How to Reclaim Joy, Rest, and Freedom This Summer

Every summer, the internet tries to hand us a bucket list.

Go here. Make this. Try that. Wear the dress. Host the dinner. Take the trip. Make the memories. Capture the memories. Post the memories. Organize the memories into a photo book before Labor Day or apparently the entire season was a waste.

It is exhausting.

And listen, I love a good summer list. I am not immune to the charm of fresh peaches, porch sitting, farmers markets, lake days, library books, and a glass of iced tea sweating on the table like it has secrets. Summer has its own kind of magic. It deserves to be noticed.

But this year, I did not want a summer bucket list that felt like another assignment.

I wanted a freedom list.

A soft, honest, slightly rebellious list. A list for women who are tired of turning every season into a performance review. A list for those of us who want to feel more alive without needing to become an entirely new person by September.

This is the Rooted in Freedom Summer List. Not a list of things to achieve. A list of things to reclaim.

Freedom to Make It Simple

This summer, I wanted the freedom to make things simpler than they “should” be.

Dinner can be sandwiches. The fancy kind if we are feeling emotionally available. The plain kind if we are not. A clean house can mean one clear counter and a candle doing the emotional labor. A summer outfit can be the same three comfortable pieces rotating with the confidence of a woman who knows laundry is both a chore and a lifestyle.

We do not need to complicate every good thing until it collapses under the weight of expectations.

Simple counts. Simple feeds people. Simple gets us out the door. Simple lets us breathe.

Freedom to Stop Explaining

This summer, I wanted the freedom to stop explaining every choice like I am presenting evidence in a courtroom.

Why I am staying home. Why I am leaving early. Why I am wearing the soft shorts again. Why I am not attending every cookout, signing up for everything, or stretching myself thinner than a cheap paper towel.

Women are so often trained to cushion every no with a paragraph. We offer backstories, apologies, timelines, reasons, disclaimers, and emotional footnotes. But freedom sounds different.

Freedom says, “That does not work for me.” Freedom says, “I am going to pass this time.” Freedom says, “No, thank you,” and then does not build a guest house for guilt.

This summer, I hope you explained less.

Freedom to Enjoy Small Things Without Making Them Productive

I wanted the freedom to enjoy things that do not improve me.

What a concept. A scandal, really.

I want to sit outside and watch birds without turning it into a mindfulness challenge. I want to drink iced coffee without pretending it is part of a morning routine that will unlock my most successful self. I want to read a book simply because it sounds good (or the cover is pretty), not because it will make me smarter, calmer, richer, thinner, more disciplined, or better at storing seasonal decor.

Some joys are allowed to be useless.

Actually, I am beginning to think useless joy may be one of the holiest kinds—the popsicle on the porch. The song turned up too loud in the car—the drugstore sunglasses. The sky is doing something ridiculous at 8:41 p.m.

The way a breeze comes through the dining room windows and makes you forgive the day a little.

None of these things need to earn their keep. Neither do we.

Freedom to Be a Woman With Preferences

This summer, I wanted the freedom to admit what I actually like.

Not what is trendy. Not what sounds impressive.

Not what makes me seem low-maintenance, mysterious, youthful, refined, adventurous, chill, or “fun for my age,” which is a phrase that should be launched directly into the sun.

I want to like what I like.

I like comfortable clothes. I like pretty skies. I like a quiet evening. I like music that makes me feel seventeen and forty-six at the same time. I like flowers from the grocery store. I like reading the same kind of book twice because apparently my nervous system enjoys a familiar plot, and I support her.

There is freedom in preference. There is freedom in no longer auditioning for cool.

There is freedom in becoming easier to please because you finally know what delights you.

Freedom to Let the Body Be

This summer, I wanted freedom from treating my body like a seasonal problem to solve.

Every year, summer arrives with its heat and humidity and bare arms and swimsuits and shorts, and suddenly women are expected to make peace with their bodies publicly, instantly, and preferably with glowing skin.

It is a lot.

And this year, for me, it feels especially tender.

After breast cancer, after recoveries, after five surgeries, and after my final surgery earlier this month, my body does not feel like something I can casually critique from the sidelines anymore. It feels like a body that has been through something. A body that has carried fear, healing, pain, hope, exhaustion, and more bravery than I probably gave it credit for at the time.

There are scars now. There are changes. There are places that feel unfamiliar. There are moments when I look in the mirror and have to take a breath before I can offer myself kindness.

But there is also gratitude. Not the shiny, forced kind that skips over the hard parts. Real gratitude. Complicated gratitude. The kind that says, “This was hard, and I am still here.”

So maybe this summer, instead of forcing ourselves into body confidence, we simply practice body peace with a little kindness around the edges.

What if the goal is not to love every inch every day? What if the goal is to stop missing our lives because we are busy monitoring the shape of ourselves inside them?

Wear the shorts. Put on the swimsuit. Sit in the chair.

Take the picture. Get in the water. Order the ice cream.

Let your body exist without turning it into a courtroom. Your body is not an apology. Your body is where your life is happening.

And mine, scarred and changed and healing, is still worthy of softness, sunshine, rest, joy, and freedom.

Freedom to Rest Without Earning It

This summer, I wanted the freedom to rest before I am desperate.

Not as a reward. Not after everyone else is settled. Not when the house is perfect, the inbox is empty, the laundry is folded, the meals are planned, the people are pleased, and the moon is in whatever phase finally grants women permission to sit down.

Rest is not a prize for finishing life. Rest is part of life. We know this, of course. In theory. In a cute quote on a mug, perhaps.

But living it is different.

Living it means sitting down while something remains undone. It means choosing the porch over the pantry organization project. It means admitting that being tired is reason enough.

It means letting our worth remain intact even when we are not producing, fixing, cleaning, managing, improving, or anticipating everyone’s needs like a mildly anxious prophet.

Freedom to Belong to Yourself

More than anything, this summer I wanted the freedom to belong to myself.

Not in a selfish way. In a rooted way. In a finally-coming-home way.

I wanted to remember that I am not only useful. I am not only needed. I am not only the keeper of appointments, snacks, moods, lists, traditions, and missing socks.

I am a woman with a soul. A woman with longings. A woman with limits.

A woman with laughter still tucked somewhere under the responsibility. A woman who deserves beauty, rest, voice, space, pleasure, safety, and ease.

Rooted in Freedom is not about floating away from the life we have built. It is about standing more fully inside it without shrinking. It is the freedom to say yes with your whole heart. The freedom to say no without handing over a dissertation. The freedom to choose simple.

The freedom to rest.

The freedom to enjoy.

The freedom to stop making yourself smaller just to make everyone else more comfortable.

The List Itself

So here is the Rooted in Freedom Summer List:

Choose the simple dinner.

Wear the comfortable thing.

Say no without overexplaining.

Say yes because you want to.

Read for pleasure.

Rest before you unravel.

Let the house be lived in.

Stop apologizing for your body.

Enjoy something that does not improve you.

Leave early when your soul starts packing up.

Put your phone on Do Not Disturb.

Buy the grocery store flowers.

Let a small joy be enough.

Take up the space you need.

Trust yourself the first time.

Make room to breathe.

And when summer tries to become another performance, another pressure, another pretty little checklist you are supposed to complete with a smile, may you remember this:

You are not here to prove you know how to do summer correctly. You are here to live it.

Softly. Honestly. Freely.