Tag: inspiration

Categories
heart and soul Journaling

Writing Goodbye Letters: The Unexpected Power of Saying Farewell.

writing goodbye letters

Letting Go of Falsehoods

To me, goodbye letters are a special kind of writing. They let us release the falsities, those delicate illusions we spin around our hearts to survive. They are the imagined versions of our lives that quietly steal from the real ones we’re living.

They’re the marriages that never materialised, the families that only exist in our fantasies, the career that feels better in our dreams than in our day calendars, or the fulfillment we thought we’d feel when we bought that long desired purchase. 

In writing goodbye, we gently loosen our grip on the stories we’ve told ourselves. Stories that made life seem more romantic, or heroic, or fair. Stories that were beautiful, but untrue. 

Farewell: A Word with Weight

The word farewell traces back to the old English phrase “fare thee well,” a blessing for when parting. It’s a sending off with warmth, a hope that the road ahead is kind, even as it leads away from us.

To farewell something well is to bless it as it leaves. It’s not about bitterness or regret. It’s about releasing what no longer serves us with clarity and compassion. 

When we say farewell with open hands, something softens in us. There’s no need to punish the parts of ourselves that hoped, that were too naive to see or understand, that believed things would be better. Farewell becomes a way of saying: It was what it was and now I see that I release it with clarity and gratitude.

The Village That Never Was

Recently, I wrote a goodbye letter of my own. It was addressed to something tender, something not quite tangible, a village I had carried in my heart for a long time.  A felt-sense of belonging, depth, and mutual care. A community I believed in, hoped for, and at times, glimpsed in fragments.

Over the years, I’d quietly built this village in my mind, a place where everyone showed up with presence and honesty, where loyalty was mutual, where I could root down and raise my children. It was comforting to imagine something wide, warm, and unwavering, a place where I could rest without question, where belonging wasn’t earned but simply offered.

But eventually, I had to admit something quietly painful: the village I longed for and the one I experienced didn’t fully match. That doesn’t mean there was no kindness, or that people failed me. It just means I had placed a deep yearning into a space that couldn’t hold it all.

This isn’t about blame. It’s about understanding. About noticing where I had layered imagination over reality, and gently peeling it back, not to expose something cold or cruel, but simply something different than I’d hoped.

The goodbye I wrote wasn’t bitter. It was full of affection and gratitude for what had been real. And also a soft release of what hadn’t. There’s something freeing in naming that, without shame, without judgment. Just truth, spoken with an open heart.

Letting go of the imagined village allowed me to see what actually was, both its beauty and its limits.

Words That Worked

I ended the letter with these words:

“I release you, imaginary village. Thank you for all that you gave me. I let go of needing you to be real.”

Saying goodbye like this allowed me to honour both my imagination and my reality. Both are important. One helps me dream; the other helps me live.

The letter gave me closure I hadn’t known I needed. By naming what was real and what was imagined, I no longer had to carry the confusion. I could love what I had once believed in, even as I made peace with what it never became.

If you find yourself stuck in a loop of disappointment, consider this: maybe you don’t need to “fix” anything. Maybe you just need to say goodbye to a version of the story that never really happened.

What Fantasy Needs Farewelling?

So friends, what fantasy is still clinging to the edges of your life? What idealised version of a relationship, a dream, a place, or a version of yourself are you still waiting to show up?

What goodbye letter could you write that would usher you back into the present, into what is, rather than what isn’t?

Saying farewell doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re awake to what’s true. It means you’ve found the quiet courage to meet life as it is. 

Write the letter. Let the truth in. Break up with the fantasy, and make space for what is beautifully, quietly, enough.

books by lauren Lott
Categories
heart and soul

My Brave List: 3 Things I Found Hard to Admit (But Wrote Anyway)

brave list

There are alot of benefits of journaling, how it clears your mind, lowers stress, helps you make decisions, track patterns, and grow. 

But none of that can happen  unless we’re willing to be honest on the page.

I mean deep honesty, the kind that catches in your throat. The kind that makes your pen pause. The kind that makes you look over your shoulder even though no one else is reading.

That kind of honesty, the brave kind, is where the real breakthroughs happen.

And yet, many of us filter, even when we are alone. We edit ourselves, even in private. We write what sounds right. What feels palatable. What we think we should think. We stick to the version of ourselves we’ve grown used to presenting to the world, because it’s safer that way.

But here’s the truth: pretending doesn’t heal us, politeness won’t bring clarity, and self-censorship keeps us stuck.

The page is meant to be a place of freedom. A space where nothing has to be resolved. Nothing has to be polished. A space where the real story can exist.That’s where ‘The Brave List’ comes in.

