07/05/2026
Spring feels different this year.
We've been renovating my husband's grandmother's house for over a year. The last door went in yesterday. No running water yet, no kitchen, no bathroom. But it has a roof, walls, and doors that lock.
Not finished. Not ready. But solid and held.
This week I've been sitting with the feeling of being in limbo, and yet held.
There is a version of me that wants everything sorted before I can relax. The house needs to be done. The move needs to be planned. Everything needs a place before I can settle.
But I've noticed something. When I look at where we are now compared to where we started, the picture is completely different. A year ago, there were no floors, no roof, no doors. We've built something real. And yet the mind keeps sliding toward what isn't done yet, as though none of what's been achieved quite counts until everything is finished.
A nervous system that is always scanning for what still needs fixing rarely gets to rest, even when there is genuine evidence of progress all around it.
What I'm practising instead, slowly, imperfectly, is turning back to look at what's already here. The door that closed yesterday. The toilet in place and ready to be plumbed in. Small evidence that things are moving, even when they're not perfect.
This is the same thing I invite people into in class. Not fixing. Not pushing through. Just noticing what is already there, already supporting you, even in the middle of the unfinished.
We hand over the keys to the house we've lived in for ten years on 29th May. Over the next few weeks, I'll be sharing a little less regularly. Not gone, just quieter. One post a week, from wherever I am. I'll still be teaching, a welcome fixed point amid the chaos.
This spring, I'm getting the chance to practise leaning into trust.
🌱 What are you finding it hard to accept right now?
