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REDISCOVERY

Rediscover Yourself & Live a Life You Love

The Rediscovery Blog

  • When You Change, Not Everyone Will Be Glad — The Truth About Growing After 50

    Nobody warns you about this part.

    They tell you to grow. Find yourself. Choose your own life. Be brave. And all of that is true and worth hearing. But what they don’t tell you is what happens to some of your relationships when you actually do it.

    When you change, not everyone will be glad.

    Not because they’re bad in any way. But because the version of you that was quiet and accommodating and reliably easy to manage – she worked for them. And this new version, the one with clearer limits and a stronger sense of her own value? She can be disorienting. Even threatening. To people who benefited from your smallness, your growth can look like a problem.

    I’ve felt this. The surprise on someone’s face when I didn’t say, Sure, that’s fine… The comment that landed like: you’ve changed. Said not as a compliment.

    I have changed. And I’m not going back.

    In my Motherhood Studies training, the Fish Tank Model describes the invisible system that surrounds women – the social norms, family expectations, relationship patterns that define what’s acceptable. When you exist quietly within the system, everything feels fine. The moment you start to shift, the system pushes back. It needs you where you were.

    It’s not personal. It feels personal – intensely, sometimes painfully personal. But it’s systemic. You are bumping up against a structure that was designed to keep women compliant and in their place.

    The people who genuinely love you, and who are capable of growing themselves, will adjust. Some will need time. Some will surprise you. And some – this is the part that nobody tells you – may not be able to come with you.

    That is one of the harder truths of real change. Not everyone will celebrate who you’re becoming. Some of them were comfortable in your previous version.

    But here is what I know, from my own life and from other women I’ve spoken with:

    You cannot grow and simultaneously stay small for everyone’s comfort. Those two things cannot coexist. And now that you’ve seen the tank – now that you know what you’ve been swimming in – you cannot unsee it.

    The discomfort of growing is temporary. The cost of shrinking back is permanent.

    Choose growth.

    This week’s practice:

    Think of someone in your life who may be uncomfortable with who you’re becoming.

    Now think of the last thing you almost said to them – and didn’t. The sentence you edited.

    Write the unedited version. The thing you actually wanted to say. You don’t have to send it, share it, or do anything with it. Just write it without softening it for once.

    Notice how that feels. Not reckless. Not unkind. Just true.

    That gap – between what you said and what you wrote just now — that’s the distance you’re closing. That’s what becoming looks like.

    It takes practice. But you’re already doing it.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

  • Who Were You Five Years Ago? A Question Every Woman Over 50 Should Ask

    I’ve been on a few night shifts this week — there’s something about working at 4am that makes you see your life very clearly.

    It got me thinking.

    Who were you five years ago?

    What did you put up with that you wouldn’t now? What did you believe about yourself that has quietly shifted? What did you call normal that now makes you pause?

    I ask because I think we wildly underestimate how much we’ve changed. We’re so focused on who we’re trying to become that we forget to notice who we’ve already become.

    Five years ago, I was waking at 4am rehearsing conversations. Replaying things people had said – or hadn’t said. Working out how to phrase something so it wouldn’t cause a problem. Calculating whether my needs were reasonable before I’d even expressed them.

    A constant internal negotiation. An editing of myself before I spoke.

    I don’t do that anymore. Not never – some mornings still catch me. But mostly: I notice when I’m doing it, and I stop. That gap between the impulse and the action – that’s where I live now. Along with a lot more compassion for myself too.

    That didn’t happen in one single lightbulb moment. It happened through a lot of small, uncomfortable choices. Saying something true when it would have been easier to stay quiet. Choosing not to explain myself when I didn’t owe an explanation. Starting REDISCOVERY on a night shift break and thinking: this is real, and I’m going to keep going.

    The Maternal Self in Motion framework – which I studied as part of my Motherhood Studies certification – describes our identity as a train journey. Not a fixed destination. A journey, with tracks and stations and a carriage that carries everything you’ve been through.

    The stations mark the befores and afters. And in our 50s, most of us have been through stations that changed everything. The loss of a parent. The end of a relationship. Children becoming adults. Relocation. The slow, clarifying recognition that the life you’ve been living was assembled partly for other people.