It’s a journaling practice created to help unblock us and or uncover the things we may be avoiding.

The Brave List is exactly what it sounds like: A list of things we are scared to admit. Things we’ve never said out loud. Things that would’ve shocked a former version of us. Things we need to write down before we can move forward.

Although I rarely reveal what’s in my journal, I’m doing it today because sharing personal truth makes it easier for others to share theirs, and that’s the path to freedom. So here is my current ‘Brave List’.

As you read, I hope it stirs something honest in you too. Maybe even enough to start your own.

1. I was too good for my own good.

As a child, I was taught to be good. Programmed, really. To be helpful, polite, well-behaved, and agreeable as most of us are, as I have also taught my children to be. And I lived like that, believing that being good was the goal. 

But my goodness came from fear, not love. Fear of rejection. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being too much or not enough. 

Being “good” became a kind of cage. And while I still value morals, I no longer hold them up for morality’s sake. I believe in love. Here’s what I mean: real goodness is alive and generous, but there’s a counterfeit that only wants a show. It swaps presence for performance and honesty for whatever sounds pleasing. That isn’t love. It’s fear disguised as virtue.

2. I Used to Think I Was Free… But I Feel Freer Outside the System.

Having been taught that true freedom comes through faith. I thought that anyone who didn’t believe what I believed was bound in some way. 

But now, standing outside the religious system I once belonged to, I can see just how caged I really was. I used to sing about freedom, but the truth is, parts of me were never free at all.

Looking back, I see that I didn’t need to walk away from people or even unravel my faith, because that’s not really what happened. What I needed was to step away from a system that had started to feel more like a machine than a place of grace. More like a business than a true belonging. More like an obligation than an honour. More like control than calling.

Since stepping outside of it, I breathe easier. I feel closer to the Divine. I am less judgmental. I’m less certain now, which really just means I’m more open, embracing the mystery of life rather than rules. This helps me to be more empathetic towards others. 

There’s a lot I miss, and still grieve, about being ‘on the inside,’ part of the system, as it were. But what I had wasn’t really home. It was a belonging that came with conditions, an inclusion built more on what my family contributed than on connection. It was comfort disguised as freedom.

3. I Used to Think Obedience was devotion…Now I believe honesty is.

For a long time, I measured my faithfulness by how well I followed the rules. I believed that obedience, quiet, consistent, unquestioning, was the truest sign of love. But over time, that version of devotion began to feel hollow.

Honesty is sometimes disruptive. It doesn’t always look spiritual. It sometimes means saying things that are misunderstood. But when I started admitting what I really feel and think, that’s when I began to cultivate a deeper sense of  truth, love and faith, not further.

Honesty made room for healing. Obedience had me doing things out of habit, rather than from genuine relationships. I started to realise, if what I want is real connection, I can’t keep trying totick boxes just to keep people happy. And I definitely didn’t want to become the kind of person who expects others to do that for me. I didn’t want to be someone who measured closeness by compliance. 

Now it’s your turn.

What’s on your Brave List?

Maybe it’s something small. Maybe it’s something that would shake the ground beneath the version of you that others know. Write it anyway.

Try this journaling prompt to begin:
“I don’t want to write this, but…”

And follow that sentence wherever it takes you. No censoring. No apologising. Just you and the page and the truth that’s ready to be seen.

Because the real work, the healing work, doesn’t begin with answers. It begins with honesty.


books by lauren Lott
Categories
heart and soul Therapeutic Writing Prompts

You Already Know: 5 Questions to Reveal What You Know Deep Down

inner knowing

Being raised in the church shaped me in ways I’m still discovering.

In my early years, I felt cared for. I was encouraged to be polite, helpful, and gentle. I learned to listen, to respect authority, and to trust those who were seen as spiritually wiser. Somewhere along the way, though, I picked up the belief that other people, pastors, leaders, mentors, knew more about life and faith than I did.

So I learned to defer. To seek permission. To wait for a green light before taking a step. It made me cautious, hesitant, and out of tune with myself. I second-guessed everything, even the smallest decisions.

Now that I’m older, I can see how that pattern formed. How my resistance to taking full ownership of my choices wasn’t a flaw, it was a habit. A habit of passing off my responsibility to someone I believed knew better.

But the truth is: I have my own knowing. And it’s taken time, mistakes, and lived experience to recognise it.

When I say “knowing,” I’m not talking about facts or intellect. I’m talking about that quiet inner sense, a kind of recognition. The word itself comes from the Old English cnawan, meaning to perceive directly, to be familiar with.

Knowing doesn’t mean we think we’ve got all the answers. It’s not arrogance. It’s not stubbornness or certainty. In fact it doesn’t feel anything like certainty to me. Inner knowing is quieter than that. It’s not about being right, it’s about being honest. 

