Bougie, Bruised & Blessed: Memorial Weekend from the Farm
Let’s be clear: I am not a regular on the self-care circuit. I don’t “book out spa days” or “lean into wellness.” I walk across the country with my emotional support chariot, sleep in odd places, and occasionally cry in public. That’s my vibe.
But today? Today I entered my bougie era—completely by accident, thanks to a generous friend in New York who decided that walking across America just wasn’t adventurous enough. So naturally, they gifted me a spa session. Because clearly what I was missing in my cross-country trek was some fire-glass suction cups to the back and a pressure point-induced out-of-body experience.
It started with what I assumed would be a normal massage. You know, the kind that just helps peel the road off your spine after you’ve been dragging yourself (and Gertrude) across the South. But no. This was not your Groupon rubdown. This was spa gladiator-level.
Hot stone therapy? Been there. Love a hot rock. But today I added something new to the mix: cupping.
Now, for those who haven’t been suctioned into the spiritual realm, here’s the rundown: small glass domes get placed along your back, and then they vacuum your flesh up into them like they’re trying to summon your stress demons out through your pores. It’s part medieval, part miracle. And it leaves you looking like a human game board. I’m now polka-dotted like an eccentric librarian’s blouse.
The legend behind this operation? Ms. Lucy Sun—pronounced with a long “o,” like Soon, as in “You’ll soon question every life choice that led you to this moment.” Don’t be fooled by her calm demeanor—this woman has a full ninja dojo packed into her thumbs and elbows. She rearranged muscles I didn’t know I had, possibly realigned my spiritual path, and somehow made it all feel oddly comforting.
And if that wasn’t enough, my new pair of HOKAS arrived. My feet immediately forgave me for every gravel road, unexpected incline, and questionable bathroom detour. I might have cried a little. Don’t judge me.
Right now, I’m cozied up on a farm, in a divine cottage with one of my dear West Point Mama friends—those warrior women who’ve survived parenting cadets, military goodbyes, and last-minute potlucks like the battlefield pros they are. I’m here for Memorial Day weekend, riding horses tomorrow (because why not?) and soaking in the stillness before the road calls again on Tuesday.
But as I sit here, bruised and blessed, sipping something cold and listening to the quiet, I haven’t forgotten what this weekend really means.
Memorial Day isn’t about long weekends or quirky blog posts. It’s about honoring the lives that gave us the freedom to laugh, rest, and heal. Every mile I walk is for them. Every pause I take holds space for their sacrifice.
So from the fields of southern stillness in Gerogia, with circular back bruises and a grateful heart—I wish you a safe, meaningful, and restful Memorial Day.
With love (and polka dots),
L
#KeepMePosted #CuppingAndCountryLife #BougieByAccident #MentalFitness #MemorialDay #WalkingAcrossAmerica #MsLucySunChangedMyLife