    My mum died in September 2025. I was with her for twelve days in hospital, and then she was gone. It was the saddest thing that has ever happened to me – and also, strangely, one of the most clarifying. She was genuinely warm, kind, and caring. She made everyone feel seen. And sitting with her in those last days, I thought: that’s what I want. Not success or recognition or proving anything. I want to be that real.

    I got back on the train different.

    You have too.

    Look at yourself clearly – not critically, but clearly. See the woman who has been through stations and kept going. Who has learned things the hard way and applied them anyway. Who is, right now, more herself than she has ever been.

    This week’s practice:

    Think of one thing you’ve said or done in the last six months that the woman you were five years ago would not have done.

    One moment where you held your ground. Told the truth. Chose yourself.

    Didn’t apologise for existing.

    Write it down in one specific sentence. Not “I’ve been setting more boundaries.” Something real: “I started something without asking anyone’s permission.”

    Then read it back and say: I did that. That was me.

    Because it was. And the woman who did that is still here, still building, still becoming.

    That’s the beginning.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

  • You Don’t Need Permission To Want What You Want (Women Over 50)

    We’re here again focusing on living for you, rediscovering you, your values, your wishes, your dreams. Because this is your own unique life, precious yet vulnerable.

    So let’s check by asking the question – when did you last want something just for you – without explaining it away?

    Not for your children. Not because it would make you a better mother, partner, colleague, friend or because the classic “it’s good for you”. Just something you wanted because you wanted it for no particular reason other than it makes you happy.

    For many of us, that question can land awkwardly. Because wanting things for ourselves has felt – for a very long time – like something that needs to be justified first.

    I spent years doing it. The qualification always arrived before the desire had even finished forming.

    Obviously I’m grateful, but… It’s probably silly, but… I know I should be content with, but…

    But I want more, and I want something else…eek…

    There was a period in my life when I wanted, more than almost anything, to live in France. Green shutters. Slow mornings. A completely different pace. It felt self-indulgent even to think it. I had responsibilities. Children. A life already assembled. Who was I to want something so different?

    And yet the wanting didn’t go away. It just sat there, quietly festering for years.

    We had a window of opportunity. I knew if we didn’t try, we never would. So we went.

    Some people thought we were ungrateful. Selfish. Downright crazy.

    We weren’t. We were just choosing something for ourselves – and that, apparently, still makes people very uncomfortable.

    Here’s what my Motherhood Studies training gave me language for: that guilt – the one that arrives the moment you want something for yourself – isn’t personal. It’s cultural. The Social Conditioning Pyramid maps exactly how girls are taught from childhood to place their needs last. To earn the right to be considered. To frame their desires in terms of how they serve others first.

    By the time we’re in our 50s, the conditioning runs so deep we don’t even notice it operating. We just feel the guilt, assume it means we’re wrong, and quietly put the want away.  And with that our confidence lessens too.

    But guilt isn’t evidence that you want too much.

    It’s evidence that you were taught to want less. And express less.

    France didn’t last – Charlie needed home, and we came back. But we went. We chose it. And even in going and returning, I learned something I couldn’t have learned any other way: that choosing something for myself, even imperfectly, even temporarily, was possible.  And I loved it too and I’m so, so glad we went.  It’s no longer festering there in my mind and we have made so many happy and funny memories.

    Your wants are not selfishness to suppress. They’re not problems to manage. They’re information – about who you are, what your life could look like, what you’ve been quietly longing for while you kept everyone else’s peace.

    You don’t need permission to want what you want.

    But if it helps to hear it said plainly: you’re allowed.

    This week’s practice:

    Write down three things you want. Not what you should want – what you actually want. Private, specific, yours.

    Then read each one back out loud. Not in your head. Out loud.

    Notice which one you almost whispered. Which one made you glance at the door. Which one felt almost embarrassing to say.

    That’s the one with the most power in it.

    You don’t have to show this to anyone. But you do have to hear yourself say it.  You have to give yourself permission.

    You are your own unique person that is here to grow and truly be.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , ,

  • What To Do When You Have Nothing To Do (For Women Over 50)

    I’ve been thinking about what to do when you have nothing to do.

