When Did You Stop?




I don’t know when I stopped writing quite as much, perhaps around the same time my instagram captions took on longer form or when my handwritten journalling became a place to log and process.

Or maybe it was when I felt like my writing had to perform in some way, you know, learning how to create a business from something I love meant time and energy investment had to start showing up differently.

This year, at some point in the first half, I remember standing outside late at night on the steps of my Cotswold’s cottage. I don’t recall why I was there, but the night sky caught my attention before I headed inside, bright with a blanket of stars, reminding me once again of the vast capacity and wonder of life.

It caught me off guard when the question washed over me,

“When did you stop trusting?”

And in that moment I took in the depth and miracle of life all over again, stood in a self imposed time capsule, at some junction, in full acknowledgement of my past and witnessing the projections I placed into my future as a result.

Fear had seized my mind, thinly veiled like a secret last layer of skin. It clung to me like the smell of cigarette smoke; stale and telling.

I had lost trust, all faith had gone and the need for control and to ‘figure it all out’ had crept in. I was a tiny human grasping for sense in whatever form I could.

This question gently broke me open where I needed to be, it asked me why I carried it all myself, where did the magic go?

Now, I appreciate you may have a different philosophy to me, but I’m rather spellbound by life; the way colour and vibrancy are completely natural, how seasons turn like clockwork and cells multiply driven by unknown force and energy for, what feels like, the sake of it.

This excites me.


This is so far beyond my capacity to understand - and any justifiable reason I’d accept from any human - that it invites me to completely let go, to just enjoy and be present. I believe our brains cannot comprehend, as we wrestle to dilute life into referenceable terms.

If a flower smells like perfume for communication, if dogs lie in the sun to bask in the warmth and if stars shine like a scatter of glitter - then why can’t this wonder, joy and simplicity be in my own life and existence?

I remember shedding a few tears in acknowledgement of how far removed I felt from the sweetness of life. How the knot in my stomach felt like a corset I’d tied too tight. Then, how a sliver of myself felt seen again, like I’d cracked open a mask I’d caked on to protect myself.

When questions come to my mind like that, they sound like the mother nature’s wisdom.

No one had taught me to ask that, and I didn’t preplan a poignant moment, it was an overflow in response to where I was stood. For that moment to happen I not only had to be stood there, but there had to be something in me that needed to be met.

For me, that nurtures trust. A deep ancient, biological memory that there's life to lean into. To imagine myself like the thirsty flower, with roots spreading deeply underground waiting for the rain. And the rain fell.

I can trust I will be fed. To know what I am part of nature, blossoming and growing, reminded once again of the importance of my environment. Even the flower turns toward the sun, just as I can move toward my own light, or uproot to sit beside a stream.

It builds faith to know that everything you need is already inside of you, and as a human with choice, can place yourself where you need to feed it. It’s safe to move toward what inspires you, to tenderly care and find the light.

Inspiration serves to reflect back to us what desires to come to life.

That night, the stars reminded me to trust, not because they spoke or the whole world changed, but because I was fed what I needed for that moment, to nurture the next unfolding.

Take yourself back to the moment you stopped; writing, trusting, being. Be with yourself there, trust yourself to hear what you need and take action in faith from there.

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