January 2026

For a long time, every question I asked came back to the house. Was it fixed yet? Was it safe now? What changed was realizing those questions were keeping me stuck — and that listening to my body offered clearer information than any checklist ever did.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t using mold testing to understand my environment anymore. I was using it to calm fear — and it wasn’t actually working.

For a long time, I treated distance as avoidance. I thought staying proved strength and leaving meant fear was winning. What I eventually learned was that distance wasn’t running away — it was giving my body the space it needed to reset.

There was a time when every shift in how I felt sent me back to the numbers. What changed was learning that not every fluctuation needed confirmation to be real.

For a long time, I treated leaving as proof that remediation hadn’t worked. What I eventually understood was that improvement and compatibility aren’t the same thing — and leaving didn’t erase the progress that had already happened.

At some point, the tests stopped being the center of the process. What replaced them wasn’t denial or neglect — it was pattern recognition that felt steadier than constant checking.

I didn’t expect healing to include loss. I thought progress would mean fixing, staying, and moving forward. What I learned instead was that letting go of a space wasn’t giving up — it was how my body finally stopped bracing.

I used to believe that staying oriented meant constantly checking numbers. What helped was realizing that orientation can come from stability, not surveillance.

I wanted the house to work for me. I wanted effort and repair to be enough. What I slowly learned was that some environments improve without ever becoming neutral for certain bodies — and that this wasn’t a personal failure.

For a long time, I worried that stepping back from testing meant I was abandoning the process. What I learned instead was that pausing can be part of staying engaged — not walking away.