staceybooks

As life keeps moving, faster than we ever seem ready for, I’ve come to realize that the things that matter most aren’t things at all. They’re people, they’re moments, they’re the quiet, simple truths that sit in your chest long after the chaos has died down.

For me, what’s most important in life can be summed up in four sacred priorities: my kids, my grandkids, my husband, and myself. Each one holds a space in my heart that no one else can fill. Each one has taught me something about love, about faith, about resilience, and about who I am.

I carried one of my children, but all of them became mine in the most meaningful way—through love, through life, and through the kind of bond that doesn’t need biology to make it real. Whether they came to me through birth or through marriage, they are mine. They didn’t come from me in the same way, but they came to me with the same purpose, to stretch my heart, to teach me patience, to reveal my own strength, and to show me what unconditional love really looks like. They’ve watched me fall, watched me rebuild, and still they stand by me. That kind of love, the kind that survives storms, seasons, and silence, is rare. Being their mom didn’t just give me purpose, it gave me perspective. The kind that says, “Keep going, they’re watching, and they’re rooting for you, even when you don’t feel worthy.”

I used to wonder if I’d ever get the chance to be a steady, peaceful presence in someone’s childhood. Then my grandbabies came along and rewrote the story. They are joy in its purest form, little reminders that life is still good, even when it’s hard. They don’t care about what I’ve done or what I’ve lost, they just care that I’m there. And let me tell you, there is nothing more healing than holding your grandchild’s hand and realizing that love really can reach across generations. They’re a second chance, a redemption I never knew I needed.

Loving someone as a grown woman, with scars, with history, with baggage, is different. It’s deeper, it’s messier, and if you’re lucky, it’s real. My husband loves me in a way I once thought I didn’t deserve, not for what I can give him, but for who I am. And I love him for all that he is, his quiet strength, his loyalty, his stubborn faith in us. He didn’t have to love my children, he didn’t have to step into a family that already had its own rhythm. But he did. He does. And he chooses us, every single day.

It took me years to realize I was allowed to put myself on the list. I’ve spent so much of my life surviving, scraping through guilt, shame, fear, and trauma, that I forgot I’m more than my past. I forgot that I matter too. Now, I’m learning to love myself the way I love my family, fully, without conditions. I’m not perfect. I still have days where I question everything. But I’m here. I’m showing up. I’m doing the hard work of healing. And I’m finally starting to believe that I deserve peace too.

It’s not money, not titles, not things. It’s the people you love and the person you’re becoming. It’s holding on when everything says let go. It’s finding joy in your grandchildren’s laughter, strength in your partner’s hand, hope in your children’s eyes, and grace in your own reflection. Because at the end of the day, what’s most important is love. And I’ve got it, messy, beautiful, hard-won love, all around me.

And that’s more than enough.