I’m 39, recently divorced, and until today, I’d never mowed a lawn in my life—my ex was a landscaper, so it was always his thing. But there’s a first time for everything. I did my research, found a great deal on a mower, and read the manual twice just to be sure. Then I threw on my bright leggings, beat-up Brooks (sorry, no classic dad New Balance), a headband, earbuds, and stepped outside. I mowed my first lawn. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I’m proud of myself for doing something I thought I couldn’t. It’s a small win, but it means everything.
I used to think mowing the lawn was just another chore I’d never need to learn. But after the divorce, I realized how many things I’d never done simply because someone else always did them for me. This was my moment to change that.
Buying the mower felt like a declaration. I wasn’t just purchasing a tool—I was reclaiming a part of my independence. I read the instructions like it was sacred text, determined not to mess it up.
When I stepped outside, I felt a mix of nerves and excitement. My outfit was far from traditional lawn-care chic, but it was unapologetically me. I hit start, and off I went—stripes, swerves, and all.
It wasn’t about the grass. It was about proving to myself that I could learn, adapt, and thrive. I didn’t need anyone else to make me feel capable. I already was.
That freshly cut lawn wasn’t just a patch of green—it was a symbol of growth. And today, I stood taller than I had in years.
