I’m running another travel writing workshop for a local library this coming weekend and, as I was sitting here putting together the finishing touches on the slides and workbook, I realised that it might be nice to share them with you all, too. Think of it as a little token of my appreciation for your being here.

This one also sold out really …

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I thoroughly enjoyed coming up with these prompts for this writing circle. As usual, they weave together the grounded and the fantastical, the fictional and the… seen and unseen, especially when it comes to do with our own potential blind spots.

I’d love to know how you get on with them - and, if you have any other ideas for prompts we can ex…

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Hey friends,

The other night, I watched a movie that I’d last seen 13 years ago, when I was packing up my old life, getting ready to leave the UK and head out on adventures unknown. It was pretty weird watching it again, 13 years on, as I get ready to pack up this life and head out on a very different adventure, but one that is still full of lots of unknowns.

The movie itself, Her, has also faced its own evolution; going from depicting a dystopian future to one that’s pretty much already here. The only thing that feels far-from-the-truth now is the ending - spoiler! - where the AI is sentient enough to leave. I can’t imagine that happening here, anytime soon, though I do often wonder what will happen if the Internet ever gets switched off. They’re usually thoughts had around a fire, under a sky full of stars that have been there to see it all - even if we can’t always see them, thanks to all the light pollution from the cities they’ve watched us build.

What I thought most interesting about the movie to me, though, isn’t actually the movie itself - although it’s still just as good now as when I first saw it. Instead, it’s the fact that they got all the way through filming and editing the movie and then decided that it didn’t work, and recast one of the main characters, bringing Scarlett Johansson on board.

Now, it’s hard to imagine Her without her (lol sorry), but somewhere, in the archives of movieland, there is a version that is totally different. A version that hundreds of people spent millions of dollars on, only to say, this isn’t working, then spend even more making it work. And that’s without even mentioning the emotional cost - disappointing the actor they recast, and the team that had come together to make the movie with her. I don’t know why, but it feels… Against the rules, somehow. Even if it did make for a (supposedly) better movie.

I’ve been thinking a lot about society’s rules recently, especially as the clock ticks down on our upcoming move to Darwin. We’ve got 8 weeks left here, and while we had the best intentions, things haven’t exactly gone according to plan. I accidentally told our car insurance company we were moving, so they’ve said our insurance will be void when we leave without a WA address, but we won’t have an address to move it to until we get there, because rental companies want someone there to view properties in person.

We’ve also realised it’s too expensive to move our stuff, so we’ve got to get rid of it all and start over, and then on top of that, we’ve discovered that “pet-friendly” accommodation usually only means dog-friendly, and with few options available on the 42-hour drive up, we’ve been thinking about whether we’ll have to smuggle the cat into hotels, or what we’ll end up doing. (I see an article coming!)

And speaking of the cat… He also ran away for the first time ever last week, spending the night in a storm drain while we were away on a mini adventure celebrating my partner’s 40th with his family. Luckily, he eventually made it home safe and sound - and I got some nice pics to share in this post! - but, if I’m totally honest, it’s made me extra anxious about the drive and accommodation situation.

As a pushback to counteract all the uncertainty, which, if I’m totally honest, has been massively impacting my business - it’s surprisingly tough to put yourself out there as a mentor when everything else is going on, even if I do think all of this ultimately helps make me a better mentor, too - I even decided to explore the idea of getting a “proper” job up there. I put together my resume and cover letter, and even had my first proper interview in 15 years - an hour-long panel interview on Teams, just to ease me in.

While it went well and I really love the charity and what they’re building and stand for, afterwards, I realised that I wasn’t quite ready to give up on everything I’d built these past 15 years. It made me think about the book I’m trying to write - provisionally titled Squeezing the Shit out of Life Doesn’t Look Like I Thought it Would - and how, once you’re employed, especially for a charity, there are even more rules - or at least an expected code of conduct that applies to far more than just how you show up for work.

In the end, I decided to withdraw my application.

It also made me think about publishing and marketing and business rules, and work rules, and how there are rules, and then there are rules, and how so many people just ignore them anyway. How people say they’re things they’re not and then here I am, struggling to apply for jobs unless I meet all the criteria. How people say you should publish a newsletter once a week, or sell something on every third post on Instagram, or heavily edit your photos to create your own curated brand style so people automatically know it’s you.

I’m just so bored of all these rules. Especially the photo one. I like things to look natural. Unless it’s a movie like Her, where they made a conscious decision not to use the colour blue. But a family shoot of some kids on a swing? Why do you need to fuck with it?

It’s especially interesting to me, when I think about breaking these rules, that, as much as I’ve been struggling to write here, publicly, these past few months, I haven’t had any issues at all with writing to my creative community and running my writing circles and group calls.

They know all about the book idea, the job hunt, and how strange it was for me to put together a resume and try to pull all the threads of things I’ve done into a nice, neat little package. How I originally wanted to get rid of all my furniture and pack my life into the car, and how now I know it’s our only option, the romance has faded. They know how much it sucks that I won’t make it back to the UK to see my family and meet my new nephew this year. They know about the business I’m building, and the program I want to run - the one that brings together everything I teach in my writing workshops with the things I’m learning in my narrative therapy course.

