19/06/2026
I have been reminded of this quote by Hafiz here in Bali.
I came here tired.
Just that familiar depletion that can build over years of loving my child, loving my work, loving my people.
The kind where I’m still functioning. Still showing up. Still caring deeply.
But something in me is asking for a little more space.
I’ve been reflecting on how easily I can slip into giving as an identity. Not just as something I do, but as something that quietly tells me who I am.
Mothering.
Therapy.
Holding.
Listening.
Supporting.
All things I genuinely love.
And yet I wonder sometimes whether I’ve confused being needed with being nourished.
I also know how fortunate I am to be here.
To have a village around my daughter. A father who adores her. Family, friends, neighbours and community who help hold her world together while I step away for a little while.
The older I get, the less I believe any of us do this alone.
Even this rest is relational.
The Hafiz quote landed differently this time.
The sun doesn’t shine because it’s trying to prove anything. It doesn’t keep score. It doesn’t ask for repayment.
It shines because shining is its nature.
But even the sun isn’t depleted by what it gives.
That part feels important.
I’ve spent enough years around burnout, both personally and professionally, to know that exhaustion isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s simply the slow forgetting that we, too, belong in the circle of care.
Bali has been a remembering.
The warmth of the sun on my skin.
The sound of the ocean.
The bone deep tiredness dissolving.
The feeling of having nowhere I need to be for a little while.
And the quiet recognition that something in me is filling again.
Not because I’ve earned it.
Not because I’ve finally completed the list.
Just because life keeps offering itself.
Like the sun.