    That sounds like it should be simple. A free afternoon. No one needing anything. Nowhere to be. Just: time.

    I stood in my kitchen last week and felt it – that strange, uncomfortable blankness. And within about three minutes, I was already reaching for something useful. Tidying. Planning. Sorting the car out. Drafting a newsletter.

    The pull was automatic. Almost like a reflex.

    I stopped myself. But it took effort.

    Because for most of our lives, being needed was the structure. Work, children, parents, partners, problems. There was always something. And we were always the ones holding it together.

    Rest wasn’t really rest. It was recovery before the next round.

    My mum was different. She knew how to simply be. She’d make a cup of tea, sit by the window, and read her book. Watch the birds come into the garden. Go and see a friend just to have a proper chat – not to solve anything, not to help with anything. Just to be together, chat, laugh.

    She wasn’t anxious. She was at peace.

    I used to watch her and not quite understand it. Now I think she had something I’m still learning.

    Since she died, I’ve been practising. Sitting with a coffee without reaching for my phone. Meeting a friend and having that chat and laughing – not multitasking in my head. I’ve just finished a wonderful book by Rory Stewart and I have my next one waiting. I’m hoping to start it today.

    It’s harder than it sounds. Especially when you’ve been needed for so long that stillness feels suspicious. Almost not allowed. Like you should be doing something.

    But here’s what I’m coming to understand: reconnecting with yourself doesn’t happen in a dramatic moment. It happens in small, quiet experiments. An afternoon with no agenda. A walk with no destination. A morning when you let things be slow.

    You have to practise wanting things again.

    It’s a skill. And it’s one we can absolutely rebuild.

    It starts with one honest question:

    What do I actually feel like doing right now – one thing just for me?

    This week’s practice:

    Schedule two hours for yourself this week. Put it in your diary right now, before you read another word.

    When those two hours arrive:

    • Do not clean.
    • Do not plan.
    • Do not improve anything.

    Just notice what happens in your body when you stop being useful. Notice the pull toward productivity. Notice what stillness actually feels like for you.

    Then write one sentence: How do I feel when I stop?

    Let’s do this.  Everyday, living our own lives.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , ,

  • The Dream I Carried For Years (And What Happened When I Actually Lived It)

    I want to tell you about a dream I carried for years.

    A house in France. Green shutters. A different kind of life.

    I used to look out of my kitchen window on a grey English morning and think: there has to be more than this. And eventually — after years of waiting, talking myself out of it, talking myself back into it — we actually did it.

    And it was beautiful. The light in France in the early morning is unlike anything I’ve experienced. Warm and golden and slow. Nothing like February in Hampshire.

    But here’s what I didn’t expect: the hard part wasn’t the logistics or the upheaval or the uncertainty. The hard part was deciding that what I wanted was worth the disruption. That the dream — not the sensible choice, not the thing that made logistical sense — deserved to actually happen.

    For decades I’d been building a life around what worked. What was practical. What kept things smooth. I’m good at that — I’m a nurse, I’m a mother, I know how to hold things together. But somewhere in all that holding, I knew I was waiting too.

    You Are Not Going Backwards

    In my Motherhood Studies training, I studied a framework called the Maternal Self in Motion, developed by Dr Sophie Brock. It describes identity using the metaphor of a train journey — tracks, stations, carriages. The idea is that our sense of self isn’t something fixed we return to. It travels. It moves through stations of change, picks things up, sets things down, arrives somewhere new.

    The women I speak with often say they want to get back to who they were. But that woman isn’t behind you. She’s further down the track — carrying more wisdom, more clarity, a harder-won understanding of what she will and will not accept.

    You’re not going backwards to find yourself. You’re going forward, into a version of your life that can fit who you’ve actually become.

    What France Gave Me

    I loved France but it didn’t last. We came back after just a few months — Charlie needed his friends, his language, his home, his school system. People said, Charlie will be fine, just stay! But I knew he wasn’t fine. It simply wasn’t going to be right for him. He’s thriving now and is about to be Jack in Jack and the Beanstalk — which feels like an excellent life outcome.

    But I’m so glad we went.

