explore the roots of why you’re experiencing it in the first place. Varkovitzky puts it succinctly and without a twinge of judgment: “Sometimes life presents us with situations that change our priorities.”

I’ve learned that mental well-being is a process, not a product, but the effort and investment is worth it. I admit, being honest and sharing your goals with someone else feels vulnerable. But the real vulnerability, the real work I think, lies in acknowledging our own need for healing. We deserve to feel fulfilled, and to have a network of friends, families, and professionals, who will uplift us and hold us accountable. And there’s no shame in working with others to create a road map to get there.

Looking to start therapy? Here are a few tips for finding a therapist and our favorite online therapy options. Additionally, here are our favorite online couples therapy options.

Emily McGowan is the Editorial Director at The Good Trade. She studied Creative Writing and Business at Indiana University, and has over ten years of experience as a writer and editor in sustainability and lifestyle spaces. Since 2017, she’s been discovering and reviewing the top sustainable home, fashion, beauty, and wellness products so readers can make their most informed decisions. Her editorial work has been recognized by major publications like The New York Times and BBC Worklife. You can usually find her in her colorful Los Angeles apartment journaling, playing with her cat, or crafting. Say hi on Instagram or follow along with her Substack, Pinky Promise.

The post How To Set Helpful Goals For Therapy appeared first on The Good Trade.

Even with all that beauty, summer can sometimes feel like too much. Too loud. Too fast. Too scheduled. (And me personally, I tend to get overwhelmed when my schedule fills up quickly.)

“Even with all that beauty, summer can sometimes feel like too much. Too loud. Too fast. Too scheduled.”

If you’re someone who self-identifies as soft or sensitive — someone who feels deeply, who notices the shifts in light and tone in a room, who needs space to process — summer might leave you feeling overexposed. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that. This article is a permission slip for those of us who need a gentler pace, even when the world feels like it’s running on high volume. Because staying soft doesn’t mean opting out of joy, it just means protecting your capacity for it.

To help us navigate this delicate balance between openness and burnout, I spoke with Wendy Tran, LMFT, who offers thoughtful strategies for honoring your sensitivity while staying connected to yourself and others.

Let’s explore what it means to stay soft — and whole — during the brightest, busiest season of the year. ☀️

First things first: What does it mean to be soft?

Softness is often misunderstood. It’s not weakness, fragility, or passivity, though the world may try to tell us otherwise. To be soft means to be attuned, to feel deeply, and ultimately, to move through life with tenderness, empathy, and sensitivity, even when it would be easier to shut down or harden.

“It’s not weakness, fragility, or passivity though the world may try to tell us otherwise.”

For sensitive people, softness is often a default setting, not something we turn on and off. That is a major strength that can foster compassion, creativity, and connection. But it also requires care. Without thoughtful boundaries and replenishment, that openness can tip into exhaustion or emotional burnout.

This is especially true during fast-paced seasons like summer, when the social calendar swells and the days stretch long into night. So, how do we stay emotionally open without sacrificing our peace? How do we remain soft without feeling drained?

The rest of this article will explore exactly that with grounded strategies, sensory-based rituals, and therapist-approved insights on how to honor your sensitivity and thrive because of it.

And why summer can feel like a lot (especially for sensitive folks)

Summer gets marketed as a season of freedom thanks to vacations, barbecues, weekend trips, rooftop hangs. For sensitive or highly attuned folks, the sheer volume of activity can feel like a sensory overload. “If your normal rhythm is slower,” she says, “then summer may feel quite stimulating or exhausting. Especially with the summer sun hours, you may feel the need to stay out later since the sun doesn’t set until much later.”

“For sensitive or highly attuned folks, the sheer volume of activity can feel like a sensory overload.”

When the world speeds up, soft people may feel pulled in multiple directions and want to participate, but need rest. Or, desire opportunities for connection yet also need space. If that sounds like you, know that there’s nothing wrong with the way you’re built. You simply have different energetic needs. And summer doesn’t have to be something you “push through.” It can be navigated on your terms.

1. Recognize when openness becomes overexposure

Sensitivity is a gift. However, without boundaries, it can lead to burnout. “It’s important to be aware of physical symptoms along with emotional symptoms,” she explains. “Burnout typically will likely trigger something in our sympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for our fight or flight mechanism.”

“Sensitivity is a gift. However, without boundaries, it can lead to burnout.”

To stay ahead of overwhelm, Wendy recommends checking in regularly. “Track your symptoms with a scale of 1–10. Rate your level of irritability, anxiety, stress, tiredness. Tracking hours of sleep can also be very helpful to see if it’s affecting your normal patterns.”

The goal isn’t to shut down your openness, it’s to protect your ability to stay open with care.

2. Set gentle boundaries

If you’re someone who finds yourself drained by too much interaction, you’re not alone. Setting boundaries can feel difficult, especially in a season that celebrates saying yes to everything. 

“Setting boundaries can feel difficult, especially in a season that celebrates saying yes to everything.”

Wendy emphasizes that it’s possible to hold both truths: “You can want to feel part of a socially active season and need rest at the same time. Both places can be valid.” By honoring both your social desires and your internal rhythms, you allow yourself to show up more fully when it matters.

One way to do this is to pre-plan rest around social events. Take breaks between gatherings. Leave space in your calendar that’s just for you.

“We need to fill our own cup before we can share with others,” she reminds us.

3. Try grounding rituals to stay soft

Softness doesn’t mean staying emotionally exposed at all times. It means having the right tools to recalibrate when things get too loud. Wendy recommends simple grounding techniques that support your nervous system and emotional clarity.

