That same week I spent my lunch break gathering documents for my financial planner to help assess how much long-term disability insurance coverage I need to apply for and how much more per month I can now allocate to my daughter’s 529 plan and to our retirement accounts. 

I completed the intake paperwork for my daughter’s new preschool, found new dentists for all of us, and confirmed our benefits with customer service.

It was a week of full-on adulting and, if I’m being honest, there were a few moments when I felt overwhelmed by it all.

Negotiating with benefits brokers, gathering medical and tax records, trying to decipher insurance paperwork legalese…

But even in the midst of the overwhelm, I felt proud of myself and, actually, so grateful for the mundanity of it all.

For me, what might be viewed as mundane is actually a powerful reparative experience given my personal relational trauma background.

In today’s essay, I explain what made this reparative and more about why I’ll never take the mundane for granted.

Why I’ll never take the mundane for granted.

There was nothing “special,” flashy, or exciting about any of the tasks I completed the other week.

There’s also not anything particularly “special,” exciting, or flashy about the sum of my tasks and to-dos on any given day or week.

Load and unload the dishwasher.

Gather the laundry, wash the laundry, fold the laundry.

Batch cook meals in the Instapot and meal prep for the week.

Book medical appointments, refill the vitamin containers, pay the bills, set up socially distanced playdates.

Go to work (which I love), save money to support our long-term planning goals.

Exercise, (mostly) eat healthy, etc.

Again, nothing flashy. Nothing extraordinary.

There are probably a few billion people on the planet who have somewhat similar daily and weekly lists.

There is nothing particularly special – as some might define it – in what I do. 

But the mundane, the ordinary, is special for me given where I come from.

I come from a relational trauma background where there was psychological pain and often logistical and financial chaos while growing up.

We didn’t have health insurance (though my mom made sure we had medical care when needed). 

There were homemade lunches and some saved money – but that money didn’t go to a down payment or retirement investments or 529’s.

Jobs were worked but no financial security was built. 

There was employment, but no business ownership and no job creation for others.