The best word I can think of to describe inner knowing is alignment. When I have it, there’s a sense of ease, even if things are hard. When I don’t, something feels off. I might not be able to name it, but I feel the disconnect. 

Inner knowing nudges us toward choices that feel true, even if they don’t make sense to anyone else. It’s not about being absolute, it’s about being integral. We might not be able to explain why we know something, but we still do. And learning to trust that voice, especially after years of outsourcing decisions to others, can be one of the most powerful shifts in a person’s life.

So how do we begin to reconnect with that quiet, inner wisdom?
Sometimes, the best place to start is with a few good questions…

1. What do you keep circling back to, despite distractions, doubts, or other people’s opinions?

Some truths don’t just knock once. They come back, again and again. They won’t leave us alone until we listen. What’s been repeating itself in your life, asking to be heard?

Maybe it’s a decision you keep avoiding. A dream that won’t stay quiet. A truth you’ve tried to bury. Whatever it is, it keeps returning, not to haunt you, but to help you come home to yourself.

2. What brings you peace when you imagine choosing it?

Not excitement. Not applause. Peace. The quiet kind. The kind that lets your shoulders drop and your breath come easier. It might not look impressive to anyone else, but something in you knows, it feels right. What choice brings that kind of calm? What direction feels like relief, even if it’s hard?

3. What decisions have you made in the past that turned out to be right, and what helped me make them?

Looking back, how did you arrive at the truths you’ve come to trust? What guided you? Intuition, stillness, reflection, prayer, experience? And what might those same guides be leading you toward today?

Maybe you didn’t even realise it at the time, but something was already leading. Those moments of clarity, however small, were proof that you do have a knowing. That you do know. And maybe, just maybe, those same quiet guides are still speaking, nudging you toward something true today.

4. What feels true in your body, even if your mind tries to argue with it?

This isn’t about following every impulse or craving. It’s not about indulging in what might harm you or others. It’s about paying attention to the deeper signals your body gives when something aligns, or doesn’t. The calm, the tightness, the heaviness, the lightness. What brings tension? What brings ease? What feels like a quiet, steady yes beneath the noise?

5. What are you pretending not to know?

Sometimes we bury what we know because it feels inconvenient, uncomfortable, or risky. Naming it might mean change. It might mean disappointing someone, setting a boundary, or stepping into unknown territory. So we push it down, cover it with distractions, or convince ourselves we’re unsure. But the truth doesn’t vanish. It waits under the surface, ready to rise the moment we’re willing to face it.

What I Knew

I knew I needed time and space for deep healing. I knew what felt fake, performative, and out of alignment, even if I couldn’t fully explain why.  I knew the narrative being told didn’t hold, I was living a totally different story. I knew my life had its own unique rhythm, one that made space for meaningful work, creativity, following curiosity, stillness, caring for my kids with intention, and nurturing deep, connected relationships.

That knowing didn’t always come with a plan or proof, it just came. And when I started listening to it, really listening, my life began to shift.

You don’t have all the answers, but you do have access to a deep, steady truth inside you. It may show up as a nudge, a pause, a pull. But it’s there, quiet, true, and waiting to be trusted.

books by lauren Lott
Categories
heart and soul life lessons

Starting Over at 40: What I’ve Learned About Changing Direction in Midlife

Starting again at 40

At forty, my husband and I walked away from a life we’d built over decades. We weren’t running toward a dream. We were walking out of the rubble of one.

For most of our adult lives, we were part of a ministry. To me, it was our community, our family, my identity. But after the fracture of a deeply trusted relationship, I began spiraling. I couldn’t seem to surface. And instead of being a place of healing, the church environment only perpetuated the loss.

I was unraveling. This became clear to me when my husband went away to a conference, and for the first time in our married life, I didn’t want him to come home. Not because I didn’t love him. Not because I didn’t want to be his wife. But because I knew where he had been.

I knew who he’d spoken to, the kind of language that would’ve been used, the narrative likely repeated, and all I could do was either stay quiet and pretend it didn’t matter, or open the conversation and risk being flooded by the pain it would unearth.

I didn’t want to navigate that impossible space again. In my heart, I just wanted distance from the version of life he was still able to walk in, which meant, painfully, wanting distance from him too. And so, after an honest conversation, we decided to leave.

Leaving meant walking away from what we thought was our calling. It meant saying goodbye to financial security, predictability, and the life we knew. We started again with three kids, little money, and no map. Midlife did not begin as a gentle pivot. It was a freefall.