I’ve even shared snippets and links about what I’ve been learning in the course for anyone interested. I can’t decide whether my favourite thing about it is how accessible it is or whether it’s the way old rules don’t seem to apply; the practitioner isn’t the top-down holder of knowledge, choosing to bestow their subject with what they think will help them. Instead, we see the person we’re working with as the expert of their own lives, and we get to be the curious, human practitioners who use questions to spark conversation and open people up to finding their answers, rather than feeling like we “hold” all the answers and feel the need to lead them somewhere specific.

It’s a very bottom-up approach, rather than top-down like a lot of traditional psychology.

I feel somewhat similarly about this newsletter, too. While I wanted it to be a place I could share my stories more freely, I’ve found myself struggling with two sides of myself - the one that wants my words to linger and outlive the version of me who wrote them - and the one who wants to share in more real-time. The one who wants to share messy, imperfect updates, and talk about what it’s really like to pack your life up into a car, 13 years after you packed it up into a backpack, and seven years after you arrived in Australia, while also writing a book, building a new business, studying for a course, and trying to figure out where the fuck you’re going next.

Most writing teachers - me included, historically, at least - say that the rule is that, while you can write from the wound, you want to share from the scar. But, actually, going through this narrative therapy training and working with clients who come to me because of my own life experience, not despite it, has shown me that there is value in sharing the messiness, too, as long as it’s done in the right way.

So, I’ve decided I want to break these rules a bit. To share more freely about all of the above, and how strange it is to turn my own life upside down and go chasing the future I want, while on the other side of the world, my family are descending ever further into this Alzheimer’s journey, stuck in a future none of us would have chosen.

And sure, that’s also kind of what the book’s about - if you hadn’t guessed from the title - but maybe I’ll give you a sneak peek into that, too.

All this to say, I’ve decided to just lean into what feels natural to me right now, and let go of the rules. Rather than feeling beholden to anything, I’m just going to write free posts when I feel like it, and keep sharing more behind the paywall for those who want to dive a little deeper. There’s something that feels kinda nice about having a little secret space people have to opt in to read, rather than having any prospective employers have access to all my deepest thoughts and feelings.

On top of that, anyone who signs up as a paid subscriber will also join my little creative community, The Lemonade Factory - although you don’t have to engage, if you don’t want to. Over the past few months, I’ve also been shifting things up a bit there - like letting go of the coworking calls and bringing in different archetypes and writing prompts and questions to explore. Although, as always, we’re still using fantastical and fictional elements in our writing circles. I love how it keeps them exciting and different from any other writing circle I’ve joined - especially as they seem to be becoming very popular at the moment (although that also might be my own little bubble!)

Anyway, this month is all about the gardener. We started the month with some questions about what we’re planting, tending to, or harvesting, and what we’re ready to let go of (hello, rules!) We’ll then dive in deeper in our writing circle this coming Wednesday, and then explore it even more in our Let’s Make Lemonade community conversation next Monday, too. Anyone who joins before then can come live or catch the recordings.

Because I’m feeling bored of all the usual business rules, I’m also offering a special on 1:1 calls, too, so if you’re also in a time of transition or want to dive in a bit more to the story of you and how you can start getting back into the writing seat of your own life, feel free to reach out for a chat.

Big changes, but sometimes you’ve gotta do hard things to get where you wanna go, hey?! Now just to figure out what to do with all this furniture…

All my love,

Cx

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As I mentioned in yesterday’s community email, this month we’ll be doing something a little different and trying on our first monthly themed hat for size. I’ve been playing with these archetypes and themes with some of my creative mentoring clients recently - including archaeologist, voyager, weaver, and maker - and finding they’ve been leading us to all sorts of fun and interesting places, so I thought it would be fun to try it here, too.

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And hello August, and hello, too, to the Noongar season of Djilba here in Western Australia. I love Djilba: cold nights and misty mornings, nights falling asleep to the sound of rain on the tin roof, rivers flowing and buds popping. It’s pretty special. If you’re ever planning to visit WA - or the temperate part, at least - I highly recommend this time of year; especially towards the end of the month when the carpets of wildflowers start to pop.

I’ve known this was probably going to be our last winter here for a while, but it’s still strange now it’s here. I keep walking around the house, thinking about how much I’ll miss it - and all our furniture, which we’ve now decided isn’t even worth the cost of transportation. I’m ready to go, but sad to leave, all at the same time. It’s the way it usually goes, though - sometimes you have to let go of things you love to make way for new things to come through.

Which seems to be the theme of the season, really.

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Hey friends,

It’s no secret how much I love our writing circles, and yesterday’s was no exception. I thought it would be fun to use some touchstones I’ve been exploring with my mentoring clients recently and turn them into prompts for all of us to explore.

We started by talking about Japan’s 72 microseasons, and then the six Noongar seasons that far bette…

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Hey friends,

As you can probably tell from the title, life has been a bit full-on recently. This whole first half-year has, really. And that’s without even mentioning my narrative therapy course, which has ended up feeling far more like a master’s-level commitment than your average training program.

I’m learning a lot, but it’s all going so fast my body and mind don’t properly feel like they’ve had time to catch up. It kinda reminds me of jetlag, and those first few days after you travel to a place in a very different time zone, when everything just feels a tiny bit… off.