Here are two she suggests:

• Body scanning. “Do a body scan in the morning or before bed,” she says. “Start from the top of your head down to your feet and ask yourself — what needs attention? Is my jaw clenched? Do my shoulders need to relax?” This creates awareness and signals safety to the body.
  
• Breath work or visualization. “I love using breath to down-regulate the nervous system,” she adds. “Try inhaling for four counts, holding for four, and exhaling for six. Or imagine a safe, quiet place in your mind. Let your body feel what it’s like to be there.” These gentle tools restore your baseline when the world feels too full.

4. Give yourself permission to opt out, guilt-free

In a world that rewards constant participation, it’s easy to feel guilty for needing slowness. But Wendy says, “You can want connection and still need space. Both things can be true.” You don’t need to earn your rest. And you certainly don’t need to explain it.

“You don’t need to earn your rest. And you certainly don’t need to explain it.”

Softness requires boundaries. It asks us to listen inward. It’s okay if your summer looks different from everyone else’s. There is no prize for pushing through burnout and no shame in choosing peace.

Remember: softness isn’t something to overcome, it’s something to honor. It’s a quiet kind of power, one that asks us to move through the world with care, intention, and emotional integrity. And while summer might invite us to spread ourselves thin, staying soft means we choose presence over performance, rest over resentment.

“Softness isn’t something to overcome, it’s something to honor.”

“You can want to be part of a socially active season and still need rest,” she shares. Both can be true. Both are valid.

So this season, give yourself full permission to slow down when you need to. Protect your peace and nurture your sensitivity. Let softness be your superpower.

Stephanie Valente is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She is a copywriter and editor covering wellness, commerce, lifestyle — and more — for publications like Brooklyn Magazine. Based in Brooklyn, she’s often writing poetry, getting lost in a book, or hanging out with her dog.

The post How To Stay Soft During Fast-Paced Seasons appeared first on The Good Trade.

“I spent the first 48 hours of our time together having an absolute meltdown about how messy my house was.” 

I’d had every intention of not just cleaning the house top to bottom, but also transforming it into the airy, whimsical bungalow of my Pinterest dreams. But somehow, there was always something in the way: Work or family obligations, dozens of meetings and appointments, errands that brought in yet more stuff that needed to be sorted and put away. I managed to clean the bathrooms and wash some sheets for the guest bed, but somehow, the days kept slipping by and my list only seemed to be growing longer.

And then, mid-morning on the day of her arrival, we discovered fleas on one of our dogs. My plan to speed through last-minute Hail Marys to create the perfect home were instantly overwritten with hours of flea baths, laundry, and treating every inch of the house. When Mallory arrived, it wasn’t to the spotless front porch and a warm hug from her clean, fresh-faced best friend, but to a sweating, grouchy woman still trying to dry off a couple of damp dogs, and the strong scent of cloves from the flea treatment wafting in the air conditioning in waves. 

“As my daughter took Auntie Mallory around on the tour, I felt myself growing hot with shame. Do we really live like this? I kept thinking, certain that’s what she was thinking too.”

“Well, at least everything is clean,” my husband told me before she walked in. But all I could see were the chips of paint on our scuffed baseboards, the cheap lamps that weren’t quite the right size on the end tables, and the plastic we’d had wrapped around our broken fireplace to keep out the rain. As my daughter took Auntie Mallory around on the tour, I felt myself growing hot with shame. Do we really live like this? I kept thinking, certain that’s what she was thinking too. 

Look, we do the best we can: We have three pets, a young child, full-time jobs. We had been learning how to navigate a medical diagnosis for the past year, rearranging all of the cabinets and closets to house supplies. My husband and I are both creatives, with projects that take away from domestic priorities sometimes — or, in the case of Aaron’s woodworking, create a lot of short-term mess in pursuit of a long-term solution like a custom-made cabinet or toy chest. 

And yet, following my daughter as she led my best friend around our house for the first time, none of these reasons felt good enough. The pack of toilet paper sitting outside the bathroom, the unpainted patches on the walls, and the stray tumbleweeds of dog hair loomed accusingly from every corner, all evidence of my laziness and ineptitude. Because despite my ability to intellectually grasp that the tidiness of one’s home holds zero moral value, the correlation between how my house is perceived and my own personal worth was somehow still inextricably linked. I called my mom, telling her how ashamed I felt. 

“Despite my ability to intellectually grasp that the tidiness of one’s home holds zero moral value, the correlation between how my house is perceived and my own personal worth was somehow still inextricably linked.”

“Mallory does not care,” she told me. “She loves you; she’s not here to judge your house. She’s here to see you!”

I knew this. I knew that she couldn’t be judging me any more than I would be judging her by the sticky kids’ fingerprints on the dining room table or the watermarks on the wine glasses. Who cares! And yet. 

“You’re wasting your time together,” my mom said when I called again the next day. I was aware of this, that I was squandering this rare visit on lamenting a failure I didn’t even believe in. I regularly choose to prioritize something else over folding the endless mountain of laundry, and I stand by these decisions. So why is it that I was walking around worried that the woman I’ve known for almost 30 years was going to suddenly decide I was a disaster just because there was some dust in my house? It’s not like it was going to be a surprise to her. 

And maybe that was the problem. I wanted to surprise her. I wanted her to see something in me that had changed for the better, had grown up and into myself, blossoming, finally, into the woman my messiness had been suppressing. What else could it mean that I was just as untidy as I’d been three decades ago, when we were children?