The Identity Collapse No One Prepares You For

There’s something uniquely disorienting about starting again at forty. You’ve already lived a whole life, or at least it feels that way. You’ve made sacrifices. Spent time, money, energy building something.

And then, unwillingly, the story you’ve been telling no longer fits. And as I discovered, without that story, I didn’t know how to introduce myself, even to myself.

That was the moment I began, out of a need to be alright, to pull the pain out of my chest and set it beside me. I didn’t have the language for it then, but later I’d learn it was called externalisation.

Externalisation means the problem is not you. It’s something you’re experiencing. When you place it outside yourself, you create space to see it more clearly and respond with compassion. I hadn’t failed. I hadn’t fallen apart. The life I had known had ended, and I was standing in the in-between.

Listening is Imperative

People love to say, “Just start fresh,” but at forty, it doesn’t land the same way it might have at twenty. I didn’t have the energy or the luxury of starting from zero. We had bills, teenagers, tired hearts and bodies.

I didn’t want inspiration. I needed truth. And because of what we’d been through, truth felt slippery, impossible to hold.

The only way forward was to get quiet and listen for what was still alive beneath the grief. What still mattered. What still moved me.

This is called double listening. It means not only listening to the pain so it can be processed, but also noticing the values hiding beneath it.

What did my heartbreak reveal about what mattered most to me? Authenticity. Creativity. Freedom.

Those values had always been there, and with starting over, they were simply looking for a new way to live through me.

A Few Traps Best Avoided

Starting over at forty comes with its own set of pitfalls. Here are a few worth sidestepping:

* Don’t compare yourself to peers who’ve had a seemingly straight path. They absolutely didn’t, and you’re not behind.

* Don’t rush to reinvent yourself just to feel useful. Clarity takes time. It’s okay to do what you need to do to survive, to feed your kids, pay the bills, and keep things steady, even if it’s not your dream job for a while. My husband did exactly that. He tried different roles, took what he could, so our family could stay afloat and so I had the space to navigate the wreckage of what was going on inside me.

* Don’t cling to your old identity out of fear. I know how tempting it is to hold tight to the roles and routines that once gave you a sense of purpose, especially when everything feels uncertain. But starting over means making room for who you’re becoming. That often means life might feel a little empty for a while. Quiet. Ordinary. Uncertain.

The Truth About Starting Again

Here’s what I’d tell you if you were sitting across from me, coffee in hand, whispering that you don’t know where to begin.
1. You don’t need a five-year plan. You need a compass.

I stopped trying to plan my way forward and started using what narrative coaches call future authoring.

Future authoring is about shifting focus from what you think you should achieve to imagining a future that aligns with your core values. It’s less about ticking off goals and more about envisioning a life that feels meaningful, then letting those values guide your next steps, even if they’re small or uncertain.

Instead of asking, “What should I do next?” I began asking, “What kind of life feels true to who I am now?”

That question didn’t give me a five-year plan, but it gave me a place to begin.

2. You can’t heal in a story that’s too small for you.

Pain has a way of telling us we’re not good enough, not wanted, not worth understanding, or only worthy of contempt. That’s the old story.

Healing begins when you rewrite the narrative. When you stop seeing change as the fallout offailure or mistreatment, and start seeing it as a sign that the life you were living was no longer in alignment with who you truly are.

3. You’re not who you were, and that’s okay.

For a while after leaving my old life, I gripped tight to old versions of myself like they were proof I’d mattered. This was simply fear, and the need to be sure of something. Anything. When everything familiar had fallen away.

I clung to who I used to be because I didn’t yet trust who I was becoming. Letting go felt like erasing myself. But over time, I began to see it differently. The past wasn’t something to hold anymore. It was something to honour, and then release.

Changing direction in midlife requires us to honour the past, no matter how painful. Honouring the past looks like telling the truth about what happened without rewriting it to make others more comfortable.

It means acknowledging the joy and the damage, the growth and the cost. It means thanking the version of you who got through it, even if she was messy, even if she stumbled or wasmisunderstood, even if she hurt others along the way without meaning to.

4. It Is Both Beautiful and Necessary

Starting again in midlife breaks something open. It’s not gentle. It often comes with loss, disorientation, and the ache of having to let go of everything that once made you feel sure of who you were.

But alongside the unraveling is something strangely beautiful. The realisation that you are allowed to live more than one life in a lifetime. That there are versions of you still waiting to be known.You begin to see that the life you built before, even if it mattered deeply, was not the final word.

There is necessity in the shift, in the shedding, in the quiet becoming. You grieve what was.

