Somewhere along the path of becoming, we absorbed the notion that worth is contingent upon flawlessness. That to be lovable, we must be polished—composed, orderly, untouched by error.
But life—the kind that pulses with meaning and depth—unfolds not in perfection, but in the spaces between. It lives in the cracks. In the hesitations. In the unanticipated, the undone, the unrefined.
We were never meant to be seamless. We were meant to be whole. And wholeness allows for unevenness—for vulnerability, for nuance, for evolution.
A few months ago, I had to say goodbye to my sweet cat, Cowie. Losing her left an ache in my heart that I wasn’t prepared for. If you’ve ever lost a pet, you know that they’re not just animals—they’re family, companions, and sources of unconditional love. It’s one of the deepest kinds of loss, and in those moments, we look for any kind of comfort we can hold onto. For me, that comfort came through something I’d always heard of but never fully appreciated until now—the Rainbow Bridge.
What is the Rainbow Bridge?
The Rainbow Bridge is a concept that many of us turn to when we lose a beloved pet. It’s said to be a peaceful, beautiful place where our pets go after they pass. In this place, they are free—free from pain, free from sickness, and free to run and play in vast, green meadows under a gentle, glowing rainbow. But perhaps the most comforting part of the Rainbow Bridge is the belief that our pets wait for us there. They watch over us, filled with love, until the day comes when we are reunited and can cross that bridge together.
When Cowie passed, I was devastated. The loft suddenly felt emptier, quieter. My heart wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Recently, Shawn made me a beautiful memorial board to honor her, and it carries the words, “Your wings were ready, but our hearts were not.” Those words couldn’t be more true. As I held that board, I found myself thinking more about the Rainbow Bridge. It’s not just an idea—it’s a reminder that even though Cowie isn’t physically here, her love remains. And in that place beyond the rainbow, she’s waiting for me, healthy and happy once again.
Life is busy, unpredictable, and often demanding. We find ourselves juggling work, family, and endless to-do lists, all while pushing our own needs to the side. But here’s a truth I’ve come to understand, both as a doctor and as someone who has experienced burnout: if we don’t make the time to take care of ourselves, we end up drained, depleted, and unable to show up fully for the things that matter most. We’ve all heard the saying, “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” but how many of us actually live by that?
Self-care isn’t a luxury or something “nice to have” when we’re not busy. It’s the foundation for living a healthy, fulfilling life. And it’s something we need to start giving ourselves permission to prioritize. Because the truth is, without our health—physical, emotional, and mental—everything else crumbles. We cannot give what we don’t have.
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the idea of imperfection and how it plays such a profound role in our lives. At Sweet Bee Artisan Boards, Shawn and I have found ourselves drawn to rustic lumber—wood that many would consider flawed or imperfect. But as we’ve worked with these boards, I’ve come to see them as a powerful analogy for our own journeys, both as individuals and as partners.
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