What’s underneath the mess

On any given day, a walk through my home will treat the visitor to all the sights and sounds of a family constantly in the middle of something: There are always dog leashes and towels dropped in the entryway, a stack of mail that needs sorting on the table next to it. Toys for the pets and our daughter intermingle on surfaces while the robot vacuum takes a Sysiphian lap around the room. Bits of popcorn and colored pencil shavings peek out from the sofa cushions, and a subscription box of toiletries I don’t yet need has been parked on the ottoman for almost a week. In almost every room: Multiple empty glasses, cans of partially drunk seltzer, baskets of (usually clean) laundry waiting to be folded. Books with their pages marked by pens or a pair of sunglasses. Charging cables hanging from every outlet.  

“It’s not that I don’t want a clean and tidy space … There’s just always something more urgent or more important to do.”

It’s not that I don’t want a clean and tidy space — I do! Of course I do! There’s just always something more urgent or more important to do.

All my life, I’ve been labeled with certain words: “Creative,” “artsy,” “free-spirited.” These often came in pairs though, their partners not quite so desirable: “Untidy,” “chaotic,” and of course, “messy.” Though usually said with fondness, there was also chagrin. I couldn’t help getting a little defensive about it. I was an artist and a writer, after all; it didn’t seem fair to comment on the state of my desk, office, or living spaces when I was in the middle of a project or on a deadline, when all of my energy and focus was going to the completion of the work! I could barely eat proper meals or take regular showers when I was in the 48-hour sprint to a creative finish line, so the half-unpacked grocery bags on the counter were just going to have to wait (it’s not like there was anything refrigerated in there, what’s the big deal?). But those gentle chuckles and headshakes still got to me.

“If I hadn’t been ‘procrastinating,’ I would have probably been able to keep up with my work and the daily detritus of my life before it got so out of hand.”

They say that we have the strongest reactions to things that are true. Unfortunately, because I almost always waited until the last minute to throw myself into these projects, the implication was that my messiness could be avoided. If I hadn’t been “procrastinating,” I would have probably been able to keep up with my work and the daily detritus of my life before it got so out of hand. This was a sentiment expressed by roommates, boyfriends, friends, and bosses, echoing the teachers and family members of my childhood who were mystified at my inability to simply manage my time and my belongings in a more orderly, consistent manner. I learned that, regardless of how the work turned out, any success was just a little bit tainted by the idea that if I could just be more organized and less messy, then I could really reach my full potential. Anything good I made seemed to come with subtitles: “This could be so much better.” 

A part of me worried it was true, that my work was a slapdash, lesser version of what it could be if I’d only get it together and try a little harder. And this little kernel of self-doubt fueled an inner critic that has plagued me for decades. 

My invisible priorities

In an early get-to-know-you questionnaire for my incoming grad school class, we were asked to describe our writing process style on a spectrum from “A methodical, daily practice” to “Sprint writing.”

“Do you have a daily word count or amount of time you try to achieve each day? Or do you go days without writing and then stay up for two nights in a row to write half a manuscript?” the questionnaire asked. I couldn’t believe it. That’s me, I thought. And as it turns out, about half of my cohort as well. It was the first time that my behavior was presented to me as something other than a problem. It was, in graduate school, my process.

“It was the first time that my behavior was presented to me as something other than a problem. It was, in graduate school, my process.”

This was also my introduction to the idea that our abilities are not fixed values, but subjective frameworks determined by the conditions of our environment.

Later, I took a class with a visiting artist who spent an entire semester bringing the point home, reminding us constantly to trust whatever way we found ourselves getting the work done. If anyone lamented their time spent not writing, characterizing it as lazy or wasted, she was quick to defend it. “You aren’t doing nothing,” she said, adamant. “You haven’t turned your brain off to the world. You’re gathering, making connections. You’re living, picking up the material you’ll reach for when you are actually making the work.” She used to laugh at those of us who were harder to convince, so certain of our own inadequacies. “Where do you think it all comes from?” she asked. “The fallow periods!”

In farming, when crops are left plowed but unsown to restore their fertility, they are said to “lie fallow.” It’s a time when nothing seems to be happening, but it is in fact a crucial practice in crop rotation. And also, apparently, artmaking. 

And she was right. That time spent leading up to a deadline wasn’t empty; I wasn’t just avoiding my work, because often, I was thinking about it pretty constantly. I was gathering images and making connections from the things I was experiencing. What I’d been calling “putting off” was a kind of research, a preparation of wherever it is in my brain where the words grow.

“What I’d been calling ‘putting off’ was a kind of research, a preparation of wherever it is in my brain where the words grow.”

I instantly understood the value of this even as it became crystal clear why it was impossible to quantify: The work was invisible to everyone but myself.

I couldn’t say that I wrote 700 words every day, or spent each morning from 4–7 a.m. at my computer. Answering the question “Did you write today?” with “No, I went on a long walk with a friend and read a book,” was still a “no.” It didn’t matter if the conversation on the walk and the subject of the book produced some crucial piece of info or idea that would fuel a 24-hour writing marathon and become a key part of my thesis. The bottom line was still that no, I hadn’t written that day. Which somehow seemed flaky, despite the results.

I’d tried to keep a daily practice, but producing even 200 words a day didn’t guarantee anything about their quality — I often threw them out, feeling defeated. Even sitting in front of my computer at designated times likewise did not mean I’d spent that time writing, leaving me feeling both discouraged and guilty. When I asked about this, wondering why it was so hard for me to work the “right” way, the visiting artist simply said, “Trust your process.” It would take me almost ten years to learn how.