It’s painful, yes. Challenging, absolutely. But it’s also a chance to become someone new. Someone you’ve never been before. Someone who may not have surfaced if everything had stayed the same. And that is quietly exhilarating.

books by lauren Lott

Categories
Creativity heart and soul

Create What Matters Most

create what matters

I don’t create because something’s missing. I create because something matters. Because I’ve seen how a simple sentence can shift a day. How colour can crack open joy. How a journal page can become a place to land, rest, and rise again.


When I sit down to write, I’m not trying to fill a gap, I’m following a glow.
A flicker of beauty. A phrase that won’t let go. A whisper of wonder that says, This… this is worth your time.


There’s something deeply powerful about making what you’d want to find, not out of frustration, but from fascination. From love. From a deep desire to live in a world where the quiet things, the sacred things, the heartfelt things, are not overlooked but celebrated.


I want more wonder in the world, so I make it.
I want more honest, heart-spilled, healing language, so I write it.
Not because no one else is, but because I want to be one of the ones who does. To me, creativity isn’t just about talent. It’s about telling the truth in a beautiful way. It’s about amplifying the goodness. Contributing to the chorus. Creating the kind of work that doesn’t just get consumed but felt.


We all have that pull to make what we’re moved by.
Maybe you read a poem that stirs your spirit, and your fingers twitch to write one too. Maybe you see a painting and think, yes, more like that, please. Maybe you hear a melody and you hum along, wishing you had your own chorus to carry. That impulse is not imitation. It’s initiation.
It’s your creative spirit waking up, stretching out, and saying, Let’s go.


You don’t have to wait until something is needed. You can simply decide it’s worthy. You can bring more of what you love into the world because you love it. You can honour your taste, your truth, your tenderness, by shaping it into something that lasts.


So here’s my invitation, and maybe it’s yours too:
Make what you’d be delighted to find on a bookshelf, in a gallery, on a greeting card. Write what you’d highlight, underline, or send to a friend.
Create what makes you sit a little straighter, breathe a little deeper, feel a little more alive. Your joy is a compass. Your curiosity is a clue.


Your creations don’t have to be revolutionary, they just have to be real.
We’re all building the world we want to live in, one piece of art, one line, one loving act at a time. So if you’ve been wondering whether your voice is needed, the answer is: Yes. Not because it fills a void. But because it adds to our becoming.

Categories
heart and soul Journaling Therapeutic Writing Prompts

The Quiet Ways We Shortchange Our Potential (And How to Stop)

lauren Lott
lauren lott

Recently, I came across a question that made me pause mid-scroll: “In what ways are you shortchanging your potential?”


I didn’t breeze past it. I couldn’t. This wasn’t the kind of question that asks for a surface-level answer. It was an invitation to go inward, to get honest, to look beyond the usual excuses I give myself.


So I did something I’ve learned to do when the big questions come: I turned to my journal.


No answers arrived right away. But three prompts slowly surfaced. Three gentle exercises that helped me to explore the hidden places where I might be holding back. What followed was uncomfortable, clarifying, and surprisingly freeing.


I’m sharing them with you in case you’re ready to do the same.

1. The Unwritten Permission Slip

I closed my eyes and imagined a blank permission slip in my hand. No rules. No waiting. Just full access to everything I’m capable of, without having to earn it first.


Then I wrote: You have permission to create without worrying if it’s good enough. You have permission to take up space, to speak your ideas, to show up before you feel “ready.” You have permission to begin. Now. As you are. You have permission to be yourself around your kids. You have permission to rest, to be disliked, to be misunderstood, to not have to explain. You have permission to be cringy, to do things badly, to be unimpressive, to fail, and to go at your own pace.


And then came the harder questions: ‘Who have I been waiting for permission from?’ ‘What have I been putting off because I still don’t feel “qualified”?’


I wrote a list, one I’ll keep just for me, but let me tell you, there’s something about physically writing yourself a permission slip that shifts things. It’s subtle, but it’s powerful. Something softens. Something awakens.

The Half-Filled Jar

Next, I sketched a tall, glass jar, my potential, visualised on paper. I wanted to see it, not just imagine it. So I gave it shape with pencil, then began to fill it in with colour. I used different shades to represent what was already there: green for the ways I’ve grown, yellow for the risks I’ve taken, blue for the moments I stretched beyond what felt comfortable.


As I looked at it, I realised, this jar wasn’t empty. But it wasn’t full either. There was still space. Still more it could hold.


Seeing it drawn out in front of me made it real. So I asked: ‘What’s missing? What would it take to fill this completely?’


And here’s what surprised me: It wasn’t more talent. It wasn’t more time or experience. It was trust. It was the willingness to act before I felt completely safe. To stop waiting for the perfect moment and take the next step now.

I wrote down one small thing I could do that day. Nothing grand. Just a tiny shift that moved me forward. And then I did it.

