I never imagined I’d be listing my dream dining set on Facebook Marketplace, but there I was, watching a stranger carry it out my front door, feeling lighter with each step they took. I had spent months designing this set—alabaster linen banquette seating on a natural ashwood frame, a fluted pedestal table that embodied everything I envisioned for my growing family. I dreamed of long meals filled with laughter, nourishing food, and deep connection. But reality had other plans.
Motherhood has a way of peeling back our illusions. In the last 20 months, as I navigated babyhood into toddlerhood, I found myself overstimulated by the sheer amount of ‘stuff’ pulling at my energy. The beautiful linen bench that once represented my future dreams had instead become a source of daily stress. Each meal, I found myself anxiously guarding it against sticky hands and rogue splashes of marinara sauce. I even layered it with blankets, desperate to preserve its pristine beauty, but still, my focus was being stolen. I heard myself interrupting my husband mid-conversation: Can you cover that area? I don’t want Benny’s hands to stain the fabric.
I realized that my attention—one of my most sacred resources—was leaking into a place that didn’t serve me. I wasn’t fully present at the dinner table; I was monitoring damage control. And through my deepening relationship with God, I came to understand that this earthly stress was distracting me from the fleeting joys of my son’s early years. What I resisted persisted. The solution was clear: I had to surrender, to let go.
So, I sold it. The dream set. The financial investment. The attachment to what I thought my life should look like. And in its place now sits a simple, mismatched folding table that belonged to my husband’s grandmother, accompanied by two basic black chairs. When my husband saw what I had done, he was shocked, knowing how much I value beautiful spaces. But for me, this act wasn’t about aesthetics—it was about reclaiming my peace. It was about making room for presence, for joy, for the things that truly nourish me.
In the beginning of my relationship with my now husband, he used to always tell me I need to learn how to enjoy suffering, and that suffering was good for me. This used to make me so mad, because I was all about indulging in the comforts of the material world. In fact I was a culprit of the material world, designing items to enhance women’s comfort and confidence in themselves through their physical appearance.
I’m learning now as I mature spiritually just how much value that statement has and in my nightly reading of the bible I came across a powerful passage from Romans 5:3-5 that speaks directly to this idea of learning to enjoy your suffering:
"Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."
This passage teaches that suffering is not meaningless—it refines us. Through endurance, we develop character, and from that character, hope emerges. It’s a reminder that the trials we face are shaping us into stronger, more faithful versions of ourselves, and by learning to endure it builds resilience and strengthens our connection to God.
In giving up my attachment to comfort, I found something far greater: the ability to be fully here, to soak in my son’s giggles, his messy hands, the sweetness of his tiny voice saying, Mama, more please.
Identifying Energy Leaks in Your Life
Our external environments hold powerful influence over our internal state. If you’ve been feeling overstimulated, overwhelmed, or disconnected, take this as an invitation to assess where your energy is going.
A Simple Exercise:
Keep a small journal with you for a week.
Throughout the day, note moments when you feel frustrated, tense, or pulled out of alignment.
Pay attention to what is demanding your energy—objects, habits, commitments, even certain conversations.
At the end of the week, reflect on your notes. What patterns emerge? What small shifts can you make to reclaim your peace?
It may be as simple as clearing out a cluttered drawer, saying no to an unnecessary obligation, or, like me, releasing a piece of furniture that no longer serves your highest good.
Energy is meant to flow, not stagnate. When we hold onto things out of fear, attachment, or obligation, we create resistance. And as the saying goes, what you resist persists. But when we shift, when we release, we create space for something new—something lighter, something aligned.
Surrendering isn’t about loss. It’s about making room for what truly matters. In that space, we find peace.
Let’s Connect
I’d love to hear from you—drop a comment below and share something with me. What resonated with you? Will you be auditing your energy? How will you address your energy leaks? Imagine what you can create from a space of peaceful inner energy.
From my heart to yours,
Lauren Alkhal
Connection Coach | Inner Garden Guide | Mama | Meditator
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I came across your article as I was looking for content on how our physical spaces affect our productivity and mental state when working as I'm challenging myself to work from a cafe once a week (yes, to me, that's a challenge).
While it wasn't about what I thought it would be about, it's about another challenge I know I'll set myself in the future: 30 days of eliminating things. There are many little things around the house that, as you say, frustrate me, interrupt my flow, and suck my energy. I've already gotten rid of some but I think it would be interesting to make a challenge out of it as I procrastinate a lot with getting rid of things, trying to sell them or not making the effort to go donate them.