Trusting the process

I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, well after all of my habits and ways of thinking about work were deeply ingrained. So though it helped me to understand why I would launch these fullscale side quests on a deadline for something completely unrelated (remember how I decided to tackle every problem in my entire house before Mal’s visit?), it didn’t instantly undo some of my core beliefs around productivity, tidiness, and their link to being a reliable, competent person. 

If perception is reality, then letting someone perceive me as “messy” meant that it (and all of the many connotations it conjured) were basically true. I might understand that a desk of notes and papers and empty coffee cups holding open books was a sign of work clearly in progress, but if others only see it as sloppiness, then there was very little I could do or say to convince them otherwise. 

“If perception is reality, then letting someone perceive me as ‘messy’ meant that it (and all of the many connotations it conjured) were basically true.”

In other words, as long as I was “messy,” I would forever believe, on some level, that I was not a fully realized person. That I wasn’t good enough. That I was, ultimately, a failure. That is, as long as I let myself behave as if something I don’t actually believe is true. 

What if, instead of seeing the messes in my life through the imagined lens of a judgmental outsider, I saw it through the lens of someone who cherished this life? 

“What if, instead of seeing the messes in my life through the imagined lens of a judgmental outsider, I saw it through the lens of someone who cherished this life?”

The streaks of egg yolk left on breakfast plates gleaming in the sunlight, a glob of jam that’s shiny as a gemstone. The little notes to himself my husband makes on the backs of receipts in his beautiful handwriting. A handful of Lego pieces, a gold pipe cleaner, and a paper airplane taking a ride on the robot vacuum. A Peppa Pig character dining over a deck of cards with the mom from Bluey, little acorn tops used as hats. Puffs of fur and splashes of water around a silver bowl, where our two dogs and cat vie for the first laps of a fresh refill. A bag of bottles and cans from our impromptu pizza night sitting by the back door, waiting to be carried to the recycling bin. 

These are not just messes, but signs of life — my precious life, shared with the people and animals I love most. The little things they leave around the house are clutter, yes, and if I want our surfaces to be clear and everything to remain spotless, then it often falls on my plate to do it. But I regularly choose not to. Not because I’m lazy, and not because I’m careless, negligent, incompetent, or slovenly. It’s because I am prioritizing other things. 

“These are not just messes, but signs of life — my precious life, shared with the people and animals I love most.”

The week before my first overnight trip away from my daughter, our babysitter got a stomach flu, leaving me without childcare every afternoon. I had two big deadlines that I tried to work on before picking her up, so I had to streamline my attention to weekly chores. So while I still washed all our clothes that week, I didn’t fold them. Instead, I sorted them into piles and dropped each person’s basket in their rooms. 

Could I have found the time to fold these clothes and put them all away? Maybe. We have about two hours each night after our daughter goes to bed when we could have folded laundry, I guess, but my husband and I were exhausted from long days, in need of rest and recovery time, hoping to spend it together. So we didn’t do chores — we watched good TV, we made dessert, we talked. We took the dogs out and looked up at the moon. 

“We didn’t do chores — we watched good TV, we made dessert, we talked. We took the dogs out and looked up at the moon.”

Instead of folding the laundry when I had my daughter in the afternoons, we went to the library and the playground, made banana ice cream, and painted a piece of furniture. She peeled carrots and helped me chopped vegetables, and we talked about my upcoming trip — about what to expect, and how she was feeling. We spent the week dressing from our piles, and I made my deadlines. When it was time for me to leave, my daughter was teary but calm. She didn’t melt down, because we’d spent the week preparing for this. And she still had clean clothes to wear, even if she was pulling them from a laundry basket instead of her closet. 

From the outside, it might be easy to see the clothing piles and assume all kinds of things — that we are messy and disorganized, that we don’t care for our belongings. But what I’m learning is that I don’t have to think that, when I know what those piles of clothes actually mean: That I am a responsible employee, a proactive and attentive parent, and a devoted partner.

And I put loving my family and our life together before any housekeeping. It might make me messy, and that’s a price I’m willing to pay. 

This one precious, messy life

The camp where Mallory and I met the summer of 1997 was Camp Mystic, where the recent flash floods wiped out century-old buildings and claimed dozens of lives. We met in a cabin on the flats, the very spot where so much of the catastrophe took place. Our bunks were next to each other, the narrow strip of wall between us split so we could each tack up photos from home. The green painted dresser between us was crowded with matching box fans, a cluster of shimmery nail polish, and our silver charm bracelets tangled together.

“The green painted dresser between us was crowded with matching box fans, a cluster of shimmery nail polish, and our silver charm bracelets tangled together.”

I look at the images of the ravaged cabins, all the trunks and quilts and stuffed animals in filthy piles on the concrete floors, the black smudges from the water line reaching almost to the ceiling, and remember holding hands with Mallory across the aisle as we listened to Taps play over the loudspeaker at lights out. I remember the way she neatly folded her red shorts before tucking them into her drawers while I just tossed my blue ones into the pile of my perpetually open trunk. She was always more organized than I was, had a better understanding of how things worked and what order to approach a task to accomplish it in good timing. But this doesn’t have to be an indictment of my own abilities; it can be admiration and appreciation of hers. 

When she noticed I still hadn’t opened the robot vacuum I’d gotten for Christmas while she was visiting in June, she didn’t seem to comprehend my mental block. “I just can’t bring myself to figure it out and program it,” I told her. She looked at me, not judgmentally, but quizzically. “Oh?” She walked over to the box, picked it up. “I think you just turn it on.” She asked for my phone, downloaded the app, and within minutes the robot was zooming around the house, sucking up all those tumbleweeds of dog hair that were so often a source of shame. 