The Unlived Parallel Life

This was the one that hit deepest. I imagined her, the version of me who had fully stepped into her potential. The one who didn’t shrink, didn’t second-guess, didn’t hold back. She sat across from me, confident, calm, and whole.


I asked her: ‘How did you become who you are?’

And I wrote down what she said: I am you who didn’t give up. The one who kept choosing her heart, even when it was hard. I am the you who stayed close to what felt true. Who kept creating, kept expressing, kept showing up with honesty, even when you doubted.


After working through these prompts, the answer to that original question became clear: I shortchange my potential every time I wait for permission instead of giving it to myself. Every time I believe I’m not ready, instead of remembering that growth happens through action. Every time I ignore my inner voice in favour of outside approval.


If this stirred something in you, I invite you to sit with the same question. Use the prompts. Go gently. Be honest. And most importantly, do something with the answers.


It’s too important to leave unlived.

Categories
Creativity heart and soul Publishing

Writing My First Book Proposal: Trusting the Idea That Won’t Let Go

book proposal

Here I am, staring at a document titled ‘Book Proposal’, feeling a mix of excitement, uncertainty, and the pull of possibility.  

The doubt is persistent. Although I have full confidence in the concept and genuinely believe my idea is unique, something still tells me I should leave this to the “real” writers. Imposter Syndrome is loud. It repeats the same words over and over: “You’re delusional,” trying to convince me that I’m an idiot for trying.

But I’m moving forward anyway.

Fearing Regret More Than Failure.

I do this not because I’m especially brave, but because at 46, my fear of regret has grown significantly larger than my fear of failure. This is just one of the gifts midlife has given me.  

I don’t want to look back at this version of myself and see a woman who made herself small, who smothered her creativity, who kept her ideas to herself. Because deep down, if I’m truly honest, I believe in this book. 

I believe in its power to help people in a profound way. I believe it could be the wind that stirs the embers in many hearts, reigniting something they thought had died inside them. I believe from this book, many more could be written. Many deep and personal discoveries could be made. Many loving and life-transforming actions could be set in motion.

So, although I most definitely don’t feel “ready,” I’m putting it together piece by piece, paragraph by paragraph, trusting that I’ll figure it out as I go. And as I do, regret will be put to rest.

We can do things that way, you know, bit by bit, step by step. We don’t have to be experts or have an infallible plan. We can feel things out, think them through, take our time. We can do things unconfidently. Slow productivity is still real productivity, and I believe that, more often than not, it’s the approach that’s best for me.

Trusting the Ideas That Won’t Let Go

Ideas are like newborns, they all arrive differently. Every mother has a birth story, and every idea has its own journey into the world. Some come suddenly, fully formed, while others take time, unfolding slowly, demanding patience and care.

This idea came to me as I was driving alone down the East Coast of New South Wales after visiting my mother. First the concept, then the title. It rushed in, as if my mind were an umbrella and it was ducking for cover, seeking shelter. It felt random, yet right on time. It demanded to be written down, regarded with importance. Though it arrived uninvited, still, it won’t let me go.Arrested—that’s the word for it. I was arrested by it, and the only thing to do with a thought, concept, or belief that arrests you is to trust that it might be something and slowly let it take shape. 

Believing That What We Create Matters

There’s no way I could endure the searing sting of Imposter Syndrome, the gnawing doubt, the constant second-guessing, of shaping an idea, if I didn’t believe it mattered. Too often, we put down our tools, close our laptops, or abandon our art supplies out of fear that we’re just wasting our time. What’s the point of poetry, of art, of expression, anyway? 

But here’s the truth, believing it matters, makes it matter. The act of believing in our work gives it weight, presence, and the energy it needs to exist in the world. It changes how we show up, how we nurture our ideas, how we push through doubt instead of surrendering to it. 

The only way to give ideas a chance to find their purpose, to take root in someone else’s life, to spark something beyond what we can see, is to believe they will. If we dismiss them, they fade. But when we trust that they matter, we breathe life into them, and in doing so, they begin to take on a life of their own.

And so here I am, in over my head, trusting with every tap of the keyboard. Because I had a moment of resonance. Because an idea lingers. Because I’m more than a little afraid of reaching the end of my life and wishing I had given life to what flew into my head and arrested me,or at least tried to.  

Yes, I’m writing my first book proposal. And to me, that feels both entirely absurd and completely inevitable, all at once.

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Creativity heart and soul life lessons

The Role of Creativity in Personal Transformation

Quote: Get the creativity flowing

To me, personal transformation is best described as a reshaping. It occurs when our identity, values, and perspective shift to align with our deepest beliefs and aspirations. It’s not merely about improving ourselves; it’s about redefining who we are and how we interact with the world. This reshaping is fueled by knowledge and experience and is essential for fulfilling our potential.

