There are seasons in life when one thing changes.

And then there are seasons when everything changes at once.

This has been one of those seasons.

A new apartment.
A new car.
A new phone.
A new rhythm.
A new relationship with peace.
A new understanding of what it means to start over without abandoning yourself.

Bonjour mes amies! I have been calling this the new book of my life because “new chapter” no longer feels big enough.

A chapter suggests the same story continuing in a slightly different direction. But this feels deeper than that. This feels like a rewriting. A reimagining. A return. A brave and sometimes trembling decision to stop trying to build beauty inside places that no longer felt safe, peaceful, or whole.

And oddly enough, so much of it is new because so much of the old was taken away.

My car was totaled after I was struck, so I had to begin again there, too. I recently purchased a “new” car, and even though that process came with stress, uncertainty, logistics, and another unexpected expense, I also recognize what it represents: movement. Protection. Provision. A way forward.

My phone was stolen, and I had to replace it too. Another interruption. Another loss. Another reset. Another reminder that sometimes life makes you release things before you feel ready.

Then there is the apartment.

The apartment is new, but I am not trying to fill it with everything purchased new.

In fact, I am doing what I have always loved: thrifting, collecting, searching, layering, and allowing the home to become slowly. I do not want a space that looks like it arrived in one delivery truck. I want a home that feels lived in, loved into, prayed through, and collected with intention.

Vintage frames.
Old glassware.
Brass accents.
Antique textures.
Books.
Wallpaper.
Flowers.
Shoes on display.
A closet that becomes a tiny filming corner.
A kitchen wall that serves a purpose.
A home that tells the truth.

There is something healing about choosing secondhand pieces while starting over.

It reminds me that new does not always mean untouched.

New can mean chosen again.

New can mean reimagined.
New can mean rescued.
New can mean softened by history.
New can mean beautiful because it survived.

Maybe that is why I have been so drawn to thrifted and vintage pieces in this season. They feel honest. They carry evidence of other lives, other rooms, other hands, other stories. And now, they are becoming part of mine.

That feels fitting.

Because I am not trying to erase everything I have been through. I am trying to build a life where what I have survived no longer has to be hidden. I am trying to build a home where softness is not a performance, but a practice. Where my daughter can see beauty, rest, creativity, and peace as normal parts of our lives.

Starting over is not as glamorous as people sometimes make it sound.

It is expensive. It is emotional. It is inconvenient. It is full of measurements, boxes, receipts, decisions, delays, tears, laughter, and moments where you stare at a room and wonder what you are doing.

But then there are also moments when the light comes in just right.

When the wallpaper goes up.
When the flowers are placed in a vase.
When the champagne is opened in the middle of an unfinished closet.
When your child gets excited about her room.
When a friend sends a gift.
When someone says, “I’m proud of you.”
When you realize you are not just moving things into an apartment.

You are moving yourself into a life that feels more honest.

That is the part I keep coming back to.

This new book is not about having everything figured out. It is not about perfection. It is not about rushing to make every room look finished, every feeling resolved, every uncertainty answered.

It is about faith.

Faith that I can begin again.
Faith that peace is worth choosing.
Faith that provision can meet me in motion.
Faith that I can be afraid and still be guided.
Faith that I can build slowly and still be building well.

And because so much of this season has reminded me that I do not have to do everything alone, I am gathering with mes amies to celebrate this new beginning.

Haute Housewarming
July 18
12:00–3:00 PM
Washington, D.C.

This is not just a housewarming.

It is a celebration of starting over with intention. It is a gathering for champagne, softness, conversation, honesty, laughter, and the kind of support so many women give to others but forget they are allowed to receive.

If you are attending and would like to bring something, I would absolutely love vintage picture frames from thrift stores, antique shops, estate sales, or your own collection. Candles, vintage china, napkins, and stemware. I am building a home that feels layered, soulful, collected, and full of story, and vintage frames feel like the perfect symbol for this season: old beauty holding new memories.

For those who would like to support from afar, I have also created an Amazon registry.

Amazon Registry Here | Venmo: @itsjessiefrances | Cashapp @madamecappuccinos

Merci for witnessing this becoming.

Merci for every message, every gift, every prayer, every word of encouragement, and every reminder that I do not have to build this new life alone.

Everything feels new right now.

The apartment.
The car.
The phone.
The routines.
The responsibilities.
The unknowns.
The faith required.

But I am learning that starting over does not mean starting from nothing.

I am starting with wisdom.
I am starting with taste.
I am starting with community.
I am starting a new tradition of placing peace and mental health first.
I am starting with faith.
I am starting with myself.

And that feels like abundance already.

Ciao for now 💋