“This doesn’t have to be an indictment of my own abilities; it can be admiration and appreciation of hers.”

A voice in my head tried to remark on how easy it was, how I’d been wasting all this time living in dog-hair hell just because I was too lazy to figure out how to fix it. But I decided not to listen to that voice this time. I decided to just be grateful for someone like Mallory, more sister than friend, who has been a witness to so much of my life even from afar, even when we go years without being in each other’s presence. How she can so swiftly zero in on the thing I need, then simply step in and do it.

We’ve been on the phone nearly nonstop as we’ve watched the Camp Mystic tragedy unfold, feeling it all together, sharing the grief with thousands of others whose lives were changed by their time on the Guadalupe River, too. We’ve cried and shared news from the vast network of women alums in hundreds of text chains, the conversations punctuated with memories and disbelief. The tragedy has reconnected so many of us, and we catch up, learning about the people we’ve become. The conversations are messy and raw and awkward and also instantly intimate, our shared roots to this place in the Texas hill country forging a sisterhood that’s much stronger than whatever differences lie between us. 

“It might be harder to measure than anything in the physical world, but it’s infinitely more valuable: The ties that bind us, the ways we make each other feel.”

It’s the time we have together that we remember, the only thing that matters in the end. It might be harder to measure than anything in the physical world, but it’s infinitely more valuable: The ties that bind us, the ways we make each other feel. When my cabinmates recall the sticky puddles on the commissary floor, we don’t remember how disgusting we used to be, but how we found the last half gallon of Blue Bell ice cream left in the freezer. How, shrieking with anticipation, we crowded into a cluster to eat it directly from the tub as it melted, passing a single spoon between us. 

My daughter marching her Auntie Mallory through the house minutes after meeting her isn’t a parade of all the repairs and chores I’ve let lapse because I’m lazy, but a chance to admire the work I’ve been doing instead: Raising a confident, joyful child who trusts me so much she loved a relative stranger sight unseen, just because she knows that I do.

There’s nothing clean or straightforward or tidy about that, the ineffable ways that love is passed and grown. But what a gift that is. What an impossibly beautiful, messy, perfect gift.

Stephanie H. Fallon is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She is a writer originally from Houston, Texas and holds an MFA from the Jackson Center of Creative Writing at Hollins University. She lives with her family in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where she writes about motherhood, artmaking, and work culture. Since 2022, she has been reviewing sustainable home and lifestyle brands, fact-checking sustainability claims, and bringing her sharp editorial skills to every product review. Say hi on Instagram or on her website.

The post Why I’m Embracing Messiness appeared first on The Good Trade.

Taking time away from our busy days and list of responsibilities isn’t just a wonderful reprieve from our modern-day bustle — it increases creativity, deepens our relationships with family and friends, and even can lead to better sleep. In fact, studies have found that people who take vacations are generally happier. (Not that you needed a study to tell you that!) So, those moments when we let ourselves truly unwind aren’t just a treat — they’re a vital part of staying healthy and happy, both inside and out.

“We love summer for the invitation it extends to slow down, breathe, and reconnect with ourselves and with the people we love.”

It’s in those shared moments — the silly games, the quiet mornings, the unexpected adventures — that the best stories are born. Stories that we carry with us, that shape who we are, and that we pass down like little treasures. As you dive into these stories, we hope you feel that same warmth and joy. May they remind you of your own favorite summer memories and inspire you to make even more. Because at the end of the day, summer is about more than just time off — it’s about the love, laughter, and connection that fill those days with meaning.

If you haven’t shared your favorite summer getaway with us yet, let us know in the comments. (And be sure to sign up for our daily newsletter — our own way to infuse your inbox with 30 seconds of joy every morning.) ✨

*Some responses have been condensed or edited for clarity.

“Friends have a cottage on a lake, which is water access only. Waking up to a lake like glass with a cup of coffee, the quiet, the sunshine, and the sound of a train in the distance is such a treat. Recharge the batteries.” – Heather R.

“Every year as a kid, we would drive from England to the south of France where my family had a house. The drive was long, about 10 hours. We would slowly make our way through northern France where the grey weather of England would often continue. As we got further south, the vegetation and light would change, and there was a sign we eagerly looked out for on the autoroute that had a cloud and rain at the top [with] a goodbye symbol and, at the bottom, sunshine and a hello. It signified we were nearly there and that the air would smell of pines and the sky would be this gorgeous blue-pink and the cicadas would be loud. The journey and that transition just epitomise summer for me.” – Ellie O.

“When I was 15, I took a road trip to Kolby, Kansas with my parents. My uncle and his family owned a motel there. We lived in California. It was my first big road trip. We made lots of stops to see things. We even had a scary motel stay where there was blood on the bed. We left. We crack up about it now. What an adventure. We had so much bonding time. I got to see more than California. And also being in the town of Kolby, Kansas for a week was an experience. I loved seeing how a small town functions. The sense of community was beautiful. It is my most cherished vacation. My dad is now passed so this is a precious memory.” – MDK

“Waking up to a lake like glass with a cup of coffee, the quiet, the sunshine, and the sound of a train in the distance is such a treat. Recharge the batteries.”