At the heart of change is creativity. It’s not just about making things; it’s about making things happen. Through creative practices, I’ve unlocked new ways of thinking and solving problems, fostering healing, growth, and self-expression.

So here, let me share with you how nurturing creativity can influence every aspect of our being and lead us toward  growth.

Embracing Creativity as a Catalyst for Change

Creativity isn’t just for artists, musicians, or writers; it’s a fundamental aspect of being human. When we allow ourselves to think creatively, we open doors to new possibilities and perspectives.  This mindset has changed not only how I tackle my to-do list but also how I handle life’s unexpected twists and turns.

By embracing my innate sense of creativity, I began to see pathways and solutions where there were previously only walls. This shift in perception wasn’t instant but gradual, enabling me to reimagine my life, from parenting to personal expression.

The Transformative Power of Small Creative Acts

Transformation doesn’t have to be monumental to be meaningful. Small, creative acts each day can have a cumulative effect that propels us forward. Whether it’s doodling in a notebook, rearranging your living space, or experimenting with new recipes, each act of creativity adds up, shaping us into more of who we are.

Integrating creativity into my daily routine has been essential in combating the stagnation that can creep into adult life. It keeps my thoughts positive and my spirit alive. Simple activities, like writing a daily haiku or journal entry enhance my sense of presence and help me process my inner experiences.

Nurturing Creativity to Foster Personal Growth

To truly transform, we must nurture our creativity. This means giving ourselves the space and time to explore, make mistakes, and wander. It’s crucial to create a personal environment that values and encourages creative expression.

Regularly consuming art, literature, and music has also played a significant role in maintaining my creative flow. These mediums offer new lenses through which to view the world, challenging our preconceptions and pushing us toward growth.

Creativity: The Emotional Bridge to Transformation

On a deeper level, creativity acts as an emotional conduit that helps us process and express feelings that might be too complex or overwhelming to articulate otherwise. Through creative expression, we can explore our deepest fears, joys, and ambitions in a safe and constructive way. 

In my own life, writing fiction has served as this bridge. On the page, I can explore shades of emotion that I sometimes struggle to face in the real world. Each sentence is a step towardunderstanding and acceptance of my inner self. This process has been integral to my personal transformation, helping me to become not just a better writer, but a more whole person.

Who knows, one day, the stories I’ve written might see the light of day and be embraced by others.

Moving Forward with Creative Confidence

As we become more comfortable with our creativity, our confidence in other areas of life begins to blossom. We’re more likely to take risks, embrace new ideas, and leave behind what no longer serves us. With each creative endeavor, we build a stronger sense of self and a clearer vision of where we want to go.

The journey of personal transformation through creativity is ongoing and ever-evolving. It’s not about reaching a final destination but about continually growing, learning, and expanding. The creative process teaches us to be resilient, adaptable, and courageous, qualities that define not only great artists but great individuals.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: if you’re feeling stuck, low, deflated, defeated, or simply want something to change, go with your creative instincts. Nurture them, and they’ll guide you to uncover new depths of your personality and reach new heights of your potential.

Remember, in you lies creativity that, once ignited, can light up the whole path of personal transformation. 

Categories
heart and soul life lessons

A Year of Receiving: You Don’t Have to Earn Peace, Joy, or Rest.

receiving peace, joy and rest

I’ve always thought how great it would be to just run down to the shops and pick up a bag of joy. On hard days, we could just grab a little peace off the shelf or a bottle of hope to keep us going.

Or if our kids were struggling with confidence, we could whip through the drive-through and order up whatever they needed to feel strong again.

And wouldn’t it be something if grief could be processed as easily as drinking a special shake. What if wisdom came in a box and resilience was something you could pay for at the counter?

Life would be better if we could just gain these things by buying them, wouldn’t it. But then I rethought it.

I realised that if these needs could be commodified, there would always be people left out. There would be those who couldn’t afford peace and those who couldn’t access joy.

It’s a grace that these things aren’t transactional. Thank goodness they aren’t rewards for those who work the hardest or have the most resources. It’s freeing to realise that peace, joy, rest, and hope are available to everyone, no matter their socioeconomic status, age, gender, race, or religion. We just have to learn how to receive them.

What We Can Not Earn 

It’s a shared belief: peace comes when all our ducks are in a row, joy arrives once we get what we have been chasing, and rest is something we have to earn.

But that way of thinking is misguided and draining. 