    Going to live my dream gave me something I didn’t even know I needed: proof that I could choose something just because I wanted it. That the life I wanted was worth the uncertainty of actually trying. And I still feel like I lived that dream, even if just for a short time. It’s changed my life going forward — no more waiting.

    And now I’m planning my next dream. Walking in the mountains.

    So Let Me Ask You

    What do you want? Not what’s sensible. Not what will please everyone. What do you want for your one life?

    Sit down with a piece of paper — not your phone, actual paper — and finish this sentence without editing yourself:

    “The life I actually want looks like…”

    Write for five minutes. Don’t stop. Don’t cross anything out.

    Then circle the one thing that surprises you most. The thing you wrote and then immediately felt you shouldn’t have.

    That’s the one worth paying attention to.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , ,

  • Sometimes Rediscovery Looks Like a Library Cookbook

    It’s been a fairly ordinary week — some nursing, coaching work, school runs, and February doing its thing with bright daffodils and snowdrops in gardens, parks and meadows.

    But something small lit something up for me this week, and I wanted to share it.

    My son Charlie and I went to the library. We came home with a stack of bright, picture-heavy children’s cookbooks — the kind where you choose recipes by the photos. I’ve been wanting to change my relationship with cooking for a while. Most days it feels like a chore to get through rather than enjoy. I needed some inspiration to energise it.

    So I tried something different.

    We made a Quiche Lorraine. A new chicken dish with mustard. Next up: homemade pizza, a sausage traybake, and lemon muffins for our cousins this weekend.

    Charlie didn’t actually cook with me in the end. But that wasn’t the point.

    The point was: I said I’d try something. I did. And I felt that YES — the “I did it” feeling nobody else can give you.

    Because I have to cook every day anyway. I may as well make it something that brings me alive.

    That’s rediscovery. Not always dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a library cookbook on a Tuesday.

    Rediscovery doesn’t have to mean moving countries, changing careers, or making a grand announcement. It can be as quiet as choosing a different recipe. As small as borrowing a book. As simple as deciding that something you do every day anyway deserves to feel like yours.

    Women over 50 are often waiting for the big moment — the revelation, the sign, the perfect circumstances. But the spark doesn’t usually arrive that way. It arrives in ordinary Tuesday afternoons when you decide, almost without thinking, to do something a little differently.

    That decision — however small — is the beginning.

    What gave you your spark this week?

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

  • Your Spark Isn’t Gone — It’s Just Been Waiting

    Have you been feeling a little flat lately?

    Not depressed. Not broken. Just… a bit grey.

    Going through the motions. Doing what needs doing. Showing up for everyone else. But somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling that flicker — that sense of aliveness that used to be yours.

    I’ve been reflecting on this month’s theme: rediscovery. Reconnecting with what lights us up, with what makes each of us unique.

    And here’s what I want you to know before you read another word:

    Your spark isn’t gone. It’s just been a little lost, buried under years of looking after everything and everyone else.

    You can get it back. Every day, in some way, you can have your unique spark again.

    When the Years Just Passed

    A few years ago, I went through a period where I felt completely flat.

    I’d wake up. Go to my nursing shift. Come home. Sort everything. Do what needed doing. Repeat.

    Nothing was bad. But nothing excited me either. The years seemed to be just passing.

    The spark was there — I know that now. It was just hidden under years of putting everyone else first. Of being responsible, reliable, needed. Of doing what had to be done.

    I just couldn’t feel it anymore. And I knew I needed it back.

    How the Spark Came Back — In Small Moments

    With one simple shift in awareness — I wanted my spark back — I started to seek it out. And it returned in small, almost magical moments.

    I laughed at something silly my son said. I felt it.

    I sat with my daughter and really listened — no interrupting, no rushing. Just listened, then offered a few thoughts at the end. We connected. The spark was there.

    One morning I woke up genuinely looking forward to something I’d planned. That feeling of anticipation. The butterflies.

    Moments of aliveness.

    My spark wasn’t gone. It was waiting for me to notice it. Waiting for me to make space for it. Waiting for me to stop prioritising everything else long enough to remember: I’m allowed to want things just for me.

    Your Spark Is Still There Too

    We all have our unique spark. It’s what makes you, you.