“The happiest memory I’ve had was literally today. I took my sisters to swim and we ended up having a great time. They’re all younger than I, so it was nice being able to focus on them, their laughter, and their innocence. We goofed around, played Marco Polo, and carried each other one by one in the water. We also played monkey in the middle. Moments like today remind me how lucky I am to see my siblings grow up.” – Anonymous Reader

“Every summer, my parents would take my two sisters and me to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. We would take out soda cans with the unlimited ride coupon on them and spend the evening riding the giant dipper, eating fresh-dipped corn dogs, and enjoying the salty air together. There’s something so magical about a warm summer night by the beach, enjoying the moment.” – Miranda S.

“Spending the entire summer with my family in Vietnam and going to Six Flags with my cousins.” – LN

“Growing up on the West Coast, we’d travel back to Canada’s East Coast every other summer or so, where my parents were from. One of my sweetest memories is the day my oldest cousin loaded us six cousins into his little pickup truck and took us clam-digging. I was twelve, heading into grade seven that fall, and that summer, the world felt like it was just beginning to open up, the way it does in those tween years when you start down that path of trying to figure out who you are. We spent hours at the little inlet down the dirt road. We filled our clam buckets, but also spent a good amount of time goofing around in the water. It was a perfect late afternoon. On the drive back, my brother and two cousins rode in the truck bed, while I sat in the cab with my youngest cousin and our oldest, who was driving. When we got back to town, my uncle steamed the clams in a pit in the backyard. It turned into one of those perfect lazy summer evenings with games, jokes, laughter, and a little bit of wine snuck when the adults weren’t looking. My uncle always had a huge garden full of flowers that made the air smell amazing. As the years went by, we returned less often. I got a part-time summer job, my brother was playing lacrosse on a travel team — there just wasn’t time to go all the way out there for a month anymore. A few years ago, my oldest cousin, who was truly the very best of us, passed away. I think that day at the inlet, digging clams, was probably the last time all six of us cousins were together. It’s just a small moment, one evening over twenty years ago, but I hold it close to my heart.” – Anonymous Reader

“Walking to the beach barefoot with my mom to collect seashells at sunrise. I grew up as the youngest of three and did not spend much one-on-one time with my busy mom. I savored those sweet morning moments with her, on our one-a-year trip down the shore. I was known to fill my pockets so full with seashells that my pants would be falling down by the time her coffee cup was empty and we were walking back to the busy and bustling beachhouse. Love you mom <3″ – Alexandra L.

“I savored those sweet morning moments with her, on our one-a-year trip down the shore.”

“My family and I had just moved to the States and decided to take a road trip to Yosemite. Hiking as a little kid doesn’t sound fun, I know. But we grew up playing outside, so this was practically Disneyland for us. We hiked and hiked until my mom told us to stop because there was a bear sighting! That was so memorable for us.” – AD

“When I attended UCLA for my Bachelor’s degree, I really had to lock in for the last 2–3 years and that required summer school! My summer memories as an adult don’t often include vacation time, but last year, my in-laws and my partner brought me for a long weekend in Booth Bay Harbor, Maine. As a lifelong Californian, this was so exciting to get to experience this New England type of summer. It was so fun to see how the beaches differed from coast to coast and really brought out my nostalgia as I spent time at the beach with my partner and my in-laws. As a person with terrible memory, this one remains fresh and top of mind. :)” – Journey K.

“I have fond memories as a child biking to the beach in Edgartown, which is a small town on the island of Martha’s Vineyard. It is also the town they used in the movie, “Jaws.” Which brings me to another cherished memory. My eldest sister rowed me out in our dinghy to the barge where the mechanical shark rested. How cool is that!!!” – Sarah P.

“For my thirteenth birthday, my entire family went on a trip to Florida. This was also the last trip we took with my grandmother before she died, and the last trip we all took before family drama finally got in the way of us bonding. Even now we all look back on that trip fondly, even if we know we will never have the same bond.” – Gabriela H.

“A couple summers ago, our family went to the Grand Canyon. We decided to watch the sunrise even though our campsite was a two-hour drive away. We woke up at 3 in the morning, loaded sleepy kids into the truck with doughnuts and drinks, and headed toward the canyon. We made it with about half an hour to spare, and it was, in short, majestic. There was a certain quiet, despite the twenty or so other people who had gathered nearby, and a sense of anticipation as we all waited. The colors were spectacular and intense, saturated in pinks and oranges as the canyon slowly woke up. We leaned against each other, pressed kisses to foreheads, and took a million pictures that could never do that view justice. Our kids still talk about it, and I’m so glad we decided it was worth sacrificing a few hours of sleep for a beautiful memory.” – PH

“We woke up at 3 in the morning, loaded sleepy kids into the truck with doughnuts and drinks, and headed toward the canyon.”

“I suggested that we stop buying Christmas gifts and rent a cottage instead. For 5 years, we’d look for a waterfront rental and we’d spend a week swimming, watching movies, [having] bonfires, fishing, [playing] games, and best of all laughing. The kids (late 20s and 30s) still talk about those adventures together. As a bonus, it stopped needless spending during the holidays.” – Heather R.

“We have a friend who owns a lovely little cabin on a small lake in Northern Wisconsin. She invited our family (us 2 adults and 4 kids + kids friends) to join her for a week…for the last 26 years! Now our kids are grown and have their own families, and they bring their kids. 2 generations. Just water play and big dinners. It has been amazing.” – Diane G.