The truth is you don’t have to earn any of it. Peace is already there, waiting for you. Joy can find you in the most ordinary of moments. Rest is something you don’t need permission to take, even if the world keeps telling you to keep going.

Why Receiving Feels So Hard

Receiving is a skill we’re rarely taught. We’re told that good things come to those who hustle. And in many areas of life, that’s true, hard work has its place. But when it comes to things like inner peace, joy, hope, and healing, striving is not the way to access them.

If this makes you feel uneasy, you’re not alone. It’s countercultural to believe you can simply receive these things. But it’s true. And once you embrace that truth, life feels a little lighter.

3 Steps to Learning How to Receive Without “Earning” It

1. Shift from earning to allowing.

It’s about practice. It’s about cultivating a mindset that shifts gradually and strengthens over time. Learning to receive without conditions is a process of rewiring old beliefs.

2. Notice where you block receiving

Pay attention to moments when you resist receiving, whether it’s a compliment, help, or an unexpected opportunity. Ask yourself: Why am I uncomfortable with this? Why am I resisting joy? Why do I keep working when I know I need to rest? Acknowledge those feelings without judgment and remind yourself it’s safe to receive.

3. Embrace gratitude, not guilt

When something comes to you freely, respond with gratitude rather than guilt. Receiving isn’t about taking from others, it’s about being open to life’s offerings. Accept that you’re here to experience good things simply because you exist.

Unexpected Goodness Can Still Find You

Some of the most beautiful, life-giving moments I’ve experienced have arrived when I wasn’t expecting them, and when I felt I least deserve them.

A stranger’s unexpected kindness. A moment of joy in the middle of a hard season. A quiet sense of peace, even though nothing about my situation had changed.

These moments remind me that goodness isn’t something we have to chase down. Sometimes, it finds us.

We don’t always recognise it when it happens. We’re often too focused on what’s missing or what’s next to notice the quiet gifts that show up in our lives.

But if we slow down, we’ll see that most of us, despite the presence of hardship, have the opportunity to experience goodness daily.

This Year, Let’s Focus on Receiving

What if this year we focused a little more on receiving?

What if we practice receiving peace, joy, and rest, not because we’ve earned it. Not because we’ve worked hard enough. But because these things are available to you and me, just as we are.

Categories
Journaling Therapeutic Writing Prompts

Write Your Way Into 2025: Journal Prompts in preparation for a New Beginning.

I love this time of year. It’s not just Christmas season; it’s a season of completion, a time to let go, drop, declutter, reorganize, rethink, reflect, and dream.

As I move closer to a new year, whether I’m setting goals, reflecting on the months, or simply seeking clarity, journaling helps me to navigate this transition with intention and focus. Here are journal prompts designed to inspire and guide us into 2025.

Reflection: Looking Back at 2024

Before starting the new year, take a moment to reflect on the one that has passed.

1. What were the three most important lessons I learned in 2024?

2. What was my greatest achievement last year, and why am I proud of it?

3. What challenges did I overcome in 2024, and how did they shape me?

4. What relationships brought me the most joy in 2024, and why?

5. If I could relive one day from 2024, which would it be, and what made it special?

Vision: Envisioning 2025

Now, look ahead to the possibilities of the new year.

6. What is one word I want to define 2025 for me?

7. What do I want to create, experience, or accomplish in 2025?8. How do I want to feel at the end of this year?

9. What areas of my life need the most attention or change in 2025?

10. If 2025 were a story, what would the title be?

Intention: Setting the Tone for the Year

Define your focus and set your intentions with clarity.

11. What habits or routines will support my goals this year?

12. What am I ready to let go of as I enter 2025?

13. What does “success” look like for me in the coming year?

14. How can I nurture my mental, emotional, and physical well-being in 2025?

15. What is one thing I will prioritize for myself this year?

Gratitude: Starting the Year with Positivity

Ground yourself in gratitude.

16. What am I grateful for as I step into 2025?

17. Who are the people I want to thank or acknowledge in my life?

18. What small things bring me joy that I want to savor more in 2025?

19. What opportunities or blessings from 2024 am I carrying forward into this year?

20. How can I practice gratitude daily in 2025?Action: Making 2025 Count

Turn your reflections and intentions into actionable steps.

21. What is the first step I can take toward my biggest goal in 2025?

22. What is one new skill or hobby I want to explore this year?

23. How can I actively contribute to the well-being of others in 2025?

24. What obstacles might I face this year, and how can I prepare for them?

25. What is one thing I can do each day to stay aligned with my 2025 vision?

As you work through these prompts, remember that new beginnings are about progress, not perfection. Allow yourself the grace to start where you are, with what you have. Here’s to writing a beautiful story in 2025, one filled with growth, joy, and light.