    Under all the years of being who everyone needed you to be. Under all the times you said “I’m fine” when you weren’t. It’s still there.

    You don’t have to dig up every flicker at once. You don’t need a complete life transformation. You don’t have to quit your job and move to Italy — though if that’s your spark, I won’t stop you.

    Start smaller. Start with noticing.

    Notice the moments when you feel a little more alive. A little more yourself. When something makes you laugh, or pulls your attention, or creates that small bubble of anticipation in your chest.

    That’s your spark. It never left.

    This Week’s Practice

    Do one thing this week that makes you feel alive. Something that makes you feel like you.

    • Something that excites you
    • Something you’ve been putting off
    • Something that brings that small flicker back

    Notice it when it comes. That’s your spark. You’re back. And you’re on a wonderful journey of rediscovery.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. When did you last feel your spark? What were you doing? Leave a comment — I’d love to hear it.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , ,

  • When I Chose Coffee Over a Night Shift (And Why It Mattered)

    I want to check in with you.

    Did you get to prioritise yourself this week?
    Did you do something just for you?

    Writing these reflections means I get to look honestly at my own rediscovery too. And this week, I made a decision that felt small… but wasn’t.

    The Dilemma

    I have a group of five friends. We’ve known each other since toddler group — and now our children are in their twenties.

    We’ve been through everything together:

    • Babies and school gates
    • Divorce and heartbreak
    • Illness and bereavement
    • Reinvention and rebuilding

    Over twenty years of showing up for each other.

    One of the gang moved six hours North. I haven’t seen her in over a year. She’s coming back down South this week and we’ve booked a table at our favourite café.

    But I was meant to work a night shift the evening before.

    And I know myself now.

    After a night shift, I can’t simply “push through.” I would have gone home, slept all day, and missed it.

    The old version of me would have said:
    Work comes first.

    The old version of me would have cancelled coffee.

    What I Did

    I cancelled the shift.

    I gave up paid work for coffee with a friend.

    And yes — a small part of me felt guilty.

    That whisper that says:

    • You should be earning.
    • You should be sensible.
    • You shouldn’t give up income.

    But I knew straight away I’d made the right decision.

    Work can wait. I can book another shift.

    This moment cannot be recreated.

    Friendship is a gift. A connection that takes years — decades — to build. It deserves to be protected.

    I can’t wait. It’s tomorrow.

    What This Reminded Me

    For so many of us women over 50, we’ve spent decades putting work, family, and everyone else’s needs ahead of our own joy.

    We prioritise:

    • Other people’s schedules
    • Other people’s comfort
    • Other people’s needs

    And somewhere along the way, we quietly downgrade our own happiness.

    We feel guilty choosing something that’s simply for us.

    But here’s what I’m learning:

    Choosing yourself isn’t selfish.
    It’s essential.

    When I cancelled that shift, I wasn’t being irresponsible.

    I was recognising that my friendships, my connections, my happiness matter just as much as my obligations.

    Maybe more.

    Money can be earned again.

    Moments can’t.

    This Week’s Reflection

    Let me gently ask you:

    • What have you been putting off “until later” that actually matters now?
    • Where are you choosing obligation over joy out of habit — not necessity?
    • What would change if you gave yourself permission to prioritise what lifts you up?

    Awareness comes first.

    Then change.

    And sometimes change looks like something very simple.

    Like coffee.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in ,

  • Make Time for You (Without the Guilt)

    You know that feeling — work, family, building something for you… and somehow you still end up last on the list.

    Lately I’ve been learning something the hard way:

    If I don’t make time for what matters to me, I lose part of myself.

    And there is no need to feel guilty for making time for yourself.

    Because this is your life. And the years? They pass quickly.

    Last week I almost cancelled my gym membership. I only started at the end of December, and I had that familiar thought loop:

    Am I using it enough?
    Is it worth it?
    It’s not just the one-hour class — it’s the time before and after too.

    And then the verdict arrived, loud and judgey:

    “I should cancel. I don’t have time for this. There are more important things.”

    That word: important.

    As if my wants don’t count as important. Seriously.

    My needs are important.

    I nearly cancelled… but then I stopped and asked myself:

    Why doesn’t this count as important?

    Why is it that when my son needs help, that’s important?
    When someone else asks for my time, that’s important?

