BOOK A FREE CONNECTION CALL


Coaching for women over 50 who’ve given so much

REDISCOVERY

Rediscover Your Peace

The Rediscovery Blog

  • The Room Still Wasn’t Right — Until I Added the Sunflowers

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign up here to get the next one straight to your inbox.

    The Room Still Wasn’t Right — Until I Added the Sunflowers

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This week I finally finished something I’d been chipping away at for weeks – brightening our sitting room.

    New curtains were up. I’d repainted two old wicker chairs sage green. I’d made the cushion covers, one set patchwork, one floral with a gingham trim. I’d swapped the pictures on the wall for bright, modern florals. Decluttered, changed the rug. Every piece, in place.

    And it still wasn’t right. Something was missing.

    Then yesterday I put a vase of sunflowers on the table.

    That was it. That was the final piece that lifted the room. It went from nice to somewhere that lifted me, somewhere that made me smile and, well, just, feel happy. And then I thought – that’s not really about the room.

    You can get everything technically right. The curtains hung, the chairs painted, the frame of a life arranged exactly the way it should be. And it can still be missing the one thing that makes it feel like yours. Not more sorted. More alive.

    I’ve been doing a lot of sorting lately – clearing out, taking care of everyone, getting things in order, making sure the structure underneath me and my family is solid. And don’t get me wrong, structure truly matters. We all need that foundation, that security we can build on. But structure doesn’t give you the spark. It doesn’t give you that feeling of aliveness which is unique to you, that makes you you.

    That addition to your life can be small. For me, this week, it was a vase of fresh flowers on the table. A choice, made on purpose, to bring a gentle vibrancy into a quiet, intentional space.

    This week’s reflection:

    Where have you done all the “right” things – and forgotten the sunflowers?

    Have a think about:

    • Your home
    • Your body
    • Your work
    • You, plainly, underneath all of it

    Pick one. You don’t need to overhaul it. You just need the fresh thing, not the renovation. The flowers, not the whole room done again.

    Freshness isn’t decoration. It’s how you know you’re still living your life and not just maintaining it.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    P.S. If you want a hand working out how to rediscover the spark that’s unique to you, that’s exactly what a Connection Call is for. Reply here and we can book in a relaxed, free, no obligation chat.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , , ,

  • Peace Didn’t Wait

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign up to get the next one straight to your inbox.

    Peace Didn’t Wait

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This week, I sat at our table in the sitting room with a coffee in my favourite mug, “relaxing guitar music” playing quietly on Alexa, and I felt beautifully at peace. Charlie was outside on the bench in the garden, waiting for his blue hair dye to take hold, sun on his face.

    Nothing was happening. Nothing needed to happen. And it was one of the loveliest feelings I’ve had in a long time.

    I made a vow there and then: whatever happens in life, I’m keeping hold of that feeling. That sense of peace is my anchor now.

    Because life can be tricky, can’t it – for all of us, no matter how fortunate we are. There will always be moments of upset, challenge, and stress; we’re either in one now, waiting for one, or just come out the other side of one. But if we can hold onto that feeling of peace underneath it all, it doesn’t stop the difficult things happening – it just means we have somewhere steady to stand while they do.

    For me, this particular moment of peace came at a complicated time. My stepdad’s memorial service was two weeks ago. He would have been so proud of all that was said about him and I miss him. It’s left a quiet, hollow kind of absence in our family that I’m still getting used to. Grief has been sitting alongside me these past weeks, quietly, in the background of everything. And then, in the middle of all that, came this: a coffee, some guitar music, my son and his blue hair in the sunshine.

    Peace didn’t wait for the grief to finish. It just arrived, right in the middle of it, and asked to stay. That’s something I’m learning slowly: peace and hard things can exist in the same room together. You don’t need one to be over before you’re allowed the other. Peace can be interrupted too – by the people and situations around us. Unresolved tension, things left unsaid, small frictions that don’t get sorted – they have a way of quietly chipping away at whatever calm you’ve built. I notice it much faster than I used to now.

    I notice when something outside me is pulling at my peace, and I ask myself: is this mine to fix, mine to release, or mine to simply let pass through?

    This week’s action

    Notice when you feel at peace, and notice what you were doing when it arrived. It’s rarely the big, planned moments – usually it’s something small and ordinary. If you can’t remember the last time you felt it, that’s alright. It doesn’t mean it’s out of reach for you.

    Sit somewhere quiet, on your own. Close your eyes. Breathe in, and be aware of that breath filling your lungs. That’s often where peace starts – not in a grand gesture, but in one honest breath.