But then take that feeling, put it in a snow-globe, shake it up a bit, and make it six months of learning so much and trying so hard to put it all into practice that you’re not quite sure what you’ve even learned - let alone able to put words to it.

And so, while I do finally have some solid, exciting news to share with you - about a seven-year WIP! - it’s been interesting how, the closer and more real this once-distant dream* has come to being reality, the more intense and wild a ride it’s been. Especially with all the studying, too.

*And nope, it’s not kids, marriage, or a book deal… though I’m still holding out for the latter. One day!

Instead, it’s been the kind of rollercoaster where you receive an email saying: “Don’t make any plans for the rest of the year!” 30 seconds after you’ve just booked in a writing workshop at a local library. Which is then followed up by another email saying: “Oh, but don’t get your hopes up yet, either!”

Given how much I frigging hate surprises at the best of times - even without all the hopes and expectations of a long-term dream attached to them - all this will-we-won’t-we, in-out-do-the-hokey-cokey stuff, has been… the absolute opposite of fun. Instead, it’s just been taking up most of my brain processing power. For months.

To be fair, it doesn’t help that this is one of those things that everything else hinges on, too. Like going back to the UK, and finding a place to live, and all those baseline survival things on Maslow’s pyramid of needs.

(Of course, I’m still going to do the workshop, but I’ve had to press pause on some other legacy will writing workshops I was going to do for a retirement village here, which I still feel quite sad about - although not quite as sad as I feel about having to skip this year’s trip home to see my family and meet my new nephew.)

Despite having learned to get quite comfortable with some levels of uncertainty in recent years - like being a solo business owner, having a parent on the other side of the world with young-onset Alzheimer’s and spending your entire life savings on a visa application that hinged on a non-existent police report and a signed letter from an embassy - life, recently, has decided to see just how comfortable I am with it.

And, well…It turns out I still have a long way to go. Especially when it comes to writing about it. And even more so when I’m still in the thick of it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently, along with that old adage of: “Write from the scar, not the wound”, and what even constitutes a scar or a wound, and why, when I write every single day for work and pleasure - I usually have minimum five journals on the go at once! - I’m finding it so difficult to show up here.

I wish I could tell you I’d figured it out - and stumbled upon some of the solutions to some of the world’s biggest unsolved mysteries while I’ve been at it - but I haven’t.

So, instead, I’ve decided to just… write this post like I would an email to the folks in my creative community, The Lemonade Factory. Thanks to the paywall, they manage to get access to the kind of writing that, for the longest time, I’ve wanted to share more of here, but have somehow struggled to. It turns out when you write for money, business, fun, record-keeping, and creative expression, the wires naturally wind up a bit crossed*.

*E.g. Earlier, I took out a line about a friend who took acid on a flight across the world and said it took his soul weeks to catch up with his body. While it sounds like my absolute worst nightmare, I thought it illustrated my point quite nicely and wanted to share it, but then started overthinking it, wondering if this is the right place, or if I need to be more professional - especially now I’m in training to be a narrative therapist.

Part of me wants to own my whole experience - which is kinda the point of narrative therapy, too - but what do you think?! And also, if you think that’s extreme, oh boy, I’ve got pleeeeenty more in the tank where that came from - think this and this, but even more bananas. But again, how does that fit in with the version of me most of you know?! Should it? It’s so weird to have lived so many lifetimes within this one, and to be so full of stories you almost don’t know where to start - or what is even suitable to be shared.

Recently, I’ve also been thinking (I do a lot of thinking, if you can’t already tell!) about the kinds of experiences that we have in life that crack us wide open. The experiences that remind us that actually, most things in life are out of our control - and that actually certainty is never guaranteed, no matter how much we might kid ourselves, or what illusions we might choose to swaddle ourselves with.

I used to pride myself on my ability to adapt. I spent years travelling the world with nothing more than a backpack, seeing myself as someone who was always able to rise to meet a challenge and could roll with the punches. Until I lost my favourite bra, broke my headphones, or had my half-finished book stolen, that is.

Unlike most backpackers, who didn’t even think twice about playing the local laundry lottery - where the staff sewed different coloured tags into everyone’s clothes and things still got lost - I couldn’t deal with the risk, so I washed all my clothes by hand in the sink. Every time I got stressed, I would sit and reorder my things in my bag.

Every time things felt too much out of my control, I would scour Google Maps, pinning things, looking at routes, coming up with plan Bs and Cs and Ds. I may not have known where I was sleeping every night, but you bet I had a plan of action. And sometimes it ended up sleeping rough, and sometimes those nights ended up being the best. But only because it was still part of the plan.

Even after seven years of masquerading as a settled human, I still miss those days. Which is why, I’m thrilled to announce *dun, dun, dun….* that, after seven years and a lot of tough-learned lessons here in Perth, the stars have aligned, and I’m finally heading back to the first place in Australia I visited and instantly fell head over heels for: Darwin.

Bring on October!

Yes, it’s hot. Yes, it’s humid. Yes, there are crocs. Yes, it’s in the middle of nowhere. Yes, I’m arriving at the worst time of year. Yes, most Australians have some pretty intense judgements about Darwin, but yes, those are actually mostly the same reasons why I love it, and also all the reasons why, even after seven years, Perth has never quite felt like home.

While it’s not *quite* getting back out on the road again, it at least feels closer to it. Closer to the tropics. Closer to the weird and the wild (just look up the antics from this week’s “cracker night”!) Closer to my kind of people. Closer to the rich multicultural heritage I’m desperately craving, especially at a time when it feels like half the people in the world are fighting it. Closer to the version of me I wanna be.

Closer, too, I hope, to the kind of work I really want to do. Especially now I’m almost halfway through my narrative therapy and community work course, and all I can think about is all the ways I wanna start putting this work into practice. And how Perth doesn’t feel like the place for it. Not for me, anyway. But, if I’m totally honest, it’s never really felt like the place for me, or my dreams. But it’s been a good springboard, and now I’m stoked to get onto bigger and better things.

Although I’m less excited about moving with a houseful of stuff, a car, and a cat, not to mention all the complex logistics for an interstate move… Like how I’ve already managed to accidentally void my car insurance, which was about as much fun as it sounds.

Anyway, that’s my news. It’s been a whole thing, with my partner going up every few months for work and all the “don’t-get-your-hopes-up-but-also-don’t-make-any-plans” stuff. But now, after putting all my hopes in someone else’s basket - throwbacks to all the visa anxiety! - we’ve finally got the go-ahead.

As I’m sure you can tell, it’s been preeeeetty testing - especially the insurance thing - but also a good reminder that sometimes things do work out the way you want them to, even if it takes seven years and a whole lot of life (and trust) in between.

That said, I also can’t help but think that maybe this was all just the way it was meant to be.

Seven years ago, I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed travel writer, obsessed with the outside world. Now, after seven years in a place I never really wanted to call home, I’m a slightly more word-weary mentor, writer, creative business consultant, and narrative therapist-in-training - who is probably more of a coach even if she can’t quite bring herself to own the label. Someone utterly fascinated by inner worlds and all our stories, and way more interested in daily doings than bucket lists.

Even if those daily doings involve figuring out logistics and removalists. But hey, every step forward is a step closer to where we wanna be, right?

Alright, over to you. Have you had any big dreams you’ve been sitting on for a long time? Care to share? I’d love to hear them.

And, if you’re interested in exploring how you might bring them to fruition and find your own ways to better live with all the uncertainty along the way, feel free to reach out. I’m taking on fewer 1:1 clients in the lead-up to the move, but I’ve still got five new spaces available for mentoring in July (prices will be going up soon, so reach out if you wanna lock them in now!), and as always, my creative community, The Lemonade Factory, is open to new folks, too.

Maybe see you there?

All my love,

Cxx

PS: Tips for interstate moves are incredibly welcome. As are suggestions for how to cope with a cat crying in the car on the 42-hour drive up, and if, on the very off chance, you happen to know anyone who needs a housesitter in Darwin at the end of Oct for a few weeks while we try find a place to live, even better. Hit a girl up!

PPS: I have some more big news I’ll be sharing soon - this time about a journey you’re all invited to join me on - so keep an eye on your inbox for that, too.

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I feel like I say this every month, but gosh, how is it July already? The earth feels like it’s spinning faster than ever, these days, though it doesn't help that winters in Perth always seem to fly by, too. I swear it goes from hot to cold and then back to hot again before my body can catch up.

Yesterday, the creek near me started flowing f…

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Thanks to everyone who could make it to the writing circle yesterday. As always, I had a whale of a time - although I think I’m going to have to try a bit harder to come up with a better word game for the beginning next time!

Any suggestions for prompts - and games - are absolutely welcome. We’ve also had a request to keep our Consequences s…

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I hope you’re all having a wonderful week.

Just a quick reminder that tomorrow, we have our June writing circle. It’s at 10 am UK time, 5 pm Perth time, 7 pm Sydney time, and 5 am NYC time.

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This week has absolutely gotten away from me - though there is a pretttttty good reason why (I’ll share below!) - so I’m sorry that this is going out a little later than planned.

Still, I’m very much looking forward to seeing those of you who can make it for our co-creating/co-working calls and coffee chats tomorrow. This is the first time I…

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Here we are, another month already! Where I am, in Perth, we’ve just entered the Noongar season of Makuru, the coldest and wettest time of year - and one of my favourites. Already, the grass is starting to turn green. A few more decent downpours and the waterfalls will soon start to run, bringing life back to the dry riverbeds after yet anot…

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Hey friends,

It’s been a while.

I wish I could tell you I’d been on exciting adventures or doing good things - like volunteering back in Nepal, where I lived in a tent on a mountaintop with no access to running water, internet, or electricity.

Every day, we’d trek into town and exhaust muscles we didn’t even know we had demolishing earthquake-damaged buildings. Every night, we’d tell each other stories as we cooked together and washed our hair, clothes, and dishes in buckets, before hitchhiking into the big city at weekends.

Honestly, those were the days.

I loved not having easy access to the internet. I loved how we played games and read books in our downtime, rather than scrolling. I loved that when we watched movies or TV, it was very intentional. Like how, every week, the local coordinator would head off down the mountain to download the newest episode of Game of Thrones on his phone, and then host a viewing party.

I even loved how I didn’t know the first thing about demolishing buildings before I started, but how natural it felt to hold a crowbar by the end of my time there.

Life felt simple, back then. We had a job to do and tools to help us. If we had a question or didn’t know how to do something, we asked. Trust was built and earned, not bought. We weren’t defined by our past or who we were “back home”, but all equal in the moment, united in a common purpose and a desire to help others.

While I’d go back in a heartbeat if I could - and one day, probably will - life seems to be taking me on a very different path these days. A path that seems to change by the day, even if the destination doesn’t.

These past few months, along with working, studying hard, and recovering from an injury that is taking a lot longer than hoped to heal, I’ve also found myself totally exhausted from constantly trying to figure out what’s up from down in an age when it feels like it’s becoming harder than ever to know what’s real.

And I'm not just talking about AI. Although obviously that's its own beast. I more mean that, when everything feels all kinds of upside down and all over the place, it can be hard to know where to focus your energies.

After more than a decade of working online, I’ve been finding myself pretty bored with it all. Bored of competing with AI for writing gigs, bored of having to write the articles I do land. Bored of not having everything figured out with my business. Bored of being constantly bombarded by people telling me they have the missing piece, and I just need this or that.

Bored of believing them. Bored of feeling like something is broken. Like I just need to heal my way back to wholeness.

I’m not sure if it’s the studying narrative therapy - which has definitely cracked open how I’m looking at everything - working these weddings, or going back to running in-person writing workshops again for the first time in three years, but something big feels like it’s shifting.

It’s shifting how I’m showing up - with a bigger emphasis on community, connection, conversation, and more experimental creativity. Like, how I’ve started using more “out-there” fictional prompts and writing games as a way to tap into imagination and exploration in my online writing circles, rather than the more journalling-style prompts I used to use.

“Finding new ways to look at old problems” is quite a big part of all the work I do with others, but even more so now I’m learning to hold that same mirror up for myself. It’s fascinating how these fictional prompts are giving me answers to questions I didn’t even know I had. Even though I come up with the prompts, I still write and share my answers with the group, and they always take me to unexpected places.

Like how, this month’s circle led to me having one of those “Why not me?” moments, along with the realisation that I get almost as much joy from the learning of things as I do from the doing… Well, most of the time, anyway.

Yesterday, I ended up putting it all into practice. Last week, I got in my first-ever car accident - just a little fender bender, fortunately, no one was hurt - and managed to do some damage to my trusty little car. Rather than going the insurance route, I decided to try to fix it myself.

(Under qualified supervision, of course... It helps when your bf is a mechanic!)

After spending all week lamenting and replaying it in my mind - despite getting straight onto playing Tetris once I managed to limp home - I decided to take action. I figured out the parts we needed and teed up a few options on Facebook Marketplace, spent a whole morning driving around to the different wreckers - and getting a “crash” course in watching them triple-stack cars using a forklift, and then having to awkwardly get up there to remove the parts - and then headed to the workshop.

Ed gave me the tools, told me what to do, and put me to work. While at first I was a bit nervous - I didn’t want to make it any worse than it was! - It didn’t take too long for me to get into it, or for us to find our way into working side-by-side.

By the time we were done, the car looked good as new. We’d also had some good chats, learned some things, and turned a shitty situation into one that made me actually feel pretty good about myself.

It made me think about those days in Nepal and how good it felt to just… get the job done.

Working weddings has been quite similar. Pretty much as soon as I stepped behind the bar, decades of experience came flooding back, reminding me of base-level competencies I’d totally forgotten I had. After years of tight-rope walking on the edge of my comfort zone, I realised it didn’t have to always be this hard.

The irony that I tell my 1:1 clients this kind of thing all the time is absolutely not lost on me.

I can support others to find ease in their business, take a step back, find those other doorways, shine flashlights into cobweb-filled corners and figure out what’s going wrong, but still struggle to hold that same mirror up for myself. I am my own worst client in so many ways, knowing what needs to change, but then either hitting it so hard I don’t sleep for three weeks and burn out, or putting off replying to emails for weeks.

…Or even writing them.

Hence why it’s been a little while.

I had a lot of figuring out to do, and it was the kind of figuring out that you can only do when you have some space to do it. The kind of figuring out that came from a conversation I had with someone about how different my 1:1 and community spaces are from my emails and the way I write. How they’re all about championing everyone else’s stories, and how my emails are all about my own.

The kind of figuring out that made me realise that I’m ready to take things in a new direction. That everything I’ve done and shared and said has helped get me to where I am, but that, like the gig in Nepal or the car, when the job is done, it’s okay to move on. It’s okay to try something new.

It’s okay to take all the skills you’ve learned and use them somewhere else.

Like going back to bartending, turning my crowbar skills towards fixing cars, turning writing circles into fictional experiments, rather than journalling prompts. Like adding everything I’m learning in my narrative therapy course into my 1:1 work.

Like going back to running in-person workshops, rather than just doing online ones. Like being more interested in asking people questions about what they think makes them a good travel writer, and what they have to add to the conversation, rather than teaching them about “good” travel writing.

It’s interesting how, after doing all this, I’ve also discovered that the best way of building trust doesn’t come from constantly being on that tightrope, pushing your limits, obsessing over the gap between where you are and where you want to be, or listening to people who tell you what you need or what you’re doing wrong.

Instead, surprise surprise… It actually comes from taking the time to look backwards, to take stock of how far you’ve come. From reminding yourself of all the skills you do have and the things you are bringing to the table, and all the ways you’ve risen to meet the challenges you’ve faced in the past.

I’ve also learned that once you can stop outsourcing those instincts - whether to gurus, AI, your partner, friends, family, parents, bosses, teachers, business partners, or anyone else - everything starts to become a lot clearer. That the path starts to open up, the boredom lifts, and everything can even start to look kind of fun again.

I’ve also found it interesting how, after doing all these courses and working with all these people who made me feel like something was missing or broken in me, I’ve learned that that’s exactly what I don’t want to do in my 1:1 work. Instead, we focus on the whole story of you and use that to help us find a path that suits you, rather than emphasising all the missing pieces of the puzzle.

Which leads me to wonder about you - and how reading this has made you feel about your own path and where you’re going.

If you, too, may have been looking for trust in all the wrong places, and if so, how it might feel for you to hold that mirror up to yourself and think about everything you’ve already done. To take stock of all the skills and knowledge and things you’ve learned just to get to this point, and to focus on how far you’ve come, rather than how far you have to go.

Or maybe how it might feel for you to use your hands and make or fix something, too. Especially something tangible.

And if you want to join me in working together 1:1 or find out more about next month’s writing circle, you’re always welcome to check out my website or sign up for The Lemonade Factory. The doors are always open - although I do have to warn you, they might lead to slightly unexpected places… But, then again, I guess that’s kind of the point.

All my love,

Cx

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I’m just dropping in today to send the replay from our writing circle on Friday. I loved every second, as usual, and I’m already looking forward to our next one.

I’ve also kicked off our experimental story game - the first paragraph is currently winging its way to our second writer, and we’ve got the third player lined up, too. If you’re inte…

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Tomorrow is our monthly writing circle. This is always one of my favourite events of the month, so I’m very much looking forward to it - especially since I'm hoping it will be the start of our community writing game experiment.

As usual, we’re gathering at 10am GMT, 5pm AWST, 7pm AEST, and 5am EDT. I think that covers most of our time zones…

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I feel a bit of a broken record at the moment, but April - like this whole first third of the year - has absolutely flown by. These past few days, weeks, and months have been a blur of weddings, writing, studying, and workshop prep, but the end of this marathon finally feels like it's in sight… Just a few more weeks and two more weddings to …

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As part of my narrative therapy training this month, we’ve been talking a lot about what is intentional and what is internal. It’s interesting how, when we make the unconscious “conscious” - or at least start to bring some of those stories to the surface - we can see it rippling out into every other area of our lives.

For me, it’s been an in…

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I feel like a blink of an eye has gone by since I last wrote to you, but somehow it’s been three weeks, which also means it’s been a month since I broke my tailbone - a nice little Friday 13th gift that literally knocked me on my ass and has been humbling me ever since.

In that time, lots has changed - I’ve received my Australian passport (whew, it’s official, now!), gained a new nephew (Jaxon), decided to build a whole new business, and started a new (temporary) job.

It’s my first time being on a proper payroll since I left my job as a travel agent in 2013 - I’m not sure the bookshop in Cambodia, where I worked for a dollar an hour, counts. Nor the guesthouse that I managed, where I paid all the staff first before paying myself, hustling to keep people coming in and spending money all low season so we could keep the lights on and the coffers full.

In contrast, this new gig - bartending for a local wedding venue - feels cushy, even as someone who has been totally sober for nearly three years.

I’ve always preferred being on the other side of the bar, but some… “interesting” experiences with regulars over my years of bartending - like the ones who used to queue up before 8 am outside the Wetherspoons I worked at when I was 18 - kind of put me off working in pubs again.

This job, though, which came about through a friend, felt like the stars aligning, and has also helped me a lot with my confidence, which, if I’m honest, has been wavering a bit in recent months.

Along with breaking said tailbone, going back to studying (I’m training to be a narrative therapist), while working full-time in my own business has been a humbling experience - reminding me of my university days, where I used to study all day, work multiple different bar jobs, and run my own club nights and organise student hitchhikes on the side.

The world has changed a lot since then. But, at a time when the weirder-by-the-day news cycle has many of us convinced the world is falling apart at the seams, working weddings has somehow been a wonderful reminder that, despite the brittle egos of a few people, everything isn’t all terrible.

I’ve also realised that I get a lot of my life satisfaction from being of service, and have really missed being part of a team. And, in quite a surprising twist, I’ve learned that, while I hate the idea of having my own wedding, I actually do really love weddings. Especially when I don’t have to get dressed up, make small talk, or be the centre of attention. 10/10.

And, while I’m stuck in analysis paralysis mode, weighing up themes, plug-ins, and brand colours for this new website, I’m really loving seeing how everyone brings a totally different vibe to the same venue. How it really is same same, but different, as the old banana pancake backpacker trail saying used to go.

It’s also been strangely life-affirming seeing the things that go wrong - and how they get fixed, too. Like how, this past weekend, the best man managed to misplace the rings, and only realised during the ceremony. But, as with most things in life, it all worked out in the end.

This, too, has felt like a much-needed reminder: most of the time, it does work out in the end. Maybe not in the way we’d planned - getting a second job definitely wasn’t on my 2026 bingo card, and nor was moving to Australia or having my whole life turned upside-down by my mum’s young-onset Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

But, even though I may not be running bars in Cambodia or flipping coins to choose where I’m off to next, life still feels like a book I want to keep reading - and writing.

That said, recently, I’ve still found myself slipping back into old habits, caught between panic-sliding and doom-scrolling, feeling overwhelmed by the news, the broken butt, the business building and pivot - from creative mentoring and business support to narrative mentoring and writing support - the studying, and also saving up for a potential interstate move that currently feels as up in the air as said businesses - and the fuel prices.

But, I love that somehow, while I was looking for a take-the-edge-off job that also took me away from screens (and sitting, for a bit, at least), I’ve ended up finding one that has both helped me rediscover my hope for humanity and my confidence; leading me back to a wellspring of competence for bartending and organising events that was so deeply ingrained in me that I’d almost forgotten it even existed.

Plus, weddings are generally pretty good fun, too.

That said, I’m also sure that it helps that it’s temporary, too: 10 weddings and then I’m done.

It’s the same with studying. This course is a one-year training in narrative therapy and community work, which feels like a long time, especially as I’m in the midst of it and trying to juggle readings, calls, and writing reflections with practice sessions - but I also know it will fly by, as the years (and weeks) seem to.

Recently, I’ve found myself questioning whether I made the right choice to do this course - not because I don’t love it, but because when the doubt creeps in, sometimes I wonder if the Master’s may have been a better fit.

Part of this is because, after I graduate at the end of the year, I’ll still be able to call myself a narrative therapist if I want to, but only because the term “therapist” is actually unregulated in Australia. It doesn’t mean I’ll be officially accredited - this doesn’t count as a diploma or a degree - but I will be signed off by the Dulwich Centre.

While we still have to pass the course, it’s also a weird in-between ending that doesn’t really offer any proper pathway to accreditation.

The further I dive into the murky underworld of unaccredited therapists, counsellors, and coaches in Australia, the tighter it makes me want to hold onto those academic qualifications. But then the further I go down that path, the more boxed in and beholden to things I feel, too.

It’s a real push-pull situation.

Even after spending the past 20+ years excavating and rewriting stories as a travel writer and copywriter - and the past few helping people use their stories to build creative businesses - it’s funny how I’m finding it a bit tough to hold my own story and find a way of writing it into all this training and this new narrative.

In the past, when I’ve felt like this, I’ve tended to defer more towards the qualifications side of things. But looking at it all from a narrative therapy perspective has actually been really helpful at showing me all the value of the life I’ve lived to get to this place and all the stories I’ve collected along the way.

It’s also been a good reminder that we don’t have to love everything to get value from it. Because, if I let myself be totally honest with you, I haven’t loved a lot of it so far. I don’t love the idea of breaking concepts down and focusing on just one every month - like externalising conversations or re-membering practice. I don't love how it's very set up for those already in practice, like therapists, social workers, and counsellors.

But, I do love the big picture and how, at the end of this course, I’ll be able to weave all these different ideas together and pick-and-choose what works for each scenario, instead of trying to squeeze a complex problem into a specific solution.

I’d say that’s part of my superpower when it comes to spaceholding. Led as much by my own life experience as my training, my calls usually jump around all over the place, bringing in different techniques, exploring different stories from different start points, and then finding a way back to those wellsprings of confidence and competence we almost forgot we had.

It’s also probably why, deep down, I feel okay about my choice not to do the Master’s degree - because I don’t want to feel funnelled down a path that means I can’t bring in the coaching and the mentoring and writing prompts and lessons from building (and breaking) businesses or doing disaster relief to my work, too.

Since I last wrote to you, I’ve ended up doing even more work on cassiewilkins.com, trying to weave in even more of those stories.

I even built a whole membership site with the intention of hosting my community there, only to then realise that actually, I’d probably rather do that on the other website I’m building instead - the one that I’ve decided to create to link all these ideas in a more accessible way.

The one that feels like a bridge between the deep-dive 1:1 work, which I do under my name, and want people to feel a personal connection to, and the work that’s been calling me for a while, but feels like it’s bigger than me alone, and needs a bigger name and space to hold it.

Which, I think, is where a lot of that push-pull has been coming from: What’s me, what’s here, and what’s there? Where does it all fit? Where do I fit?

Which is also why it’s actually kind of nice to go to a job where I do fit. Where I do have a pre-defined role, and when that’s done, I’m done.

For many of us, I know life feels like a lot right now - but then, when I look back at those university days, I remember it was a lot, too. I don’t know if it ever hasn’t been. Saying that, though, it feels like something has changed recently, too. Something big.

I'm not quite sure what, exactly. I'd say it's probably a combination of things, like doing these studies and pivoting my website. But somewhere along the way, it's made me feel like, instead of being rocked by the tides of lif and holding on with white-knuckled hands, I'm finally back at the helm of my own life ship, steering it in the direction I want to go.

And sure, I might still have to navigate the odd storm and sneaker wave, but as we all know, good conditions don’t make the best sailors - or the best writers, facilitators, mentors, coaches, or narrative therapists, either.

Turns out sometimes it helps to stir it up a bit yourself and do something different - like working a wedding… or 10.

I wonder if there’s anything you could do to rock the boat of your own life a bit, and how it might feel for you to explore that.

I’d love to hear how you get on - and, if you’re not sure where to start and would like some help figuring it out, you’re also welcome to come and join me in my creative community, The Lemonade Factory.

Next week, I’m hosting a group mentoring call, where we’ll unpack all this and more.

Alternatively, if you’d prefer the chance to work 1:1 with me, I’m actually looking for a few more narrative therapy practice clients for my course, and have capacity to offer a few free calls this month in exchange for feedback.

So, if you’re finding yourself buffeted around by the tides of life and struggling with something in particular, and don’t mind filling out a feedback form after a call, then I’d love to hear from you. Just reply with a few lines about what you’re struggling with and your time zone, and I’ll see if I can help!

I’ve never done anything like this before - I usually offer things like this solely to members of the community - but given how much I used to struggle in silence before I could afford to reach out to anyone for support, it feels like a nice thing to do and a good way to give back.

Please note, though, these calls are only one hour long and will be focused on using specific narrative therapy techniques to explore a single problem you might be facing in your life.

If you think you’d like to go deeper or start to unpack those stories more and see how everything weaves together, as always, I’m also available for 1:1 sessions with ongoing support if you’d like to dive in even deeper. I absolutely love this work and the way it helps people feel like they, too, are right back in the writer’s seat of the story of their own lives.

Because after years of exploring and studying and writing and travelling and doing all the things, I've realised that, to me, that's what life - and this new business I’m building! - is all about.

I can’t wait to share more soon!

All my love,

Cx

PS: I’ve actually decided to run an experiment this month by dropping the monthly price of my creative community to celebrate our almost-1-year anniversary.

If you want to join at the discounted rate, simply upgrade your subscription. And, if you want to find out more, I’ve also given The Lemonade Factory page a nice little spruce up this past week, so feel free to check that out too.

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I had the best intentions to go deep with our pens and paper in our writing circle last week, but instead, we ended up chatting for the full 90 minutes. I never even got around to hitting record - not that it was the kind of conversation I’d want to record, anyway.

Some conversations are best left like that. In t…

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I’m Cassie! I’m a writer, wonderer, and (recovering) wanderer, living between the bush and the beach in the Swan Valley near Perth in Western Australia.

I started Making Lemonade after the life I’d spent a decade building as a travel writer and adventurer went up in smoke. In one hand, I was trying to adapt to a settled life, apply for visas, and find a home in a country I’d only ended up in thanks to a spontaneous coin flip - it was never meant to be part of the plan - and in the other, I was losing my mum to young-onset Alzheimer’s on the other side of the world.

After years of writing for everyone else, I realised I needed a home for my own stories - a way to write myself back into my life, start to untangle the twisted threads of all the things I’d done that had got me here - and share the stories I wish I could’ve read to keep me going on my worst days.

Why Making Lemonade?

Life has taught me that I’m what you’d call an “optimistic realist” - that I’m all about hoping for the best, while planning for the worst. It’s got me out of some pretty sticky situations, including being held up at knife-point in the Salvadoran jungle, being asked to hide money from the Russian mob in Cambodia, and having an ex-boss send me death threats.

And yet, while some of my stories are pretty out there, I also believe that even our most mundane stories can be the key to unlocking the secrets of life and showing us who we want to be and where we want to go. Whether you’re in a baptism of fire season - like I was - or just feeling a bit lost in whatever the hell is going on in the world right now, writing feels like a one saving grace that can remind us there’s still some sweetness to be found in it all - even if it takes a bit of squeezing to get there.

Here, I share my own tales, along with narrative tools and wayfinding tips to help you step into your own writer’s seat.

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What to expect here

Every week(ish), I share personal essays, narrative enquiries, and wayfinding tips to help you find your way through the polywilderness. Through the lens of looking for lemonade, we explore some topics that others may shy away from, including:

• Living Well & Dying Happy: Lessons from dementia and making peace with our mortality

  • Caregiving and lessons from dementia (#14)

• The Wilds of Life: Stories from the road, along with tips on navigating the chaos of the modern world with the mind of an inner (or outer) explorer

  • How to better surrender to and embrace the chaos of life (#13)

• Narrative Practice: Using narrative therapy and stories to explore our identities, seek out the gifts from our past, and help us shape our future

  • Thoughts on how to turn lemons into lemonade (#9)

• Nature & Connection: What it means to be part of the world and live through different cycles and seasons

  • Things nature can teach us about living, dying + being better humans (#6)

The Lemonade Factory

In 2025, I opened the doors to The Lemonade Factory, our cosy community hub. Designed for the misfits, the neurospicy, and the creative wayfinders, this is where we move from reading to writing, shaping, and sharing our stories together.

As a paid subscriber, you’ll get access to:

• Monthly Writing Circles

• Co-Working Calls & Coffee Chats

• Group Mentoring & Creative Q+As

• A Growing Library of Replays & Resources

Whether you subscribe monthly or annually, this is an affordable, low-pressure, come-as-you-are way to work with me and connect with like-minded people, where you can take what you need and leave whatever doesn’t suit the season you’re in.

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My promise

I want to show you that life’s lemons - and many of our shittiest stories - can be doorways to greater depth and wonder, rather than reasons to brick yourself in, burn everything down, or run off into the sunset (like I did!) If you’re ready to stop feeling like a side character in your own life and start writing a story that feels more you, you’re in the right place.

I’m so glad you’re here.

All my love,

Cassie x

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