For the days when self-doubt is LOUD…

Photo by Jason Rosewell

Photo by Jason Rosewell

There will be days when you are in your stride, your inspiration is high and everything is flowing effortlessly and unfolding steadily like a river.

Then there will be days when it feels like the path has dropped away and a fuzzy grey light has replaced what was once a clear view to the horizon, and no matter how hard you dig and scavenge, recalibrate your internal GPS and search, the path seems lost and you just cannot find what was once so clearly set out before you.

There may also be days when the path ahead of you is so steep and winding and relentless that you don’t think you can go on, and you can’t remember what you were climbing towards or why.

When those days come, don’t panic and definitely don’t give up. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong and it doesn’t automatically mean that you have lost your way.

You may hear a voice that tells you it is all too hard, that you should go back down the mountain to the old straight path that you once knew like the back of your hand, where it will be safer and easier and you won’t have days like this, where you have no idea where you are going or if you’ll ever make it.

When you hear that voice and it tells you to give in, don’t berate it but don’t believe it either. Simply wrap your arms lovingly around the one who is scared and doubts and let her know that she is heard and that she’s okay.

You are simply passing through the dark forest of confusion. Darkness often comes before any great illumination. Take what steps you can and take some time to rest and give yourself your best self-care.

With love and courage,


Honouring your ebb and flow

Honouring your ebb and flow

"May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children." — Rainer Maria Rilke

I love weekend mornings when everyone is sleeping and the house is still and quiet. I make my coffee downstairs and sit on the couch as I sip the hot, bitter liquid whilst I write in my journal. 

In the pause between sips, I stop and listen to the quiet: the magpies warbling, the refrigerator humming, the kitchen clock’s ticks and tocks. Through the Edwardian window, the silver morn brightens, the white birch’s weeping fronds sway in the breeze.

Beyond the brick walls that surround me, the rattle and hum of a passing car and scraping of the plastic bumper on bitumen as it takes the speed hump too fast. 

Beyond the neat rows of houses, the steady stream of traffic rolls along the freeway 1 kilometre away.

I listen to the outside for only a moment then bring my attention back inside where I dwell. To this quiet and stillness, a soothing place to rest, savor and rejuvenate.

Sometimes this world is just too busy for me — its rhythm doesn’t match my own. Five days of flowing out into the world with only 2 days to ebb. This imbalance in ebb and flow makes my quiet time so much more important to me. I must drink from it all that I can to recharge my physical and creative energy.

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