“I was recently reflecting on a summer spent in the US (I’m from Mexico). We were there with my parents and attended summer school. I remember we had an excursion to a water park, and on that day, a Chinese girl arrived. She didn’t speak English — my sister and I were 9 and 7 — so our English wasn’t the best either. When we saw her confused face, we kind of adopted her for the day. Taking her with us to the slides and also explaining to her with signs that it was lunchtime and that we had to get food. I have a few flashbacks of us three buying a slice of pizza. The summer school teachers told my mum at the end of the day that they were impressed at how empathetic we’d been with her. I don’t know if it’s because we knew what it was not to understand everything, or because Mexican culture is very welcoming, but I feel very proud about that day. I often wonder if this girl remembers us, probably not… but that’s when I think that being kind towards others is more an inner reward than a search for public recognition. I also hope that more children are raised to be considerate towards others, as that can make a difference, even if only for a day.” – Berenice

Stories from our editors:

“One summer a few years ago, I visited a nearby resort village with my family for a weekend getaway. At that point, I hadn’t been on a family vacation in quite some time, and this trip revealed just how much both my parents and I had changed and grown over the years. For the first time, I felt that my parents truly saw me as a full-fledged adult, and I began to see them not just as my parents but as individuals — people who had once been young themselves, with their own beliefs, dreams, and feelings. I connected with them as people rather than only as authority figures, and it marked a pivotal new chapter in our relationship. We connected as a group of individuals who love and respect each other on an entirely new level.” – Silsila Bahrami, Contributing Editor

“My family has always been a feet-on-the-ground type, so we spent many of our summer weekends and spring breaks in our RV camping around the Midwest. (I only flew one time as a child, my second airplane trip ever was when I was 24!) One of our favorite go-to spots was the campground at Salamonie Lake, a reservoir in Huntington, Indiana, which was only about an hour drive away from home. We’d hike, bike, fish, and play until we were all sunburnt and our hair smelled like campfire.

We’d test our bike brakes on the steep downhill to the marina, called Pirate’s Cove, where there was a floating campstore and gas station. I’d get a strawberry shortcake ice cream bar, and my brothers and I would pool our change for a bag of popcorn to feed the fish off the pier. When I tell you those carp could pull you under like quicksand, I’m not kidding. We’d always try to pet them, hah!

“I’d get a strawberry shortcake ice cream bar, and my brothers and I would pool our change for a bag of popcorn to feed the fish off the pier.”

Sometimes we’d get the extended family to come with us, too, and we’d play flashlight tag with ten of my cousins and a cadre of neighboring campsite kids. One summer, we had a particularly great campsite that backed up to a patch of woods where we’d take our peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches for lunch, then flip logs looking for salamanders. I found the perfect walking stick and named it Merlin (of course, right?). Merlin accompanied me during every camping trip for the next ten years, until he was retired to my parents’ backyard firepit as a trusted log-adjuster. The thought of all this is making me want a s’more!” – Emily McGowan, Editorial Director

Ashley D’Arcy is the Senior Editor at The Good Trade. She holds an MA in Philosophy from The New School for Social Research and has contributed to esteemed outlets such as The Nation, 032c, and Yale School of Management’s Insights where she’s leveraged her expertise in making complex ideas accessible to a broad audience. In addition to her editorial work, she is training as a psychoanalytic mental health professional and provides care to patients in New York City. Ashley also explores sustainable fashion, clean beauty, and wellness trends, combining thoughtful cultural critiques with a commitment to mindful living.

The post Our Readers Share Their Sweetest Summer Vacation Memories appeared first on The Good Trade.

“The fact that there are currently enough clothes to dress the next six generations on our planet was yet another nudge for me to prioritize using what’s already here.”

Full disclosure, I gave myself permission to purchase new items in a few categories: Intimates and socks (for obvious reasons), swimwear (if necessary), and shoes (if necessary). Anything coming in contact with private bits feels worth buying new, and functional shoes have to be just the right fit. Still, I tried to be mindful of my if necessary qualifier in those categories to avoid impulsive purchases. 

At the risk of sounding pompous, I’ll admit that my initial motivations for taking on this challenge felt sacrificial. I’m going to do a good thing for our earth by withdrawing my dollars from the fashion industry! This may be true (albeit a very small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things), but I ended up experiencing tremendous personal benefits from the endeavor. (Funny how often we end up feeling better when we opt out of capitalist consumeristic habits, isn’t it?) 

The first thing that I noticed was a shift in my online experience. I no longer paid any attention to the perfectly curated ads placed in my algorithm because I knew I wouldn’t be adding anything to my digital cart. It felt empowering to swipe past enticing sales for cute — even responsibly made — clothing and not extend any mental energy hemming and hawing over if and what to buy. After a week, I noticed that the clothing ads stopped altogether. Efficient algorithms don’t want to waste ad spend on eyeballs that aren’t taking further action. Now I was really liberated. I didn’t even know about the sales I was missing or the capsule launches from my favorite brands. With this newfound freedom, I was able to clearly see in hindsight just how much time I had previously spent unconsciously perusing purchases that may or may not be made. 

“I was able to clearly see in hindsight just how much time I had previously spent unconsciously perusing purchases that may or may not be made.”

After excusing myself from online ads, I was now only shopping when I actually intended to shop instead of being ambushed by the dress-I-never-knew-I-needed in the middle of checking the news or catching up with friends. 

So, where was I shopping now? It took some time to figure out what worked for me. 

There are so many options for secondhand shopping these days, but consistently scouring all of them felt like too much energy. I’m lucky to live in a city with an abundance of well-curated consignment stores that I could pop into. After exploring several, I naturally settled on two that became my regular stops for both buying and selling clothes. 

With a running list on my phone of perceived gaps in my closet to fill, I began to anticipate these shopping trips as treasure hunts. There was no longer the option of sizing up or swapping out a color. Either an item was right for me or it wasn’t. Of course, it can be a little heartbreaking to put a vintage jacket back on the hanger because it’s just slightly too small, but it makes finding the perfect piece that much more thrilling. 

