If I had started writing this article when it first came to me—about two months ago, maybe a month and a half—I’m not entirely sure. Time seems to slip away so quickly these days. What I’d like to focus on instead is what landed with me today, rather than the duality of the two homes. That duality is always there, but it’s shifting for me.

The essence of those two homes, which I mentioned earlier, was this: even though that day of prayer and conversation with God on the drive to see them was profound, the real beauty was witnessing God’s presence with me. In the end, I didn’t buy either home, though I did put in an offer on one. I chose myself. I chose writing. I hoped the move would place me close enough to my family—a 40-minute drive away at least, with easier traffic.

That house, the one I chose, felt a bit like a gamble. I didn’t end up getting it, but just a few weeks later, I bought the house on the hill. That’s what I had planned to write about too: finding a space where I could have both—room for my family and room for my writing.

This week, I decided to pull out of that purchase. The financial commitment was too great. I’m already borrowing or receiving the deposit from my mum, and it’s complicated because I won’t be able to do that anymore. Then today, I saw another house—absolutely stunning, pristine inside—and again, I probably couldn’t afford it. Even if I had, I’m not sure I could keep it as pristine as it was. But we’ll see.

I spent the weekend rearranging my furniture, trying to create more space and time for myself. I’ll list a few things to explore further later, but I’m exhausted. I’m going to read Job or parts of it now. Today has been all about the duality dance again.

A Few Things That Stood Out

First thing this morning, I took my dog for a walk. It was beautiful. I sat down, sipped my coffee mindfully, and made a good note of the moment. Later, during the walk, I bumped into a stranger—a vibrant, lively man from Lowedges. He was wonderful. He mentioned how nice it was to see me playing with my dog instead of staring at my phone, and he reminded me to live every day like it’s my last.

After that, I went to church. There, I sat with a friend I went through my confirmation with. Reading Single Ever After made me realize I should spend time with single people as well as families. I tend to gravitate toward families because I have Ethan with me, and it feels more comfortable. But today, I sat next to this lovely older woman—a retired soul who still feels young. Our conversation was profound, private, and it moved me to tears. It was exactly what I needed to hear: wise, unwavering guidance. Again, the idea of living every day like it’s your last came up.

When I got home, I ran into a neighbor. She said, “Make the most of it.” Three distinct voices, all echoing the same sentiment: You only live once. That idea of seizing the day, of carpe diem.

The Duality of Patience and Discipline

The duality emerges when we talk about patience and discipline. For me, the question is: How can you live every day as if it’s your last, especially if you’re a gardener? Because life has seasons. What you might do today—if you knew you wouldn’t live tomorrow—wouldn’t necessarily be to plant flowers. Unless you live with the intention that it’s not for you, but for others. It’s about paving the way for those who come after.

The patience I’m learning is the patience of stepping out with conviction and purpose every single day. It’s committing to the Lord, declaring, “Yes, I am patient. I am waiting. I am doing good things. I am paying attention. I am awake.” That’s how I honor seizing the day. That’s how I honor living every day like it’s my last. That’s how I honor making the most of it.

It means showing up, moving my body, giving over my soul, and protecting my heart—while also opening it wide.

Gratitude

So grateful for the friends and strangers in my life.

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The main difference of this particular Sunday was that I had gone through a process of giving over, of surrendering to Christ, of really embracing my Christianity and understanding what it means to be Christian. Yes, it’s a practice, and yes, it’s something that you actually decide to do every single day that you wake up. This Sunday was one of those Sundays where I gave everything to the Lord, and I asked for His protection. I asked for His guidance, and I’m just trying to remember back now. It was a few Sundays ago. I tend to put on the armour of God in the morning, and I was curious to think back on whether I actually managed to do that that morning, because the fact is, I don’t do it every morning. I’m not perfect. I am very imperfect, in fact. Let’s say, for this story, I did put on the armour of God, and...

Ah, in fact, no, I remember it well now. My son had crawled into bed with me through the night, which he so often does, and it was a night that I didn’t sleep well. I had the dog in bed with me as well, so I had a sliver of space to rest and to regenerate, and I woke up bleary-eyed.

Now, the night before was tricky as well because Ethan had been watching a programme called Gravity Falls, a cartoon probably geared at eight-year-olds. He goes through these phases of being obsessed with things, so here he was, obsessing about this programme and all the things he’d watched on YouTube around it, and around the things that he wanted for it, and this book of Bill.

It was the last thing he talked about before going to sleep, and it was the first thing he said to me when waking in the morning. Now, this pattern of behaviour is not unusual for my son.

In my weakened state and with my bleary eyes, I said yes, and whilst in bed, still not having had a coffee and not fully awake, I bought the book of Bill. We were to pick it up that day from the Chesterfield Waterstones shop.

After that, the morning didn’t really get any easier. It was a tug and a pull and a push to even get us dressed, but we made it to church, actually probably five minutes late. We worshipped, we chatted with our friends, and we were with our church family. I have to admit that, for those few hours on most Sundays, I feel held and supported, and I really belong in this family. I get a little bit of rest because Ethan basically plays with his best mate, which is just lovely. It’s not always plain sailing and easy, but it’s where I belong, and it feels so right.

I have a particularly lovely friendship with Sarah, who actually was the one who introduced me to that particular church and led to all of the special things unfolding, which was incredible. She really supported me through a transformation in me, in that real giving over to Christ. It just happens that her son is the same age as mine, and they are very, very good friends, which is adorable. We built up a friendship, and then when we got home, it was time to have dinner and then to go and pick up the book.

Still completely exhausted and just tired from the week and the non-stop nature of life, we were both weary, and we went to the shop. Now I am just remembering back, and I think it’s such a shame that I didn’t write this on the day that it happened, because littered through the day there were small miracles, like even getting to church that morning. I am absolutely certain that God was wrapping His arms around me and Ethan and saying, “Jessica, you are alright. I’ve got you,” but I can’t remember the detail now, writing back from this time ago. I think it might have been two months ago now that it happened, certainly while school had still been in, but maybe nearing the end of the holidays, which is why we were oh so weary.

I’ll just recount the miracles that happened that I do remember. I got the book, and Ethan is such an avid reader that, travelling back from Chesterfield, he had already whizzed through maybe halfway through the book, maybe not quite that far, because there was a kids’ party that we needed to attend after picking the book up. The condition of getting the book on that day for Ethan was that he would just do what I asked him to do, and we could then make it to the kids’ party, which was a climbing party. It seemed lovely, another exhausting thing, but something nonetheless that would be good for us as a family.

We went, and Ethan said, “Can I take my book to the party?” I just didn’t have it in me to fight. I didn’t have it in me to negotiate and to say no and to say it’s not appropriate. I just went with yes. It had a warning on the front about the content being more adult than usual books. I don’t know, there was basically a warning of content on it, and I was like, “Oh, that’s strange. It’s from an 8-year-old, a cartoon programme geared towards 8-year-olds.” I had a quick look, and I saw some of the images in here and saw some of the text. That doesn’t feel quite right, but I didn’t have any time to just really look into it and read through it.

