When it’s the last thing you feel like doing...

I’ll be honest—last week was a little rough.

There wasn’t any one big dramatic meltdown moment, just that feeling of getting punched when you’re already down. Where it feels like no matter how much effort you're putting in, nothing is actually moving forward, and you find yourself feeling discouraged and tapped out.

I started the year feeling so clear and excited about my goals, about my mama mentoring plan with my girls, about the direction of my business. 

And then January kicked my butt. 

One setback after another. Two steps forward, one step back.

And then last week my business got hit with a pretty significant technical issue, one that is going to cost us a ton of money to fix. In a normal week, it would probably just be one of those things that happen when you own a business.

But last week, on top of all the other ways I was feeling discouraged, it was just… disheartening. And I found myself wondering, what is the point of any of it? Why am I even trying so hard?

So when my dad called on Wednesday and said he and a few of my aunts and uncles (who were visiting from Iowa) wanted to come see our farmhouse and take us out for dinner, I’m a little ashamed to tell you that my first thought was: Ugh. Really? This week?

Now, to be fair, he gave me options. Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. 

But Friday my daughter had a basketball game she was cheerleading at, so that was out. And Saturday we had already invited another couple over for dinner—friends we hadn't seen in a while—and there was no way I was canceling on them.

So. Thursday it was.

Which also happened to be the end of my three-day mega work week. I was hosting a live workshop that day, plus I had a few other coaching calls planned. I knew it was going to be an exhausting day. By Thursday afternoon I am usually completely wiped out. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was socialize.

But we said yes anyway. Because that’s what you do.

And then, as my husband Chuck and I discussed where we could eat when the restaurant options within a reasonable distance weren’t all that great (the downside of living out in the country), we finally just decided it would be easier—and tastier—to eat at home.

Thankfully Chuck did most of the heavy lifting. He went to Costco and Publix, then tidied the house and built a fire in the outdoor fireplace.

And we somehow managed to pull it all together.

But here's the funny thing. The moment they walked in and we poured some wine and just started talking and laughing, something shifted. It was like all that heaviness I'd been carrying just sort-of lifted. 

It ended up being a really special evening. We laughed, told stories, caught up on years that had flown by. The food was nothing fancy—just steak and roasted vegetables and a salad and some homemade sourdough. But it felt warm and good and full. 

Afterwards, we both said the same thing: I'm so glad we did that.

And then, two days later, we did it again.

Hosted the dinner we'd already planned with the couple we hadn't seen in a while. And it was just as wonderful. 

But my big aha moment came as we sat down and started catching up. 

“It’s been such a long time,” we said, “what have you guys been up to?

"We don't really do anything," they said. "We mostly just hang out at home and watch TV."

And I don't know why, but something about hearing that just hit me. 

Because I could hear the loneliness underneath it. The quiet admission that life had kind of narrowed down to just… existing. Going through the motions. Waiting for someone or something to make it feel like more.

And I get it. Because, honestly, we'd been feeling a little bit of that ourselves, ever since we moved out to the country. We're not in our old neighborhood anymore, where our house always seemed to be the weekly gathering spot. Some of our closest friends have moved away. Life gets busy and everyone's got a million things going on, and somehow the people you love most are the first ones you stop making time for.

But in that moment I realized we weren't actually waiting because we were too busy. 

We were waiting because we assumed everyone else was.

I think sometimes we tell ourselves stories that aren’t actually true. They probably already have plans. They're too busy for us. Maybe they don't really want to hang out anymore. 

And so we don't reach out. And they don't reach out. And everyone just… waits.

But the truth is so much simpler than that. We’re all longing for connection. Everyone. 

Maybe we’ve just all collectively forgotten how to go first.

Brené Brown once said, "Connection is why we're here. It is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives." Along those same lines, Henri Nouwen wrote, "Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place."

In other words? We’re all waiting for an invitation to connect.

What surprised me the most about those two dinners is how much they filled me back up. Not drained. Not depleted. Restored. 

Just having people in our home, feeding them good food, laughing over wine, remembering that we were made for this kind of gathering. It reminded me of who I am and what actually matters.

And so if you're in a season right now where you're feeling isolated, disconnected, discouraged, or just a little worn out by life, maybe the thing you need isn’t more time alone. Maybe it’s not a fancy retreat or a self-care checklist or another goal.

Maybe what you really need is to invite someone in.

So that’s my challenge for you this week.

Be the one who goes first. Send the text. Extend the invitation. It doesn’t have to be big or elaborate—just make space. Someone out there is waiting for it… and honestly, so are you.

Live with purpose, friend, and have a joy-filled week!

xoxo, Ruth

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