“There was no longer the option of sizing up or swapping out a color. Either an item was right for me or it wasn’t.”

Easing into my secondhand rhythm, I noticed myself trying on items that I never would have selected online. From choosing a coat three times my usual size to a pattern way outside my comfort zone, shopping this way reintroduced an element of spontaneity to styling myself. In a world of endless options and scientifically precise marketing, it feels almost playful to enter a store with no idea what sort of outfit I might leave with. Instead of my clothing purchases being heavily influenced by the marketing campaign that surrounded the items, all of that was stripped away, and I learned to develop my own sense of vision and style when evaluating pieces. 

As my style expanded, I simultaneously began to refine it in key areas to avoid ending up with a cluttered closet full of incohesive items. First off, I became deeply acquainted with the color palette that suits me best (for those familiar with seasonal color analysis, I’m a Warm Spring). While I’m obviously free to wear whatever I want, knowing the tones and hues that make me feel best allows me to scan racks of clothing quickly and avoid wasting time on items that I know won’t make me shine. 

I tend to keep more of an open mind when trying on various silhouettes, but I’ve learned key outfit formulas that I know I’m most likely to reach for over and over based on my lifestyle and body shape. (Two years ago, a dear friend who is a brilliant stylist helped me identify some of my basic outfit templates, and getting dressed has been so much easier ever since.) For example, a form-fitting top with a flared or baggy pant is almost always a winning combination for me — so I don’t try on many slim-fit trousers, no matter how great the color may be. 

From both a quality and environmental perspective, I’ve started paying way more attention to fabric composition. Slowly eliminating synthetic blends from my closet doesn’t only make me feel better, but it also has elevated the aesthetic of my wardrobe. Natural fibers just look better! 

These three parameters — color palette, key silhouettes, and fabric types — keep me focused while staying open and curious on shopping days. Since it’s unlikely I could even find the exact item and size that I’d need to keep up with the latest trends, I pay virtually no attention to them. Instead of my aesthetic attention being scattered across the latest “core” style on IG or must-have items, I’m getting deeper and deeper acquainted with my own personal style. My body. My coloring. My vibe. My preferences. This little shift isn’t so little, it’s a statement to myself that I can trust my own tastes and don’t need to look externally for a compass to guide my closet. 

“This little shift isn’t so little, it’s a statement to myself that I can trust my own tastes and don’t need to look externally for a compass to guide my closet.”

Shopping secondhand has allowed me to focus on forming some solid style edges instead of being fashion putty shaped by churning trends. Simultaneously, it’s opened me to new possibilities. I’ve learned that my personal taste can be much bolder than I’d previously allowed. Some of my favorite staples now are items that never would have made it onto a wishlist based on my Pinterest boards, but caught my eye when I saw them in real life.

I’ve ordered my fair share of polka-dot boxes from ThredUp over the last decade, and there have been some fantastic finds, but more often than not, the items don’t fit or look how I’d hoped. I also noticed that my brain starts getting into that digital addictive mode when perusing sites with such massive amounts of inventory. With cart timers counting down and new items added daily, my breathing gets shallow and I end up buying deals I don’t really need. This feels in stark contrast to the slow spaciousness that I feel in my body when I’m in a local thrift or consignment store. 

Many of my friends have excellent luck on Poshmark or Depop, but I have yet to venture into that territory. Anecdotally, it sounds like those platforms are perfect for those scouring the secondhand world for a particular item. I’d certainly give it a try if I genuinely needed to find something that my local favorites couldn’t provide. 

Recently, my thrifting world opened up even more when I was introduced to the possibilities unleashed by fabric-dying services such as SUAY. Now, an item that fits me well but has a small stain or is made in a light color that I don’t prefer can be affordably transformed into a hue I adore through their community dye baths. 

When my year of secondhand shopping was completed last month, I did have a few items that I wanted to purchase from my favorite responsible brands. Immediately, I felt that forgotten but familiar sensation of decision fatigue and doubt set in. Toggling back and forth between colors and debating the merits of an added inch to the sleeve from size to size, the cost of the new items was more than monetary. The cost included my attention, my peace, the incessant questioning if I made the right choice — because there are so many choices. 

I am embarrassed to admit how many hours I spent zooming and measuring and comparing very basic t-shirts from three different websites. The option of optimizing our choices can start to feel like a personal obligation to do so. For someone with perfectionistic tendencies, even these little choices can quickly become time-consuming chains. 

“I’ve traded in the overwhelming abundance of endless items for the luscious abundance of the unexpected, local roots, treasure hunting, and creativity over convenient consumption.”

After way too much time staring at my phone, I made my new purchases and then exhaled and gave myself permission to stick to shopping secondhand. Not as a sacrifice for the world, but as a service to myself. There will inevitably be times when I do acquire something new (and get to support a responsible brand in the process!), but overall, I feel settled in my secondhand ways. 

Last week, some friends and I went to a little party at our favorite consignment store. As we ate cake, took photos, giggled, and chatted with employees who have become friends, it became even more apparent to me that this is what my preferred abundance feels like. I’ve traded in the overwhelming abundance of endless items for the luscious abundance of the unexpected, local roots, treasure hunting, and creativity over convenient consumption.

Ellie Hughes is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She spent several years as a sustainable fashion blogger and leading the marketing for brands aiming to operate with ethics and the environment as their priority. She is now a freelance writer and marketing consultant living in Portland with her husband, two young daughters, and corgi.

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