At the party, Rhys, the husband of Sarah, who I was talking about previously, was there, and we had a chat. Ethan said, “Can I show Luke?” (which is his best friend), and I said, “Well, maybe ask Rhys, his dad, because I’m not quite sure it’s okay to be reading, and we’ve not had a chance to look at it ourselves yet.” Ethan showed Rhys the book, and Rhys had a very brief look and sort of said, “Oh, I think he’s busy climbing anyway,” and he gets scared quite easily. It wouldn’t be something that Luke would want to look at, so Ethan said, “Yeah, no problem.” He was just really excited to share his book.

And to be quite honest, it was an absolute miracle that we got to the party in the first place. Again, God was just wrapping us up and ushering us along. Then we left, and Ethan was head in the book again straight away. It was just relentless, like this constant nag about this book. Because I was driving, I couldn’t do any research on it. I couldn’t look into it anymore. I didn’t have the fight in me to stop him from reading it.

He is vivacious when he starts with books, and it’s an incredible skill, talent, and fascination that he’s got, which is lovely, but I did not have that fight in me. We got home, and he went up to his bedroom, head still in the book, and I sat on my chair in the living room, in the kitchen. I just started weeping because I was quite honestly exhausted. I didn’t know how I was going to get through the rest of the day and actually start cooking tea, which is what I needed to do next. Even though Ethan had had some pizza at the party, it was not enough. He’d not eaten enough through the day to sustain him for a growing boy.

I just sat and wept. I usually don’t answer my phone. Anyone that knows me, it’s a running joke that nobody contacts me in an emergency because I just do not answer my phone unless it’s blaring at me and I already have it in my hand. At the time, I was looking at my phone, and a call came through from Sarah. I thought, “Oh, this is out of the ordinary.” Usually, we text message each other and arrange to meet up or arrange things like that, but no, it was a phone call. I answered the phone, and Sarah and I had a conversation about the book. Honestly, I can’t tell you how held I felt by how she explained to me that the book was full of awful stuff: demons, Ouija boards, how to talk to the dead, really dark, awful magic. I went a bit quiet on the phone. I was in a bit of shock, and I had a flood of emotions: feeling guilty of failing, sorrow, feeling inadequate, and also a gush of feeling totally grateful for this woman in my life who can actually have the hard conversations with me, who can challenge me in ways that allow me to grow, and the profound love that she has for me and my family. She doesn’t want us to fall into darkness, and she wants us to stay in the light.

You can imagine, in my exhausted state, these emotions just flowing through me. The tears came again after the conversation, and I went to Ethan. I asked to borrow his book, took the book, and I saw he was definitely halfway through. I read through this book, and it was as awful as Sarah had said, even more so, actually. The more I read, phrases like “don’t tell your parents this” and “make sure your mum and dad don’t know” just oozed evil. It was awful, truly, truly awful.

Sarah knows my boy. She knows that he gets hooked on things, and she knows that he has meltdowns and that it’s difficult to get things off him when he is hooked. My goodness, was he hooked on this book. In the conversation with Sarah, she gave me some really helpful tips and information. She said, “Let’s pray on it,” and she said that she would pray for me. She said that she would pray for Ethan, that he could find a way to relinquish the book, to let it go and to put it down.

She also sent me some really helpful scripture and guidance and notes on how to talk to children about the light and the dark, because you don’t want to scare your children. You don’t want to tell them that there’s this profound evil that is trying to take them away from God, essentially. Ethan is such a sensitive boy that I needed the right words, and I didn’t have them on my own. In my weakness, there was God providing all these little miracles, providing Sarah with the words that I needed and providing me the friendship and the strength that I needed to do the right thing, to do what I needed to do, even in my weariness.

What followed was two hours of pure little miracles dotted through the minutes, allowing me to get Ethan into the bath in a calm state. Books, obviously, don’t belong in the bath. I really talked through the words that Sarah had provided, and they landed so profoundly that when he got out of the bath, he took the book and threw it out of his window.

I also needed some help because I needed some milk. It’s the practical bits as well, and the little miracles just kept coming. I messaged Sarah and said, “I need milk,” and Rhys came over half an hour later with some milk. He witnessed Ethan getting his book, telling Rhys all about the book, and putting it in the bin.

Now, what I can’t get into words and express is just how profound these little steps were for how Ethan is and how I am. It was the presence of God through all of our two families joined. It was Him working through every single one of us with the practical support, with the emotional support, with the protection that we all needed.

We chatted about it a few weeks later, and we just laughed about it because of the sheer magnitude of how present God was in those two hours of our lives for both families. I am sure that I have not done this story justice, because how can I? I very infrequently find the right words to say, and I’ve stalled on sharing this story because of the fear of not doing it right. Over the last few days, I have been nudged and told that it doesn’t matter if it’s right. What matters is that you put it down on the page and share your story.

Here is my story of the Book of Bill: the Sunday of Miracles, where God wrapped His arms around me and my son and showed me how much He cares for us and loves us. No matter how many times we get it wrong, we can apologise and say we are sorry.

And He will forgive us, and He will be there for us. I am so very grateful for Sarah, Rhys, and Luke for the friendship and the family that they provide for us. I know that they are grateful for me and Ethan too, because we get to show them some of those miracles as well that are outside of their own lives. They can see how big of an impact they are having through the word of God and through being amazing stewards.

I would love to tie this in with some scripture. I think it’s got to end with the armour of God, because even though on that day I did not put on the armour of God, when we remember to put it on, it gives us more strength. Even if we forget to put on our armour, even in those moments where we don’t remember, He is still there, whispering to you, nudging you, telling you that you are loved and that He is mighty and He will protect us. So hear the armour of God.

³ Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. ¹⁴ Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, ¹⁵ and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. ¹⁶ In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. ¹⁷ Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

¹⁸ And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.

Ephesians 6- 3:18

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My journal begins.

Friday the 13th of June 2025, sitting by a stream in Whiston and going at life with a slower pace and an intentional purpose to be happy and to release joy into the world. The sun is shining and the breeze is lovely. I am full of hope, faith, love, and joy. I thank God for giving me this body, mind, and soul.

Then I stop sharing, hesitate.

This one is raw, it’s settled, but raw.

I questioned if I was brave enough to share my journal entry. I took it to Jesus and it was clear. I went and read it back and made the decision to share but only when I took out all the names of people to protect their identity. So here we go.

My journal continues.

I’m finding conflicting feelings and thoughts from within. I want to see him as frequently as I possibly can. I also want to honour the process to welcome in longevity into relationships, and not seeing him I think will cause me pain. In the pain there is learning, so it makes sense that it’s where I’m drawn into the pain, where it’s familiar. I question again if that’s what should happen.

So much questioning. He wants to see me, and if I visit him and I get back for 10pm for my therapy, then work through the boundaries, or I don’t see him at all and work through my boundaries, or invite him to mine and still have my call for my boundaries.

O Lord almighty, my God, can you give me a sign on what I need to do? No sex before marriage. Is that my boundary? Why wait? Why not get married today? I am so flippant. I’m reminded of a young couple I know. They married and were engaged very speedily with no hesitation, so why would we wait? Too much, too soon? Too overwhelming? What’s the urgency? The sex? The hurt? I just don’t know.