    Find out what your personal, unique anchor is. For me, right now, it’s gentle guitar music. For you it might be birdsong, a walk, a craft. Experiment with what is yours.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , ,

  • I Cancelled the Alarm and Fell Back to Sleep

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign up to get the next one straight to your inbox.

    I Cancelled the Alarm and Fell Back to Sleep

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This morning we woke up at 8.30, not 7.30 like the plan. Charlie had school gates closing at 8.40. We’d watched the football final the night before – I’m not even that into football, but “It’s the world final, it only happens every four years, Mum!” so I gave in.

    Ten minutes. That’s what we had, from bed to school gate.

    There was a time I’d have panicked and snapped. A sharp voice before I’d even said good morning. Rushing round the kitchen narrating the disaster out loud – “we’re going to be late, oh my god, come on, come on” – as if saying it faster would somehow get us there faster. The day starting on the back foot for both of us, and staying there.

    This morning didn’t go that way. We laughed about sleeping in – I’d cancelled the alarm without realising and fallen straight back to sleep. We got dressed at speed, walked fast instead of panicking, and got there on time. Nothing about the situation was different. I was.

    Here’s what I’ve come to understand: power isn’t the loud version of yourself. It was never the version who could out-shout the chaos or control every variable so nothing ever went wrong. That’s not power, that’s running on empty and calling it coping. Real power is quieter and much less dramatic than that. It’s the half-second gap between realising something’s gone wrong and what you do next. It’s choosing the joke over the snap. Not because you don’t feel the stress – I felt it, standing in that kitchen – but because you’ve decided the stress doesn’t get to drive.

    Nobody hands you that gap. You build it, morning by ordinary morning, mostly in situations too small for anyone else to notice. Nobody’s writing about the school run or the missed alarm. But that’s exactly where it gets practised. Not in the big dramatic moments – in the ten minutes you didn’t have.

    I still don’t always get it right. Some mornings the old version shows up first, and I catch her halfway through a sentence. That’s not failure. That’s just the gap being a little smaller than the panic, some days. What’s changed isn’t that I’ve become a calm person. It’s that I now know calm is a decision I make in real time, not a personality I either have or don’t.

    This week, notice one moment where something goes sideways – small, ordinary, nothing dramatic. The kettle that won’t work. The message that lands wrong. The plan that changes without asking you.

    In that moment, before you react on autopilot, ask yourself one question: what response do I actually want to have here?

    Then choose it. Not perfectly. Just once, on purpose.

    Write down what happened afterwards, in one sentence. Not “I’m working on my reactions” – something real: “The oven timer went off at the worst moment and I didn’t snap. I just moved the pan.”

    Then build on it, one decision at a time.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    P.S. What’s one small moment this week where you chose your reaction instead of it choosing you? And if you’d like to talk properly about what’s underneath these moments, that’s exactly what a Connection Call is for – a real, free conversation, no pressure.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

  • I Know What I Heard

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign upto get the next one straight to your inbox.

    I Know What I Heard

    This week we have the memorial service for my stepdad, and at the same time I’ve needed to declutter the house. When someone dies, there is so much to do…it feels like there needs to be a pause button in life, just to take those extra breaths and to take time to look back at our stories.

    What happens to us, the words that are said to us and how we take them in shapes our life. Validating them, knowing their truth or untruth, shapes our daily lives.

    I remember the exact sentence. I remember where I was when it was said to me. I remember thinking, even at the time: is this for real? I remember saying that out loud, because it mattered.

    For a long time afterwards, I quietly ignored it and rewrote it in my own head. Told myself I’d probably overreacted. That it wasn’t really worth the feeling it had left me with, they didn’t mean in that way. That version – the smaller, more forgiving version – was easier for everyone, including me.

    It took me years to trust my own memory of it again. Years to say: no, actually, that really did matter and those words really did hurt. I know exactly what was said and how it felt, and I don’t need anyone’s agreement to know that.

    This is the thing I see now with women I speak with. Not that they’ve lost their voice – they speak perfectly well. It’s that somewhere along the way, someone convinced them their own memory needed a second opinion.

    “You’re too sensitive.” “It wasn’t that bad.” “That’s not what happened.” “You’re overreacting.”

    Repeated over enough years, that can leave you doubting the one witness who was there for your whole life. You. Until one day, you know in your bones that you were right all along.

    I know this pattern so well because I lived it before I ever coached a single woman through it. And I know exactly what it takes to come out the other side of it, because I’ve done it myself. It’s the moment a woman finally says something out loud that she’s been quietly doubting for years – and instead of it being rewritten for her, it’s simply witnessed. Yes, that happened. Yes, you’re allowed to feel what you felt about it. And yes, you can move forward from it.

    That’s most of what I actually do. I don’t fix anything. I hold space for the woman to find her own truth, her reality.

    Here’s the practice I use for myself, and offer to others. Whenever someone rewrites what happened to you, write down two things, side by side. Their version. Your reality. Not to argue with them – just so you have it, in your own words.

    Their version: “It wasn’t that big a deal.”
    Your reality: it was, because you’re the one who felt it.

    Their version: “You’re remembering it wrong.”
    Your reality: you were there. You know what you heard.

    You don’t need them to agree with you. That’s the actual shift – not winning the argument, just no longer needing to.

    This week’s practice:

    Think of one moment someone rewrote what happened. Write their version down, plainly. Then write yours, just as plainly, underneath.

    Read both back. Notice which one has more detail. Which one you can actually feel in your body. That’s the one that’s true.

    You don’t owe anyone the version that makes them comfortable. And if you’re ready to have someone in your corner who won’t let you talk yourself out of your own truth either – that’s exactly what I do, and exactly why I can help.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , ,

  • When Fun Goes, Peace Isn’t Far Behind

    New here? This post is adapted from my weekly newsletter, Rediscovery — sent every Monday to women over 50 finding their way back to themselves. Sign up to get the next one straight to your inbox.

    Yesterday I collected my big boy, Max, from university at Cambridge.

    Charlie and I left early – three hours in the car, chats, a car disco, and then a bit of quiet. If you’ve never been to Cambridge, it’s beautiful. The colleges look like mini castles. The whole city is steeped in history, the atmosphere is friendly, you can go punting on the river. Max’s college even has an outdoor pool in its gardens, so we went swimming too. Just visiting is inspiring.

    It was fun. So much fun.

    Life gets full of what must be done. Sorting. Decluttering – which is exactly what I’ve been doing lately. Lists, logistics, the next thing and the next thing. And somewhere in all of that, fun can be forgotten.

    But having fun is so important. It’s the sparks of life.

    I remembered that yesterday. There’s a balance to life, and it gets tipped easily – by any unexpected event, by life simply needing managing, by all the doing that crowds out the living. And when fun goes, peace usually isn’t far behind it.

    Have you seen the wheel of life? I have one at the front of the workbook I use in my coaching.

    It’s simple. Look at each area of your life and ask: what needs my attention here? What’s my vision for that area? And what’s one first step toward it?

    If your honest answer is “all of them” – choose just one or two. The highest priority, not all the priorities. You can do this every few months, or once a year, whatever feels right. It’s a proper eye-opener. Do it alongside a partner and it can explain a lot – why one of you feels lighter than the other. Your wheels rarely score the same.

    Have a go. I’d love to know what you find.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 🌸

    Ready to go deeper? If you’d like a hand working out where fun and peace have gone missing in your own life, book a free, no-obligation Connection Call.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , ,

  • I Didn’t Choose My Rest. My Body Did.

    I Didn’t Choose My Rest. My Body Did.

    How are you? I hope you’re well – and if you’re not, I hope you’re allowing yourself to actually rest rather than pushing through it, which is exactly what I haven’t been very good at.

    I’ve been ill all week. Coughing, low energy, out of action. And the strange thing is, I haven’t minded it.

    I didn’t choose to stop. My body did it for me.

    I’ve been at home all week, clearing my stepfather’s house – going through decades of his and my mum’s things, deciding what to keep, what to give away, what to let go of. It’s been hard. It’s also been the only reason I had the time to find what I found.

    Cards. Lots of them. From my mum to Chris, and from Chris to my mum. Years of them, full of warmth and silliness and real, uncomplicated love. I sat on the floor of that house reading them and I thought – I’m so glad they found each other.

    If I’d been well, I’d have been at work. I would never have had the time to sit with that.

    Then a few nights later, coughing too much to sleep, I came downstairs in the dark and found the electronic piano we’d finally made room for – the one that had been sitting in a garage for over a year. I sat down and played. Badly, made-up tunes, nothing that would impress anyone. But it was fun, it was my creative side being free.

    I haven’t had a piano for a couple of years. Music has always been part of who I am, and I’d let it disappear or at best, not be a big enough part of my life. It’s so easy to let things go whilst you are busy holding everyone and everything together.

    Two things happened in the same week. Grief, in the form of someone else’s love letters. Joy, in the form of playing the piano in the dark. Both true. Neither cancelling the other out.

    Here’s what I’ve decided, with a cough and a coffee: I’m done waiting for illness to give me permission to stop. I shouldn’t need a chest infection to sit on a floor and read love letters, or to play a piano that’s been gathering dust.

    Peace isn’t what’s left over when everything else has been done. It’s not what you get to have once you’ve earned it through exhaustion. It has to be chosen – on purpose, before your body forces the issue. I know I’ve said that before, but I simply have to keep reminding myself, and perhaps that’s you too.

    This week’s practice:

    Pick one thing you’ve been waiting for permission to do – rest, play, sit still, say no to something. Don’t wait for illness, or a crisis, or someone else’s blessing.

    Choose it on purpose, this week. Notice how different it feels to choose it versus having it forced on you.

    I’m not someone who’s worked this all out and is now reporting back from the other side like some shiny guru online. I’m doing this in real time, same as you – coughing, surrounded by the drawers that still need sorting, tinkering on a piano in the middle of the night. But paying attention, and listening to what I actually need – that’s rediscovery.

    With love and best wishes always,
    Susy 🌸

    Ready to go deeper? If you’d like a hand working out where you need freshness in your own life, book a free, no-obligation Connection Call.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in

  • The Cups on the Shelf: Why You’re Allowed to Feel Two Things at Once

    How are you? I hope you’re well — or if you’re not, I hope you’re being kind to yourself about that.

    I’ve been thinking about something this week, in between boxes and bin bags and cups of coffee and lemsip too.

    I’m clearing my mum and stepdad’s house — it’s also where I live until we sell the house.

    And I want to tell you what it actually feels like, because I think you might recognise it. Not just from grief, but from all of it. From life.

    Yesterday I was going through cards that my mum and Chris gave each other over the years. Birthday cards, anniversary cards, reused and recycled. Full of love, humour and tenderness — the kind that accumulates quietly over decades without anyone outside noticing.

    I felt joy reading them. Joy that they had that love between them.

    And then I went to wash up their two cups — the ones they always used — and I put them on the shelf behind the door. The shelf that we don’t really use.

    And I stood there for a moment, because no one else will use those cups.

    That’s when the sadness came. Right behind the joy. Not instead of it. But right alongside it.

    When Joy and Grief Arrive Together

    I’ve been a neonatal nurse for many years. I’ve congratulated a parent on the birth of their beautiful baby and in the same sentence I’ve said I’m sorry they are here in the neonatal unit, but they are in the right place. They are happy for the birth of their baby but they are shocked and fearful for not being where they were expecting to be.

    I watch my little boy, Charlie, playing. Happily, noisily, completely absorbed in whatever eight-year-olds absorb themselves in. And I feel such joy watching him and laughing with him.

    And then he goes to school, and the house goes quiet, and I feel the peace of that too. Both true. Both real.

    I’m clearing out things that haven’t been used in twenty years — and the house feels fresher for it, lighter. And it’s also sad. Because those things belonged to people who are gone now.

    You Are Allowed to Feel More Than One Thing at a Time

    We were taught — most of us, for most of our lives — to present a single, consistent feeling. To be happy or sad, grateful or grieving, at peace or struggling. As if feelings take turns. As if life is that tidy.

    It isn’t.

    Real life happens in tandem. Joy and grief arrive together. Relief and guilt share the same moment. You can love someone and feel free without them. You can be building something new and still mourn what you’re leaving behind. You can be bone tired and completely certain you’re on the right path.

    All of it is true. All of it at once.

    This isn’t confusion, or you failing to “process” something properly.

    It’s honesty. It’s what it actually feels like to be alive.

    And I think — for women like us, women who spent so long managing how we appeared, keeping things smooth, presenting the version of ourselves that made everyone comfortable — allowing this kind of honesty is freeing.

    Not performing, not rushing through one to get to the next. Just letting them both be there, named and real and true, without having to choose.

    The cups are on the shelf. They are sad and they are beautiful and I am glad they exist.

    This Week’s Reflection

    These three questions take just a few minutes. You can do them alone, quietly, with a cup of tea.

    • Where in your life right now are two feelings sitting alongside each other — and which one have you been allowing, and which one have you been pushing away?
    • What would it feel like to let both of them be true at the same time, without needing to resolve it?
    • Is there something — an object, a place, a moment, a memory — that holds both joy and sadness for you right now? Perhaps sit with it, and acknowledge it, just for a few minutes, without trying to feel just one thing.

    There’s no right answer. There’s just honesty.

    And honesty, in my experience, is always the beginning of peace.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy 🌸

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

  • Claiming Your Own Peace After 50: Why Keeping Everyone Else’s Peace Isn’t the Same Thing

    This was originally sent to my REDISCOVERY newsletter subscribers. If you’d like letters like this delivered to your inbox every Monday, you can sign up on the side panel.

    How are you? I hope you’re well.

    This week I walked twelve miles in the sunshine – a circular route arranged by the Ramblers. My aim is one long walk somewhere new once a month. Somewhere along the way I got talking to a woman who’d spent decades following her husband’s career around the world. Switzerland, different cities, different schools. And now, at nearly sixty, she’d decided: they’re staying put in the UK, and she’s figuring out who she is and what she wants for herself. I recognised that decision – that feeling of It’s Time.

    This week: claiming your peace.

    Not the peace that exists for other people – the careful words, the managed moods, the going-somewhere-you-didn’t-want-to-go. That’s not real peace. That’s maintenance work.

    Real peace is an internal state — calm, settled, confident in yourself.

    I know what it costs to keep everyone else’s peace. I’ve been far too good at it. And what I’ve learned is this: it doesn’t actually keep the peace. It keeps the status quo. Which is a very different thing.

    And at some point you notice: you’ve been attending to everyone’s peace except your own. And something has to change.

    The good news is that peace isn’t something you find. It’s something you decide. You claim it. You protect it. You come back to it when something pulls you away from it. It’s yours.

    Certain relationships or situations will still disrupt it – that’s just life. The difference is knowing how to notice it, deal with it, and return to yourself. With practice you return to your peace more quickly and for longer.

    Nobody else is responsible for your peace. Nobody is going to hand it to you. And knowing that isn’t sad or hopeless – it’s liberating and empowering because it’s in your hands.

    Peace lives within you when your life is aligned to your values.

    This week’s practice:

    First, notice. When do you adjust yourself – what you say, how you behave, how much space you take up – in response to someone else’s mood or expectations?

    Ask yourself: is this genuine care? Whose peace am I keeping?

    Then, claim your peace. Here are some ways to do that this week:

    • Sit in stillness for five minutes. Close your eyes. Just breathe.
    • Go for a walk with no destination and no distractions – just you.
    • Rest when your body asks for it, without negotiating with yourself first.
    • Notice what disrupts your peace – and notice what helps you return to it.

    Small practices. Real results.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What does peace actually feel like for you? Hit reply. I’d love to know.

    FREE RESOURCES FOR YOU:

    What Do I Really Want? Your 5-Step Action Plan — for when you’ve lost touch with your own desires

    Get Your Spark Back Guide — small, practical ways to feel like yourself again

    Rediscover Your Values Workbook — get clear on what actually matters to you now

    All on my website: www.susyrosemary.com

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , , , , ,

  • Finding Your Authentic Voice After 50: The Difference Between Filtering for Care and Disappearing

    This was originally sent to my REDISCOVERY newsletter subscribers. If you’d like letters like this delivered to your inbox every Monday, you can sign up on the side panel.

    It’s Bank Holiday weekend here in the UK – it started with a trip to the seaside, some nursing work, and the particular pleasure of a quiet morning today with my milky coffee in my favourite mug.

    So today we’re talking about the power of speaking, of using your authentic voice.

    Because how we speak, to others and to ourselves, tells us who we currently are, and who we’re becoming.

    How many times do we speak inauthentically? It’s worth noticing – not as self-criticism, but as information. Are we just passing the time of day, or are we making a true connection? Are we saying what we mean, or a managed version of it?

    And then there’s how we speak to ourselves. That tone. Is it sharp? Is it kind? Is it fair? Because the way we talk to ourselves is the foundation everything else is built on.

    I filter. I know I do. Because I know people’s triggers and sensitivities – my children are sensitive, and I have to be careful about what I say and how I say it. But here’s what I’ve learned: that can still be authentic and loving. Filtering for care is different from filtering for self-erasure. One is thoughtfulness. The other is a slow disappearance, which I’ve experienced and have come back from.

    Sometimes we’ve edited how we speak just to keep the peace. Sometimes our anger speaks before we’re ready. Sometimes nervousness shows in a shaky voice, or a laugh that shouldn’t be there. We don’t need to perform. We just need to be truer.

    Sometimes I get this wrong. Sometimes I rush, or snap at my children, and immediately I regret it. Nothing good ever comes from it. And it usually happens when we’re running late, when I’m tired, when I’ve got too many things in my head at once. It always ends with an apology from me and a reminder to myself to learn.

    On the whole, I have learnt. Just by taking a bit more time. Just by knowing that rushing simply does not work for me. That pause, that extra breath, is where the authentic version lives.

    Speaking the truth can change your life. Speaking, discussing, not keeping your true feelings locked inside but letting them out in a considered way leads to alignment, and to peace. It can be hard. Others might not want to hear what you have to say. But in the end, it has to be said. So that you can be free.

    I’m still practising this. Some weeks I get it right – I say the true thing and it feels like a relief, like something unclenching. Other weeks I notice, ten minutes after a conversation, that I gave the managed version instead. And I think: next time. We have to learn. And we have to give ourselves grace.

    This week’s practice:

    Notice how you speak to someone this week:

    • Am I speaking authentically, or giving the managed version?
    • What feeling am I conveying? Is it the one I actually want to convey?
    • How am I speaking to myself today – is it with love?

    How you speak, how you use your voice – it’s one of the most powerful tools you have. It is a path back to yourself.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. When was the last time you said something and thought – yes, that was exactly right, that was actually me? Hit reply. I’d love to hear it.

    Ready to go deeper?

    FREE RESOURCES FOR YOU:

    What Do I Really Want? Your 5-Step Action Plan — for when you’ve lost touch with your own desires

    Get Your Spark Back Guide — small, practical ways to feel like yourself again

    Rediscover Your Values Workbook — get clear on what actually matters to you now

    All on my website: www.susyrosemary.com

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , ,

  • What Do You Actually Want? The Question Women Over 50 Stop Asking Themselves

    This was originally sent to my REDISCOVERY newsletter subscribers. If you’d like letters like this delivered to your inbox every Monday, you can sign up here on the side panel.

    How are you? I hope you’re well. It was big boy’s 21st birthday yesterday. We had lunch together — his dad and partner, their little one, my little one, one granny, one grandpa, and me. A separated family, still showing up together. There’s something quietly good about that. I’m so proud of my three children.

    I want to tell you about a question I asked myself a few years ago. And I’m asking it again today.

    It’s a question that appeared one morning, quietly, while I was standing at the kitchen sink.

    What do I actually want?

    What do I, Susy, actually want for the rest of my life?

    I have ideas. Vague but within my grasp.

    Life happens. Change happens — to you, or to others in ways that affect you. But underneath all of it, the question remains. What do I want? What do you want? Not for everyone else. For you.

    Here’s what I’ve learned before and I’m learning again.

    Identifying what you want isn’t selfish — it’s exciting. It’s an absolute necessity for your everyday life. You can’t build a life you love without knowing what that looks like. You can’t move forward without a direction.

    We’ve been needed — we still are needed. And there’s room for our own unique life too. It’s knowing what gives you that spark. It’s trying something new. It’s making headway toward that dream — once it’s formed, once you know what it actually is.

    The wanting is still there.

    I know this because the moment I asked myself the question — what do I actually want? — things started coming. Slowly at first. Then more clearly. France. Walking in the mountains. Writing. Building something that was mine, that I believe in. More honesty. More peace. More music. More adventure too. That’s the dream that is forming at the moment.

    It’s not that I’d forgotten what I wanted. It’s that life evolves. It changes, and when you do live one dream, you’re ready for the next one to take shape. And oh, that’s exciting. You’ve got to let yourself dream a little to let it all happen. You’ve got to give yourself that space.

    This week’s practice:

    Sit somewhere quiet – even five minutes – and ask yourself honestly:

    • What really is my dream? Without limits?
    • What have I kept putting off until “later”?
    • What do I want more of?

    Don’t edit your answers before you write them. Don’t make them reasonable. Just let them be true. Have fun with it.

    That list is yours. Let it evolve.

    If reading this stirred something — if that question landed somewhere — that’s the starting point. That’s exactly where we begin in coaching. Six sessions, just us, working through what you actually want and what’s been getting in the way. £397. If it feels right, just hit reply.

    Not ready for that yet? The REDISCOVERY Workbook lets you start in your own time, at your own pace. £27. [Details here.]

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What’s one thing you want that you feel excited about? Hit reply – I read every single one. And if your answer surprises you, that’s often where we start.

    💌 If this resonated with you, it might resonate with someone you know. Feel free to forward it.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , , , ,