Growing and leaning into self

saying no to what once defined you. saying yes to things that feel embarrassingly simple but deeply yours: walks, books, roasts in the oven, mornings that don’t rush.

i know i don’t want it anymore, but there’s still tenderness in remembering. you can miss something deeply while knowing you’ve stepped beyond it.

i used to think that outgrowing meant failure. that if a job or a friendship or even an identity no longer fit, it was because i hadn’t tried hard enough to hold on or make it work. now i see it differently: outgrowing means you listened closely. you let yourself expand, even when it was inconvenient. you listened to the whisper. you honoured the... See more

it doesn’t happen all at once. it’s not like one morning you wake up, stretch your arms, and announce, right then, i’ve officially outgrown this life. it’s slower. stranger. more like a quiet restlessness that creeps in at the edges until suddenly, everything that once fit feels itchy, too tight, no longer yours.

and that’s what i think so many of us are longing for now: a life stitched together from small rituals, cups of tea that go cold on the counter, slow mornings and early nights, shelves of novels read for no reason except delight. afternoons that stretch quietly, plants to tend to on the windowsill, bread rising on the counter, a circle of people... See more

You already know your part of the world by heart, but it doesn't end there.

You try while others watch and wait. The embarrassment passes, the experience remains. The discomfort disappears, and you grow. Sometimes you have to blaze the trail before others can walk comfortably on it.

Ideas for my writing never come out of nowhere, but instead are a reflection of the strands of work that I am reading, listening, and reflecting on at any given time.