I am instantly drawn to buying a house here in Whiston, right near Sheffield, with a drive to school on a Tuesday and a Friday. Imagine a home with him and my youngest and nearer my eldest son. It makes me emotional, thinking about a family life with him, a longing for it, and then a nudge of doubt. How do I know he is the right one for me? How do I know? Is it old patterns of being so desperate for belonging and connection?

We can still go to Church on a Sunday, keep our church family, a slower, beautiful pace, Pokémon and Warhammer shop on a Saturday, and church on a Sunday. Oh, how this feels so amazingly lush and something I deserve very much. We’d get a dog, maybe, two, base it on my wage alone, and then we’ll have fun and have plenty to go around. This is a pattern I wanted it with someone else who was dear to my heart, but hang on, they didn’t want to be involved with my children.

He, my current lover, said, “Can’t we go back to how it was?” Maybe, I don’t know what to do, God. What do I do about today? I keep saying “One last time,” like an addict. What if I know that putting him down would make room for the eternal marriage that I’m searching for, in the eyes of two very kind people coming together to make a lovely family, even bigger, and what of me? Can I still fall into the sisterhood of women? I believe I can. I really want to have it all.

Oh Lord, oh God, what is my path? What do I do, and how do I step through this? Where is my boundary? What is it for? Self-love and self-care are present but not enough, and it feels stronger with him than without him.

The giving over

I read that journal entry a few weeks ago, around the time all my ideas for the articles landed, when God gifted them to me. This was the one about giving my life over completely. The huge contrast that I needed to play out in my life happened just over a year ago.

Of course, God answered my questions. He did it subtly at first, with the nudges, with the phrases in my head, and I chose to ignore them. I chose to grapple with them, and I couldn’t put him down. God put him down for me. God took him away, and that’s the truth.

God knew that the only way that I could put him down was if I knew that he was with someone else. He knew I wasn’t strong enough, but God never gives us things that we cannot handle. I gave my life over from that moment on.

I focused on my family. I focused on what needed healing in me. I focused on why I would give myself over completely to men when they were undeserving, most of the time. I had to put those phrases into action, or in my case, non-action. It was about declaring my celibacy and moving forward with intention to only choose love, and oh my goodness, do I have an abundance of love in my life.

Alcohol played a massive part in this pattern. This was a historical inheritance. What I can only describe as innocent alcoholism, not knowing better, being brought up on booze. It was at family parties, and it’s what society told us to do.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no blame here on my parents or my peers or my aunties and uncles. I’m not blaming anybody. I’m just stating my history. I’m stating what happened. I feel like I’m holding back some because I don’t want to upset my family. I love them dearly.

The hard boundaries that I had to enforce in my life were celibacy and fasting from alcohol. I made these decisions because of the phrases in my head that kept repeating. At this point, it wasn’t about scripture.

At this point, it was about a phrase in my head that would not go away, and the alcohol made it numb. It made this phrase numb, and I knew that I needed to keep it alive for a short while.

That’s when I began the writing that I did. Day by day, every single day, I picked up the laptop and my notebook, and I wrote. I wrote like my life depended on it. It kept me clear and clean, so that I might just boot this co-dependency spiral that I found myself in.

A major shift happened for me in Church as I write about here in my journey.

The moment I stopped trying to make sense of it, stopped fighting it, was one Sunday morning in church. I was in a pew on my own, until I wasn’t.

– My Journey (Becky Winter)

I listened more to the sermons on a Sunday. I allowed the words to enter my heart. I studied the bible with my church family and the sisters in Christ. I read scripture with friends.

The sermon on the mount gave me guidance so that it was no longer the phrases in my own head but the words of God from the Bible that guided me. Gave me the boundaries that I needed to embrace. Gave me the knowledge that I so desperately needed.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

– Joshua 1:9

And now, in this current day, I smile to myself as I feel the gratitude in my heart, the strength that I have been given. It has not been easy to remain celibate. It has not been easy to stay away from alcohol, but what I can say is that I’m now 388 days celibate, and I’m on my 281st day of sobriety.

There’s no fanfare every day. There’s no confetti, even though I tracked this on a device and an app that I made. There’s confidence inside me, and I know fundamentally that it’s God’s way and He’s guided me to this point. I am just so grateful for that strength.

There were times when I would go on dating apps, a Christian connection dating app, and I did try dating a little bit. It just didn’t quite fit and work for me. There’s something about the digital age that we’re in that I don’t really resonate with when it comes to relationships. I try and put it down again, and I keep doing that.

There have been times when I long for that glass of red wine, but I know that it will be a slippery slope back to the old habits and the old ways. I called my dad as a sponsor for me whenever I felt the urge, and he would just be very clear and calm and be like, “You don’t need it.” I love my dad.

He has supported me through these decisions and kept me on point, as well as my Father in heaven. There’s something about being looked after by your Dad that isn’t lost on me, and I am lucky to have him around.

It’s really interesting now because I feel like I have changed in looking at the smaller sin, the smaller bits of my life that aren’t serving me, that aren’t the way that Jesus would want.

The reason I want to live like Jesus as much as I possibly can is that He took away all of that sin. He took it all away for me. I soften into the knowing that I am saved, and I can quiet my mind. I can catch the panic, drop my shoulders, and take a deep breath. I’ll stop the swearing and the lying, and I’ll stop shying away from the conflict that needs to happen, for I am a strong woman of faith.

Now I’m turning my pen and my thoughts, to the smaller habits that I can kick, not only the ones that I need to remove, but also the habits that I can invoke in me when I choose what I read and I choose what I watch. After all, we are chosen, holy and loved. Because we are chosen we can make the right choices with the guide of Jesus Christ our Lord.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

- Jeremiah 29:11

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It’s not ready. And rather than force it out on my usual week’s timeline, I want to give it the space it actually needs. So this one’s going to take longer, and I think it’ll be worth it.

Thank you for being patient with me while I write it properly.

And for those of you looking forward to hearing more on the house situation, there is a bigger piece at play. Honestly, God have been working miracles for me and my sons, especially Ethan and Pepa.

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One piece is about saving a life, compassion and struggle. Another about one single Sunday that held so many miracles, following the breadcrumbs of the day, I can only call it divine intervention. A third about giving my life over, big surrenders, and the quieter, even harder ones.

I’m excited to get the words out, to refine them so they land well. I’m grateful and humbled, being trusted with these stories to share is a true blessing and I simply can’t wait to make the time to write them all.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 – There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.

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I remember the feeling of the duvet, heavy, like the weight of every “should” and “must” I’d ever carried. I crawled into bed, crying, saying I didn’t want to do this anymore. It was just a meal plan. A simple list of food for the week, and yet it brought me to my knees. I stopped thinking, stopped overthinking, and just asked for Jesus to be with me so I didn’t have to feel the burden of it all alone. I had run out of coffee, pretty typical timing for my delivery schedule and I lay there exhausted, and prayed to God to give me the strength to get up to move again, to take the next step. Just then, a knock at the door, who was it? I wiped my tears and promptly jumped out of bed. I was fully clothed so I headed straight to the door. It was the post man, delivering the coffee I so desperately needed. In that moment something shifted for me. I surrendered, prayed and immediately the knock at the door happened.

The Girl at 23

When I was 23, I was desperately thin. People commented on my appearance, but they didn’t see the truth underneath: I was skipping meals because I didn’t think I was good enough to be kept alive. Food, or the lack of it, was the only thing I could control. There were bouts of bulimia, purging away anything I had gorged in. I even told a doctor I couldn’t stop throwing up, but I didn’t know how to tell him I was the one making it happen. Eating and planning meals can be a tricky topic for neuro-spicy people. It’s tricky, too, for anyone who has experienced this and is still in the battle.

The Surrender

That moment in bed was a turning point. I gave it all to God, and I keep giving it to Him every morning. I call it the Freedom Plan. It’s not freedom from responsibility; it’s freedom to live a life that is whole. It’s the chill bliss of a first sip of coffee, knowing that Jesus is in the small moments, saying,

“I’m here, enjoy it”.

Choosing Me

Yesterday, the house hunting took a beautiful turn. The path is clearing, an offer accepted on June 30th. In the past, I might have celebrated with a glass of wine. But this time, I chose myself. I celebrated by nourishing my body: a beautiful three-egg omelette with halloumi salad, coleslaw, and tomatoes.

I’m so proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes I still can’t believe it. I’m no longer an architect trying to force a perfect plan; I’m a woman of faith resting in the knowledge that I am loved, I am seen, and I am worthy of nourishment. Boy, does God work fast when you accept a straight path.

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“Look, Mummy, see his origin.”

Two years ago, I would have felt the familiar prickle of annoyance, the frustration of a “setback” to my professional schedule. But last night, I simply put the laptop down. It is a pure privilege to pay the price of a late night if it means being a good mother first.

That’s how it began. The plan I’d built in the heat of the morning, knowing the weather would make an early bedtime impossible, knowing I’d hunker down beside him, had already accounted for the delay. An hour on emails first: responding, scheduling, getting things in order while we coloured together and the Batman film we put on. He adored it. I adored watching him. And then, when he finally settled, I sat back down.

Seven sections. I’d mapped it: an hour tonight, two hours in the morning. Structured. Achievable. Off we go.

Except I wasn’t quite ready to go.

The Stark, Flashing Cursor

It had been a very full day before any of this. Back-to-back meetings. Interviews. Conversations that moved things forward in ways that mattered. The kind of day that fills you up and empties you out at the same time. So before I could face the bid, I needed something that was just mine, scrolling through posts I hadn’t finished, returning to a piece of writing that had been waiting. I even checked on a poll I’d put out the day before: which article should I finish, the iPod piece or the Blowout? Nobody had responded. That’s fine. There was no meaning in it.

But what it did was lead me somewhere I hadn’t planned to go.

I turned to the AI tools I use. The ones that know my writing, that have absorbed my patterns and my cadence. And I asked them to help me find something nearly ready, something that wouldn’t take too much effort.

They gave me something back. And it felt stark.

It pulled bits of me together, I could see that. But it wasn’t me. Not quite. There’s a version of this work that lives in the tools now, and a version that only lives in me, and sitting there in the quiet heat of the evening, those two things felt very far apart.

I believe this absolutely: we cannot lose the humanity in what we put out into the world. The tools are there for brainstorming, for untangling, for the scaffolding, not for the voice. Because that voice, that particular way of seeing, will never be the tool. It will always only ever be us.

The cursor flashed back at me.

I began again.

The Softening Signal

I know myself well enough now to know when I’m pushing against a wall rather than through it.

So instead of forcing it, I followed my intuition. A very short nap. A few minutes of meditation. What I’ve come to recognise as my superpower, not the staying up, not the grinding through, but the knowing when to soften.

I breathed out deeply. Filled my lungs with the hot, scorching air of the room. And in that exhale, something shifted.

Because here’s what I know, sitting up straight at that desk with the bid open in front of me: these gifts I’ve been given, the structured thinking, the way I can hold seven sections in my head at once, the instinct for what a funding panel needs to feel, they were given to me for this. To support my colleagues. To help the organisation do more of what it exists to do.

It stopped being a late-night obligation and became something else entirely. A calling. His plan, not mine.

Off I go. Wish me luck.

The Question I’m Leaving With You

I have no idea what time I’ll go to sleep tonight. Those days of being able to stay up all night may not be entirely behind me, but I know they’re not what they were. And I’ve made my peace with that.

What I’m less willing to make peace with is the idea that interruptions are setbacks. That the people who need us most are costs to be managed rather than privileges to be held.

Ethan and his Batman origin story. The bid for seven sections. The flashing cursor. The softening breath.

It all belongs together.

When your “perfect plan” for the day gets interrupted by the people you love, do you see it as a price to pay or a privilege to hold? And where did you find your moment to soften today?

Maybe this gets refined in the morning before it goes out. Maybe it goes out exactly as raw as this. Either way, it’s mine and yes it was refined using AI, my project in my drive (Gemini) and then to Claude.

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I had it all planned out. Work hard, keep organised, meticulous planning, the need to be perfect.

I even accepted a marriage proposal without actually being asked, because it was part of my plan.

I wanted another child, and I wanted to make sure I was married again before I extended my family.

My life was picture perfect. A beautiful home, disposable income, two cars and a garage. I had it all, and it was planned. My plan.

Small fractures started to be exposed in my foundations, in the plan I had so carefully constructed.

Lockdown forced me to be trapped in the home I had built.

I didn’t realise how much I relied on getting out of the house.

Relied on my career, it giving me an identity.

Relied on escaping the home and the subtle control that surrounded me.

The eggshells I would tip-toe over, slowly, gradually taking hold of who I was.

A quiet moment on the love seat gave me a realisation, a call to action.

The thought came, simple and clear:

If I stay here, in this home, with this husband, I will lose my youngest son like I lost my eldest.

It repeated. I could not shake it. My plan was something very different to what I was actually experiencing.

I didn’t even understand that my plan was not even being achieved.

My eldest was, thankfully, healthy and whole, but estranged, not with me, but far from me.

Ever since I was small I wanted to be a mother, and right now my family life felt small and controlled.

Nothing at all like I’d hoped and dreamed of.

That quiet, confident, clear message in my head, the one that told me I couldn’t stay, made me move.

I moved to Airbnbs, to short-term rental apartments, and after four moves in one year I finally settled in a rented home.

We would begin rebuilding our lives. Rather than focusing on a plan, I simply looked inward.

I grew and I healed. I was curious. I was led by my instincts, my intuition, and my son. Meeting his needs made sure I could meet my own.

Now my life continues, slowly, less certain, no plan but God’s plan. Not always knowing what’s next, but intentionally taking my worries to Him.

We are told, after all, not to worry. I work hard every day to give my plans over, for they are not my plans.

Some things are being shaped in me to give back to others in a way that only I can.

Always being myself is the most important thing I can work on. Keeping my eyes on Jesus and learning everyday.

I believe I was always meant to have a big family, and now, being joined back with my older son, and my grandson, I can step through my days in complete peace.

Though I don’t know what’s next, I know that it’s for me feel joy and love.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

- Jeremiah 29:11

I can rest in that.

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“I don’t believe in God.”

I used to say that with such conviction and confidence. Even with a bit of humour, laughing about it with friends.

“Yeah, a big guy in the sky, right. People must be crazy.”

I didn’t grow up in a household where God was central or relevant. I heard the odd story of Noah’s Ark and David and Goliath, told at school and at home. I was always surrounded by books. Even at a small age I knew that books were significant. I used to create a nest around the captain’s bed, full of them. I couldn’t read yet, but I knew they were important.

I moved from trauma to trauma, bad decision after bad decision. I was in survival mode and needed an escape. Finally, injected with a new sense of strength and courage, I started my move to just outside of the Peak District. I had no idea that’s where I would end up. My body felt different, like it had opened up in some way to allow calm to surround me, but only in fleeting moments. The moments when I needed to shift, like my life depended on it.

I fell into a world of self-help, reading so many books. Finding a new sense of spirituality and belonging. Years of work on myself. Learning to love who I am rather than trying to squeeze into the moulds of my peers.

Christmas 2024, we got a leaflet through our door. It was a welcome, an invitation. My son, six years old, so literal and so curious, said we should go. Of course it was to church. I went along with his thirst to find out more, they had been studying religion at school and he wanted to know more. That one piece of paper started something in me that I never expected. We went to church, we shared that we had, and we were promptly invited to another church where his friend went, same age, same class. Of course it felt like home.

Then one day, all of a sudden, I had a constant voice in my head. A simple line that kept repeating. I had to make sense of it. I journalled it, I read about it.

The moment I stopped trying to make sense of it, stopped fighting it, was one Sunday morning in church. I was in a pew on my own, until I wasn’t. I let it go. The version of myself that had helped me survive all these years. I cried into the arms of an angel. She held me and prayed for me. The strength and courage that I had glimpsed back in 2019 is with me now, each day.

Now I wake in the morning full of love, laughter and cuddles. Even on the days when my sons are not with me, because God knew I needed those cuddles, so He sent me the kindest young lurcher I know.

I used to wake up severely hungover. I used to wake up and stare at the ceiling with tears in my eyes, full of shame.

The difference in my mornings now is stark. They are full of love and hope. I feel safe, seen and held.

What an incredible thing, to be loved by God.

And now I am reborn as a woman of faith, wisdom and hope. A woman who gives her life completely over to her Father in heaven.

Because quite truly, that is the safest place I have ever been.

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The night before my viewings, bearing in mind I work full time. I was up until the early hours preparing food I’d committed to cooking for a family close to my heart. It was about one o’clock in the morning when I was washing up and clearing the space, and I just started sobbing. They were tears of joy, of immense gratitude for how far I’ve come. I started cooking for other families by innocently signing up for a community meal scheme. Selfishly, I thought, if I can provide this for people now, maybe in the future if I ever need it, I’ll get that in return. Part of the tears that night were about how God sees me through. And it’s not about what you give to get back. It’s not about always having to work hard.

Admittedly, that first time I cooked for the family I was sobbing then too, tears of absolute frustration, unworthiness, and disbelief that I could actually cook a meal for six people. My parents were there as well. I thought if I did it on a day they were visiting it would be easier, and what I failed to do was even prepare them for the fact that there would be extra things happening in the kitchen. I remember stirring the cheese sauce with tears streaming down my face because it was just too much. But it got done. And then the repeated efforts got easier and easier, until that night, with very different kind of tears. How far I’ve come, and what I’ve learned in such a short space of time. I’ve heard that when you’re going through something hard, when you’re struggling, it’s by design, to teach you something, to prepare you for something. I believe that. I believe this is all preparing me for something.

Now I’ll dive into the house feelings, and the duality that comes up for me continually. That push and pull, not of light and dark exactly, but of me as a whole person and me as a family matriarch. Those things are both me, entirely me, but there is a real duality and a dance between the two. I’ll unpack that.

Heading into Chesterfield, I adore where I live as far as area is concerned. I’m in the thick of my community. I could choose to walk Ethan into school if I put more effort into making that happen. It’s a three-bedroomed terrace with plenty of space for me, my dog, and my son. The one thing that holds it back is the garden. It has space front and back, but I really need those two combined to make a big enough space for my greyhound lurcher to run and feel his best. So I took the decision to look further afield.

I asked for help, because the first parts of house hunting as a solo mum I found really lonely and hard. I shared that vulnerability with my parents, and as ever they heard me. My dad, on the very practical side, searching and finding homes, knowing me so well that he picks the ones I would really love. I then organise the viewings, and I do enjoy seeing new houses. It is fun for me. The admin around it, not so much. And then my Mum comes in alongside my Dad to help me talk it through, listen to other wisdom, and make sense of it all.

So, the first of two viewings on Wednesday. I got in the car knowing these two homes would increase my driving, and I’m okay with that, my car is electric, so I’m happy I’m not putting more emissions into the world. The drive there was beautiful, through country lanes with fields either side and glorious weather. It felt amazing.

I arrived at a long street with houses spread out, big lawns front and back, peaceful and with amazing views. I was welcomed by a lovely woman who guided me through the home, each space specifically designed for how she and her family use it, her animals included. It was very much a space I felt I could claim as my own. It felt like home. I could see myself making very small tweaks, moving my furniture in, and it would be home. My mind wandered to the future too. I could see myself there for a very long time. It could grow with me. For now it would be the perfect amount of space for my small family, and further down the line there would be room for my extended family — my grandchild, my daughter-in-law, my older son, and of course my mum and dad to visit.

The woman who showed me around was a writer. She had just finished and published a book in November and was already onto her second. It made me curious about my life there, and whether my writing could become more prevalent and more important. A small nudge to get that book written.

I drove away from that home thinking, well, this is it. This is the one. I even said to her that the next viewing at six o’clock would have to be something really special to take my mind off this one. On the drive back I had tears of joy again, just the odd few, because I was driving and containing the emotion without the full breakdown of a sob.

And then onto the duality…

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Why write at all, why share.

I know there is something much more intentional about my writing now. I head to check my trackers. To see how far I’ve come.

52 days since Easter, since the fasting. Time feels like its evaporating, like I’ll soon be the older, wiser woman caring for my own mother as she cares for hers now. It also feels like Its standing still or at least holding parts of the past as well as the future, both at the same time.

I pray in the morning, being thankful for waking up to another day, I ask for protection and guidance.

I look at the picture of myself from when I was about 12 or 13 years old. I look over to my wall and the same Tiger is there in the picture as it is on my wall now. I wonder if that will stay with me my whole life. He is there with me and always has been. Even when my Tiger was under other paintings, when he was stuffed into the garage and had cobwebs over him. My Tiger has witnessed so much of me. My suffering, my pain, inner turmoil. Hes also seen me grow, bloom and learn. It does get easier to get out of my own head. Out of my own way. Doubts about my beauty inside and out float away on the thought clouds. They don’t serve me. They are fleeting. I ground myself in the now and what is true.

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One of the things that had been happening on a regular basis was that Pepa would wake me up at five a.m., nudge me in the face, jingle the keys at the door and tell me he needed a wee. So I would dutifully get up out of bed, let him out onto the front garden, he would have his wee, and then we would come back up to bed. Some days he would be more settled than others, and I think I’ve been told now, by the dog and by the powers that be, that I just wasn’t feeding him enough. He was hungry all the time.

So this time I scheduled in a Wednesday morning slot to write between 5 and 7 a.m., because I’m usually up between those hours anyway, trying to get back to sleep. Why not just write?

I set the intention, I put it in my calendar, and would you believe that my lovely pooch didn’t wake me up until quarter past six? Interestingly, my son also woke up at quarter past six. It was one of the first times I’d left his curtains open, and the sun must have streamed into his bedroom and woken him too. So I fed the dog, I fed my son, I grabbed myself a coffee, and I headed back to bed to write.

It will be a short one today though, because it’s already three minutes past seven, and if I stay much longer we will definitely be late for the school run.

What did I learn today, or last night, really? Just setting intentions doesn’t mean things go to plan. This is something I’ve been wrestling with for a little while. I know that I am meant to follow God’s plan, and I am all in. I have been meditating on that, reading the Bible, praying. I am all in. Yet when I take the steps that I think I’m being guided to take, seemingly those things are difficult.

But then I am reminded that I stopped drinking alcohol, and I know that that is good for me. Specifically for me. That is no judgement on anybody else, but my body does not like alcohol. I have reflex syncope, and it makes it very tricky for my blood to work in the right way when I’ve had alcohol, with a knock-on effect on my health. So yes, I don’t drink alcohol anymore. I might have a zero percent beer out with friends, or even at home on my own, Zero Guinness is one of my favourites, though even that is infrequent.

And I’m reminded that giving up alcohol has been really difficult. Some days are harder than others. Some days are actually easy and I don’t think about it at all. So that is my reminder today, the new things, the new habits that I’m trying to form, the ones that are going to be good for me, might feel a little difficult at first. Like doing my regular meter readings. Like doing my regular joyful slots of crochet, guitar playing, singing, piano, watercolours, and doing my jigsaw. I’m out of the habit of all of those things. It might just feel tricky at first, until it doesn’t.

What habits are you building? The positive ones, rather than just the ones that say I must not do this. Where in your life can you increase the habit that gives you joy?

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I love Coffee

Words of suicidal thoughts - To my Mum and Dad - I tried to chat with you about this post yesterday before I published. I know you know a lot of this already but need you to know, I’m really okay. Sharing here incase it helps others.

Asked to empty my head. And while I know this is what I need, I’m so frightened of what I might find in there.

Working on the front step for a bit in the sun.

I know that every time I move into a new space in my home I have a gazillion thoughts, must paint that, should clean that, this is so filthy, must organise these. How on earth am I to capture it all? And what about the ones that are regular habits that need to be built, like making sure I have clean clothes for the week ahead and my son’s uniform together.

With Jesus right here with me. With the Holy Spirit flowing through me. With tears. With smells. With coffee.

Well, the way I do this is by a multitude of different things. I need all the tools I can to regulate while I do it, because I’m breaking through years and years of habits that no longer serve me. They kept me alive, quite literally. Two or three times I almost went there, with a plan to end my life. And now I still have these thoughts, but I never get as far as making a plan. They are fleeting and passing, never holding on too tight.

When you push through the old patterns and fear. Fear of the unknown, of failure, of being too much and not enough at the same time.

Stopping drinking has allowed me to manage these thoughts much better. Even writing this now I’ve stopped crying, I’m putting the overwhelm back in its box. I’m breathing deeply and my shoulders have dropped. My body is softening.

With movement. With technology. With watercolours. With prayer. With kindness. With Post-its.

I do this by continuing to move and do things, even through the tears. I pick up the pink Post-its and log it all. Basically it’s my Rainbow, my grounding, my learning. And I share it so that if anyone else feels even remotely similar, like there is so much stuff in their brain it might explode, or that there are so many things to do, so many urgent and important, never-ending things, but then there is the creative side that has incredible ideas that you can’t put down. It feels manic and dissregulated. I probably am, at times. I hold a lot. But I’m here, taking a Friday morning to put it all down. To release it and empty my brain, one chunk and one block at a time.

How — Rainbow (mine). Patent it? Push through with a Jester Pencil. With music blaring (Gospel). With God.

Once my body softened I moved on to other things. I had a great day at work, putting systems and software in place to help me keep an eye on the two large projects I hold. I made myself go out to meet some new people and some I already knew, in the female founder space, and it was quite simply invigorating. Talking about periods and how they can help us as well as hinder us. Talking code and building software. Meeting a fellow developer who is a young woman gave me tremendous hope in the business world. They are hungry for making a difference in women’s lives and aspirational about money too. Why shouldn’t they go for the millions, like every other young entrepreneur entering the space of founderdom? It was the first time the group had met up and I was so pleased I forced myself out of the door.

Now I’m back home, and I’ll go out again soon. With one major change, I shipped a small tweak to my Life Hive app, and now I can add a new block via an easy-to-use, mobile-friendly screen. So when my to-dos pop into my head I can simply add them right there and then, instead of fighting and scrolling.

I’m excited to see my son today. A brief cheap food shop, a trip to Pets at Home, and then back for some amazing cuddles and fun with a seven-year-old little genius.

I wanted to end by saying that the thoughts in my head are only that, thoughts. In my body lies the truth. The softened shoulders. No threat is here any more. I have a beautiful home, a gorgeous family and a stable income. What more can a girl need? Oh, and if she’s a massive nerd, she’ll need her laptop!

I’m on my way, and eternally grateful for the people who walk the path with me, and for the big guy in the sky who holds me in ways I can’t even articulate yet.

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Coffee

Here is how I eventually regulated.

I verbalised it in front of my Dad. Expletives and all. He gave me a big hug and held me until my body softened. I fed myself crumpets and coffee. I fed my dog and had plenty of cuddles. I moved forward and completed the task of getting Ethan’s lunch together. I arranged a coffee with a friend who happened to reach out about thirty minutes after the blowout. I messaged another friend so I knew I was not alone. I talked with my Mum — hugs from her too. She looks me in the eyes and tries to solve it for me, but just by her being there it is helpful. I talked to a friend at the school playground at drop off. I saw loads of people I knew on the school run, all of whom smiled at me and said hello.

I showed up for work and decided to work from home rather than rushing in and back. I stated what I needed to my co-parent. I read an article that helped sent from a friend at work. I shared my frustrations with my boss. I put on soothing music while I worked in between meetings. I lit a candle so I could smell sweet vanilla. I put on a cosy jumper — a bit like my current dressing gown.

And then I went on with my day.

With these thoughts in my head of how to comfort myself, how to regulate — and then the messages just kept flooding in. Steady and constant. As soon as I started to put things down and to stop talking to myself in a really negative way, more messages upon more messages. People telling me they were thinking of me. People telling me they hoped I was okay, following something I had shared on Sunday. People telling me they had been praying for me.

There is a level of encouragement here that is almost unbelievable. And I think the reason I probably haven’t had this in my life before now is because I’ve never allowed myself to feel worthy enough. Never allowed myself to be held in a regard that is respected and whole.

So here’s to more chapters unfolding on this journey. The work is never quite done, is it? And I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep doing what I need to do. And sometimes that might look like sitting in bed with a coffee and writing. Sometimes that might look like having an afternoon nap. And sometimes that might be going to a conference in London.

For the last four years, no day has been the same for me. I do the same things, but never in the same environment or with the same energy around me. And what a privilege it is to live each day in good health and good spirits, surrounded by so many people who are cheering me on.

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Yesterday I was in a spiral of self-doubt, shame and feeling extremely heavy. Like I was carrying the weight of the world on my own. I’m shaking my head as I write this, in disbelief that after years of therapy, work on myself and belief in the big guy, I can still get into a state like that.

You know what? It’s because I am human. I am not a witch. I am not a version of Wonder Woman or Captain Marvel. I am a daughter of God, who is transitioning into who she was always meant to be, and I forgot how to regulate. I need habits. That’s why writing each day was so helpful for me. It wasn’t just the words I put down, it was the space I created for myself.

As I sit in my parents’ summerhouse and write, I can hear the beautiful birds communicating, joyful. I can see the beauty in the garden that my parents tend to so frequently.

It was a simple text message that made me realise I’d lost some of my good habits while putting down the bad ones. Name the feeling. It was overwhelm. Then I reach for my feelings wheel and look further, see what’s really there. When my friends are going through hard things or not feeling their best, I usually reach for the wheel and talk them through it, help them name it. Interesting how I can’t always do that for myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I heard that it’s psychological, you can’t coach yourself. Well, I was coached at the weekend, and I didn’t wrap it with the care that it needed. I assumed that because I’m a strong person I didn’t need to write down and process the emotions. I assumed that just by carrying on, I could cope.

There were so many messages of support and love that I received yesterday, and none of it could get through until the emotion was named. My body began to soften. I slept well. And now I’m writing with much more intention.

I found a different feelings wheel too. Anxious and overwhelmed, throw in some jealousy and shame for good measure. Fundamentally, I am sad, angry and frightened. But that’s not all I am. I am one of those fascinating people who can hold these emotions even while experiencing joy and love. It’s because I have learned to do this over the years, and it’s not as helpful as it needs to be. The processing of emotions is where I will be shifting my energy. Putting my feelings wheel on my altar, as well as my practical reminder to HALT before I make decisions. I ask myself, are you Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired?

On Friday, when I felt all of these at once, I ate a full tub of ice cream and watched Grey’s Anatomy until my body went numb. And here I celebrate the incredible people I have around me, the verses they sent me, the words of encouragement and the love that each person gave me.

I’m back in the room and not a blubbering mess. I’m cosy in the summerhouse and I’ll vibe-code my way to a new system that will go live next week. I’ll connect with family and get lots of hugs. Having physical touch as a love language when you are a solo mama is a kind of hardship that some won’t understand. I’ll take it though, because something tells me I’m not destined to be a solo mum for the rest of my life. I’m willing to wait for the right person to build a life with, but I have to keep living. I have too much good to add to the world, so much care to give.

I keep on keeping on, and I pick up my better habits again. My more human ones.

My gratitude for my life and the people in it is so huge that I can’t express it fully here. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being here. Thank you for my life.

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A new feelings wheel with love in it

My old feeling wheel that I’ll keep too.

A picture of a tree - the ones that I take a lot.

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This weekend has been quite tough. I’ve had somebody helping me through what I can only describe as an administrative nightmare, the finishing of things. One of my huge strengths is that I am a starter, an initiator, a creative thinker and a creative problem solver. I can start things easily. I hear from colleagues that some people find that difficult. For me, I have to reign in my thoughts, not that solution, not that problem, not this one today.

I’m also writing today because a colleague asked me about last weekend, what I’d been doing, whether I’d had a good time, the normal kind of chitchat. And honestly, I couldn’t think. It took a number of moments to switch from the focused, intentional place I was in at work, to…oh, what did I do at the weekend? And I had a beautiful weekend. I saw friends, the weather was gorgeous, it felt lovely. It’s prompted me again to maybe record things, so that I don’t whizz past them so easily and quickly. So that I can document the joy and the hurt on the same page.

This weekend has also been tough because I am facing my responsibilities, and with that comes a brain that is just telling me to quit everything because it’s too damn hard. But the fact is I am doing the hard things. I am holding it all. And I am doing an incredibly good job. I have been doing a better job of that since I turned to Christianity and to God, the capacity to hold is strengthening. But I also have those thoughts that just want me to quit. That want me to put down my charity job, the one that brings me so much joy, and more importantly brings stability to my family, so that I can eat, have shelter and pay off my debts.

A friend commented on one of my posts, a poem, quite abstract, and he said, “Wow, you’ve been through a lot.” I’ve been thinking about that this week. About the impact that words can have on a really layered level. On a level of friendship, of confusion. I don’t always understand etiquette and how people are supposed to behave, I just don’t. I have my own thoughts and feelings and often don’t know how to respond. My thoughts went around a lot of different circles, but the one thing that kept coming up was this: I have been through a lot. But that poem, those words, didn’t even scratch the surface.

And I wonder about when I’ll make time to actually write the book. To put all the words down. Then I go into a loop of, it’s probably all a bit too big. And when people talk about going through really hard, really big things, it’s all relative. It’s all big. Living life is a big deal, and I certainly don’t want to waste it. And in the same breath, those feelings of just packing it all in are still there.

Quit the day job so that you can show up better as a mother, because Ethan’s needs are great and complex. Quit your Fleet work so that you can create more space for yourself. Quit your Bee Winter work where you write and prepare yourself for self-employment again. Quit the house, move in with your parents, be scooped up so you don’t have to pay the heavy burden of rent.

All these thoughts feel pretty normal, and I wonder if other people feel the weight of them too. Because really, I’m just trying to look after myself and my family.

And again, this writing hasn’t even scratched the surface of the things I hold. There are two very large projects with deadlines looming, equally as important as the next two high-profile, purposeful projects I get paid to deliver. The pressure of moving house, or getting a larger place to help with the mountain of debt, because as was quite rightly pointed out to me yesterday, I’ve been living beyond my means. And yes, I’ve been doing that for many years, knowingly, but not purposefully. I didn’t mean to spend more than was coming in. I was trying to build a business, and even that business was never meant to line my pockets. It was meant to improve public transport, and based on the research we did, it moved into getting people home safely. So yes, in those three years I was living well beyond my means because of the income I was getting, because I dedicated my whole working life to Fleet. And that is one of the reasons I’m not ready to put it down, and I don’t need to either. People are interested. The word is out. We are gaining traction. And if only I could spend the time on it doing the things I’m good at, rather than doing the accounts that I’ve probably got wrong anyway.

Actually, just writing that down, I do feel a little lighter. Because all these big things I’m dealing with, they’re not unfixable. They’re not impossible. They are very tangible things that can actually happen.

I am so proud of how I have let my faith guide me, hold me, propel me. Even when I don’t think I can do any more, there is a force that is unseen that keeps me stood, that holds me strong.

Yesterday alone I was an accountant, a secretary, an administrator, a friend, a coach, a dog owner, a mother, a carer, a gardener, a cleaner, a cook, and a service holder who finds it hard to stop thinking about the solutions and the jobs that can be done.

I woke at 5.45 this morning with my lovely dog Pepa, and I stayed up this time rather than heading back to bed. I took the time and made it mine.

Please be gentle with me. I never really know if my words will land with anyone. I’m just a person trying to be the best human I can be.

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Write a poem, the one that is on your heart.

My heart, my head, my body

All torn into pieces

My soul in tact, huge

Because my soul belongs to you.

To Jesus - by Becky Winter

Thanks again for being here it really means a lot to me, each and every one of you.

The Colour Purple is half way through and I finished Green Lights on audiobook last month, this one has evaporated. I do still read and now I’ll track and put my energy there. It helps my body rest, my mind slow, and nourishes my soul.

A short one today and I leave you with a Poem

I could write today about a great many things. I’ll probably write a post about the event I went to on Monday, on my Fleet account. After meeting Chris this Friday I’ll talk to him about the blog post we can put out together. I could write about what’s been happening with Ethan, his adventures, his new laptop, his creativity and his exceptional fullness of life. I could write about how amazing Pepa has been. I could write about new friendships budding, exciting, comforting. I could write about how well work is going, the building of teams and software, the sharing of stories and the feeling of belonging.

But what I’d like to write about today is the sense of having a home.

Where is your home? Are you lucky enough to have one? Do you live in a house that doesn’t feel like home? Do you live separately from your partner, the one you want to be around all the time? Separately from your family, the ones you want to hold close?

A man stopped me today on the way to the train station. I had left a little late, not late for the train, but it had been a long day. Intentional, but long. I had nearly gotten an earlier train, the one that comes every hour to my stop, but there was just something that kept me in the office. I actually stayed behind and cleaned up a little, which is something I don’t do often. I’m usually rushing back for one thing or another. But today I just got the nudge to stay a little while longer. To take it calmly, steadily, one step at a time.

I nearly reached the train station. It was quieter than usual, late enough to have missed the rush hour, that tide of everybody getting from one place to another. Very quiet. The light was still in the air and in the sky, even though you could tell it was setting soon.

I glanced across at a man walking in the opposite direction. I saw the anguish in his eyes as we clocked each other. I smiled and carried on walking. He looked up, deep sadness in his eyes, and he stepped backwards, looked at me softly, and said, “Can I ask you something?”

I said yes.

He said, “Is there any chance you could get me some food? Something to eat?” I looked at the time and saw I had a little while, and I said, “What would you like?” He said anything, there was a Tesco just up the road. I looked back at the train station, then forward to where I knew the Tesco was, and something in me just said yes.

So I walked with him.

He asked me how my day had been. I said I’d had a really good day, that the sun absolutely makes it for me. Then I asked him how his day was, and he almost broke down in tears. He said, “To be honest, I’ve just had enough. I don’t want to live anymore.”

We carried on talking. I asked him if he needed a hug. He didn’t have words, he just looked me straight in the eye and nodded. I held this stranger for a few moments. I squeezed his shoulder as we parted.

He told me he was trying to get into a hostel and needed £35 to get in. None of it was begging, none of it was anything other than a desperate man trying to get off the streets. He hadn’t been on the streets for long, but he had been set on fire the night before. I know this to be true because of the anguish in his eyes and the limp in his legs as he walked. He showed me where plastic had burned into the bottom of his leg.

He carried on talking. He told me that nobody would talk to him, nobody would give him money. That the walk-in centre, because he didn’t have an address, wasn’t able to offer him an appointment to see a doctor. He couldn’t get to the hospital because it was too far away and he had no money for public transport.

All these things that I take for granted.

When I say to myself that where I live is okay but doesn’t really feel like home, those feelings are something else entirely compared to this. Because this is my home. Right now, in my warm bed, having had a warm cup of coffee, I am sitting in a place of sheer privilege.

I continued walking with him. I got some money out of my bank account to give to him, and would you know, it was the one day I actually had my purse in my bag, with my bank cards in it. This is something that hasn’t happened in over two years. I literally haven’t taken money out of an ATM in about two years. And I just happened to have my purse on me. I just happened to bump into this man.

I did say to him beforehand, “Please don’t be surprised if I can’t get any money out, I might not even remember my PIN.” I didn’t make it complicated. And then, to my surprise, the money came out of the ATM as easy as anything. That’s when I knew it felt right, what I was doing. Even though I’ve been trying for a while to understand what I do with my money, where it should go, how much I budget, this was a nudge I needed to follow. It wasn’t an impulse. It was giving a man hope.

We walked a little further. I was going to walk him all the way to the hostel until he said, “I can get the bus now, it’ll take me there, it’s just over there.” But before we got there I asked him more about what he did for a living. He told me he was a plasterer. That he could potentially get a job if he could get somewhere to live. That his old boss had said he could have his job back if he just had somewhere to stay. I told him I hoped to find him one day on our suppliers list, working with the construction team we work with. He smiled at that. He said he’d like that. He offered me his number and I took it. He said, “You can call me in ten minutes if you want to check I’m at the hostel.” And I did.

I can’t be certain that he was. But what I am sure of, more than anything else, is that I was put there for a reason today. And maybe, just maybe, that man’s life is now a little richer and a little healthier because of it.

When I got the money out of the ATM and went over to him, I said, “This truly is a gift from God. There is no way I would usually carry my purse.” He told me he prays every day. He believes in God.

Today I pray for Lee. I pray that he can feel even closer to God and keep his eyes on Jesus. And I pray for myself, for more discernment and wisdom to know that I’m doing the right thing. Because I question it. I doubt myself constantly. So I hope that was the right thing.

The really interesting thing was that earlier that same day, on my walk up from the train station in the morning, I was stopped and asked to donate to a homelessness charity, just two pounds a month, whatever I could spare. I said honestly that I was in a lot of debt and trying to get out of it. The look on his face was one of understanding and hope, that I could get out of it quickly. He gave me his well wishes. It was a small interaction. It was honest and it was fair.

And then the interaction on the way home. A big interaction. Honest and fair. And I feel I made a real difference in someone’s life. He walked away with a little more bounce. He was lighter. He felt hope.

Where is your home? And who might need you to show up for them today, on the way there?

With love, Becky

As the service continued and we heard the story of Ester’s life, short lived but joyful and powerful, the bee stayed near the basket, drawn close to the beautiful flowers.

We witnessed a father’s words of hope and love. A mother’s love letter to her baby girl, littered with laughter and a sibling’s humour. I never thought I would laugh out loud at a funeral.

Ben walked to the basket and commended her. Sent her over to the Lord.

Immediately the bee flew towards the window where I was sat, butting against the glass, trying to fly off into the open sky. I watched it for a good ten minutes, listening to the prayers, the continued service.

The bee buzzed off towards the back of the church and I smiled.

I thought — ah, I should have said goodbye.

The bee buzzed back to the window and zipped right past my face, brushing my eyelash as it did.

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” — John 11:25

See you soon baby girl. 🐝