The Creative Nest

There are very few things in life that irritate me more than an unnecessary fee. This week, the water bill decided to test that boundary. I paid it on time — because I am responsible and enjoy indoor plumbing — but while clicking through the payment screen, I noticed something that made me pause. If I had paid it late, the fee would have been nearly ten dollars. Ten dollars. For water. The thing that literally falls from the sky. Now I understand policies. I understand deadlines. I understand that systems need structure. But nearly ten dollars for being a little late? That’s not a gentle reminder. That’s a financial eye roll with attitude. And it got me thinking… I’m breaking up with extra fees. The overdraft fee? We’re not aligned. The “processing” fee? Feels suspicious. And the infamous “convenience” fee? Let’s talk about that one. Because nothing says convenience like paying extra to pay. If you want more of my money, just say that. Don’t disguise it like you’re doing me a ...

 Tell me I’m not alone in this. You know that kind of relief that hits after you’ve been holding something in for way too long? A conversation. A boundary. A decision. A truth you’ve been chewing on for weeks. You finally say it, choose it, release it — and instead of a quiet little sigh, it feels like a commercial-grade toilet flush that just… keeps… going. It starts strong and confident. You think, “Okay. Good. That’s done.” But then it keeps swirling. And swirling. And swirling. You’re standing there thinking, “Is this normal? Should I be concerned? Is it supposed to take this long?” That’s what deep emotional relief can feel like. You finally choose yourself. You finally let go. You finally stop carrying something heavy. And instead of instant calm, there’s this dramatic internal whoooooosh as your entire nervous system recalibrates. Your brain is processing. Your body is catching up. Part of you is thrilled, and another part is mildly alarmed at the volume of it all. Ther...

This morning, Bear had one of his “good” treats. Not the casual chew-it-and-move-on kind, but the special kind — the kind that changes posture. Instead of eating it right away, he laid directly on top of it. Full body weight. Chin slightly lifted. Eyes half-open but alert. If Mocha wandered too close, there was a low growl — not aggressive, just informational. Boundary established. Watching him guard that treat made me pause. When was the last time I protected something that way? Not money. Not responsibilities. Not other people’s feelings. But something that felt like a treat to me. If you had one thing you wouldn’t share, wouldn’t apologize for, wouldn’t hand over just because someone else wanted a bite, what would it be? Maybe it’s your quiet morning coffee before the house wakes up. Maybe it’s your creative projects, your peace, your time, or a slow Sunday that no one gets to rearrange. And how would you protect it? Would you block it on your calendar and treat it like a non-ne...