    But when I want something — just for me, just because it makes me happy — it’s not?

    So I went to the Pilates class again.

    I laughed at the aches in my arms and legs. I enjoyed the teacher’s jokes. And I took two hours for a one-hour class.

    The work waited.

    And when I came home, I felt lighter. More myself. More able to show up for everything else… because I’d shown up for me first.

    Here’s what we’re never told:

    Making time for yourself isn’t selfish. It’s how you stay whole.

    When you only ever give — when you never refill — you don’t become some saintly superwoman.

    You become depleted.
    Resentful.
    Disconnected from who you are.

    You become someone who exists only in relation to other people’s needs.

    And that’s not sustainable. It’s not even kind — to them or to you.

    Making time for what matters to you isn’t taking away from anyone else.

    It’s making sure you’re still you when you look in the mirror.

    A woman with interests. Wants. Preferences.
    A life beyond being useful.

    Maybe you’ve been doing what I almost did:

    Cancelling the things that matter to you because they feel “less important” than everything else.

    Telling yourself you’ll get to it later. Someday. When there’s more time.

    Except… there’s never more time.

    There’s just now.
    And the choice to make time for yourself.

    This week’s practice

    Block one hour this week for something you want.

    Not something productive.
    Not something for someone else.
    Just something that matters to you.

    • Read a book just for pleasure
    • Go somewhere you’ve wanted to go
    • Spend time on a hobby you’ve been ignoring
    • Do absolutely nothing and call it rest

    Make the time. Protect it.

    Because you, my friend, are worthy of your own time and attention.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , , ,

  • The Cake That Didn’t Win: Finding Joy in the Ordinary Chaos of Life

    Hello,

    How are you? I hope you’re well.

    This week I want to share a story about small joys. And it starts with a chocolate cake.

    The School Cake Competition

    My son’s school had a cake competition to raise funds. We made a chocolate cake covered in smarties—full of colour and jolliness.

    It didn’t win but the slices sold out in minutes.

    And you know what? There were joys everywhere.

    The Small Joys I Almost Missed

    Making the cake with my 8-year-old the night before. Yes, there was mess. Yes, there was flour on the floor and butter icing on the counter. But we laughed. We tasted the icing straight from the bowl. We made something together.

    I could have been stressed about the mess. I could have worried about whether our cake would win. I could have said “not tonight, I’m too tired.”

    But I didn’t. And because of that, I got to experience something beautiful: being present with my son. Creating something together. Not worrying about perfection.

    The Girl With 50p

    At the cake sale, one girl came to the stall with only 50p. Each slice was £1.

    I said, “Don’t worry, choose one. I’ll pay for the other 50p.”

    Her face lit up. That moment—that tiny, ordinary moment—was just joy.

    Not because I was being a hero. Not because it was a grand gesture. But because in that moment, a small act of kindness created a ripple of happiness for both of us.

    What Small Joys Really Are

    For women over 50, we’ve been taught that joy comes from the big things. The promotions. The milestones. The achievements.

    But what if joy isn’t about the big things at all?

    What if it’s about:

    • Making a cake with your child on a Tuesday night
    • Eating butter icing straight from the bowl
    • Helping a little girl get the cake slice she wanted
    • The mayhem of a busy cake sale
    • Eating someone else’s delicious cake afterwards

    None of this was Instagram-worthy. None of it was a “win.”

    But it was joy and happiness.

    Small Joys Aren’t the Extras—They ARE Life

    The big things change your trajectory. Absolutely.

    The new job. The house move. The life-changing decision.

    But the small things? They make up every single day.

    And when you start noticing them—really noticing them—life starts feeling different.

    Not because everything is perfect. But because you’re finally paying attention to what’s already here.

    The laughter. The mess. The kindness. The chaos. The sweetness.

    All of it.

    Your Turn

    What small joy did you notice this week?

    Was it:

    • A conversation that made you laugh?
    • The way the morning light came through your window?
    • A moment of quiet with your tea?
    • Someone’s unexpected kindness?

    I’d love to hear. Leave a comment below or hit reply—I read every response.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. The cake was delicious. Even if it didn’t win. 😊

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , ,