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REDISCOVERY

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The Rediscovery Blog

  • 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 , , , , , , ,

  • Setting Boundaries After 50: What Nobody Tells You About the Guilt

    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 in the side panel.

    How are you? I hope you’re well. This week, I did my first long Ramblers walk with my new boots and a knapsack on my back. 10 miles, beautiful weather, boats, sparkles in the water, bluebells and butterflies. It was so fun and inspiring to meet new people. It felt freeing and each step was a step on my own Rediscovery journey. I’m going to book another one.

    So this week I set a boundary with someone so that I could protect my peace. It was important to me and I had to do it. It was difficult for me to do.

    Defining a boundary is a truth you say out loud. You say what you need. For what your body needs (instead of storing it in tension) and what your mind needs (instead of storing angst).

    For most of our adult lives, especially as women, as mothers and carers, we often care about and for other people. Perhaps we gave way on things that mattered because it was easier. Perhaps we stayed quiet in situations that cost us something. Perhaps we called it being reasonable, being nice, being a good mother, daughter, colleague, friend.

    I had a moment when I realised that I had spent so long accommodating everyone else’s preferences that I genuinely had lost my own. Not because I didn’t have them. But because I’d spent years taking care of everyone else at my own expense. I don’t blame them – it was me, fitting into some belief or social system.

    A boundary can seem aggressive but it isn’t. Nor is it unkindness. It’s the honest answer to the question: what will I accept, and what won’t I accept any more?

    The discomfort you feel when you live with a boundary – that guilt, that urge to apologise and take it back – that’s not evidence that you’ve done something wrong. It’s evidence that you’ve spent a very long time not doing this. New things feel uncomfortable. That doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

    This week’s practice:

    Sit quietly with these questions. Write honestly, without editing:

    • What have I been tolerating that I know, deep down, I shouldn’t be?
    • Where do I feel drained, resentful, or invisible?
    • What do I want instead?

    And finally, what is one step I could take to get from where I am to where I truly want to be? That’s the exciting part…

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    P.S. What is one aspect of your life that you want to change, and how can you change it in one small way towards what you really want? Hit reply – I read every single one.

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , , , ,

  • Quiet Anger After 50: What Your Body Has Been Trying to Tell You

    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 on this page.

    How are you? I hope you’re well. The bluebells are out in the UK and the daffodils are still going – it’s such a pretty time of year. I’ve just booked my first walk with The Ramblers, which feels like exactly the kind of thing I should be doing more of.

    I want to talk about anger today. Not the explosive kind. The quiet kind. The kind that sits just below the surface for years while you get on with things and make it all work well enough.

    I remember sitting in a conversation – nodding, staying calm, being reasonable – while something inside me went flat. It was the realisation that what I wanted wasn’t going to happen, even though I’d clearly expressed how important it was and had been told it was going to happen. I felt betrayed because it became clear that I had been lied to. The anger I felt mattered because it showed me what I knew was important, and the flatness came because my values had not been respected.

    What I didn’t realise was that every time anything similar had happened in the past, I had swallowed it – but that anger had in fact stayed with me.

    It felt like tiredness. But it was unexpressed anger that had nowhere to go.

    I’ve come to understand that anger is information – incredibly helpful information. It tells you when a limit has been crossed, when something that matters to you has been dismissed, when you’ve been carrying something that was never yours to carry.

    We were taught from childhood that anger is unbecoming. Too much. Difficult. But anger – when you listen to it rather than manage it away – points directly at what you value. It says: this matters. This needs to change. I deserve better than this.

    That’s not a problem. That’s a compass.

    This week’s practice:

    Think of something that has made you quietly angry – perhaps something you’ve pushed down, explained away, or decided wasn’t worth mentioning.

    Then ask yourself:

    • What is my anger actually protecting?
    • What does it tell me I value?
    • What would I no longer tolerate if I honoured this feeling?

    You don’t need to address everything at once. One answer. One small step. That step will lead to another.

    With love and best wishes always, Susy

    —

    by

    Susy Rosemary
    in , , ,

  • 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 , ,