Messy By Nature

28/07/2026

An autism diagnosis can be bittersweet.

Yes, you were different.
And yes, people often noticed.

I was obsessed with dogs. I could name every breed before I could even tie my own shoelaces.

My emotions were overwhelming—not just because of big life events, but because my clothes felt uncomfortable, sounds were too much, or my mind wouldn’t quieten.

I was never neat or tidy because everything felt uncomfortable. I tried desperately to manage my thoughts. I’d pick at my hair, peel wallpaper, or, if I had a pen, I’d draw. No paper? I’d draw on my arms and legs instead.

But through all of it, I was never mean.

If you have an autistic child, or you’re navigating your own diagnosis, I hope you know this:

You are not “too much.”
You are not broken.
You belong.

Especially with me. 🥰

26/07/2026

No one wants to admit they were wrong about someone they loved, whether that person was family, a partner, or a friend.

People with deep empathy often take a long time to realise they have been used or betrayed, because they simply cannot imagine treating someone else that way.

Instead, they turn the blame inward.
“If all these people have left me, maybe I’m the problem.”

But ask yourself one question.

Think back to the time you were together.

Did they offer practical care?
Did they bring you food when you needed it?
Help you clean?
Give thoughtful gifts?
Do small things that made your life easier?
Answer the phone when you needed someone to talk to?
Show up consistently when it mattered?

If the answer is no, then ask yourself a different question:

What were they truly bringing to your life?

I know love isn’t measured by gifts or favours. It’s measured by care, consistency, and presence. But they were only ever around eating your generosity up like a free buffet.

Sometimes healing begins when you stop asking, “Why wasn’t I enough?” and start asking, “Did they really love me in the way I deserved?”

That question can change everything. ❤️

Lx

25/07/2026

Beyond It All

To feel as though you’re literally cursed, as if nothing is going right, is human.

But I’m beginning to understand that hard times are necessary. If something collapses or falls away, perhaps it was never meant to be permanent.

When we feel we’re losing people or things, our instinct is to hold on tighter. Yet maybe the wiser response is to let go sooner.

In doing so, the air clears, and what remains is real.

A curse is only a belief we give power to. Storms, however, come from somewhere higher—for reasons we may never fully understand.

I’m no longer attached to what leaves.

And in that freedom, something new is born.

The courage to create.
The resilience to take bold steps.
The quiet confidence that even if everything were taken from me, I know I would find my way back.

Are you ready?

Lx

21/07/2026

16/07/2026

Pretending to be brave.

I’ve always been sensitive.

For a long time I thought that was a weakness. I believed that pretending I wasn’t hurt was a sign I had healed.

Recently I’ve been deeply hurt. In the space of a day, it almost felt as though I was under some kind of curse.

First, my tooth became sensitive.
Then I received some painful news.
Then a pipe burst in my home.

As I sat quietly meditating with a heavy heart, a leaf fell gently into my lap.

The message felt so clear.

A sensitive tooth is my body responding to something that needs attention. I can fix that.

The hurt caused by someone else’s choices… I can’t fix that.

A burst pipe in my home… I can fix that too.

Looking at it from above, I realised the leaf wasn’t telling me that life is happening to me. It was reminding me that my energy belongs where I have the power to create change.

My tooth reminds me to protect myself from anything—or anyone—that slowly erodes who I am.

The burst pipe reminds me that hurt can’t be ignored or spiritually bypassed. Like water, it has to flow somewhere. My choice is whether I allow it to flow towards healing and abundance, or let it build until it becomes destruction.

Leaves fall.

Seasons change.

New beginnings quietly begin.

Thank you, beautiful Universe, for reminding me that while I can’t control everything that happens around me, I can always choose how I care for my own heart

Lx

16/07/2026

One thing I love about many neurodivergent people is that we often move through relationships without an agenda.

We might forget your birthday.

Turn up late.

Overshare.

Lose our train of thought halfway through a conversation.

We’re not always good at the social rules.

But one thing many of us are good at is loving people without calculation.

If we’re in your life, it’s because we want to be.

Not because of what you can give us.

Not because we’re building connections to get ahead.

Simply because we enjoy your company and your heart feels safe to us.

The world can be exhausting when your brain works differently. We spend so much energy trying to navigate systems that weren’t built with us in mind.

Maybe that’s why so many of us instinctively make room for others.

We know what it feels like to be left out.

To be misunderstood.

To wonder if we’re too much or not enough.

So when someone needs somewhere to sit, we make space.

When someone is hungry, we share our food.

When someone needs a place to stay, we offer our couch.

When someone needs to be heard, we listen.

Sometimes that kindness is met with kindness.

Sometimes it’s met with people who mistake an open heart for an opportunity.

That can hurt.

But I’d rather live in a world where people have to earn my boundaries than one where they have to earn my kindness.

If you’re one of those people who loves without an agenda, I hope you never lose that part of yourself.

Just remember that protecting your heart doesn’t make you less kind.

It simply means your kindness has found wisdom.

Lx

14/07/2026

Was it always you?

I want to share a healing milestone with you.

Healing, I believe, is deeply personal. There is no single path. My way has been to stay open-minded and trust that energy, like water, will always find its way where it is needed.

As a child, I was always filling my pockets with little treasures from nature—rocks, sticks, feathers, anything that caught my eye.

When I was about six years old, I had two special pebbles. One was dark and smooth, the other rough with jagged edges. I would carry them in my pocket during the day and place them on my bedside table every night.

One morning, while I was playing just outside my bedroom, those two stones unexplainably rolled towards me. I picked them up, amazed, and ran to tell my family. They smiled and dismissed it as childhood imagination.

Years later, during a sound healing journey at a festival, something unexpected happened. In my mind, I saw a little girl playing in my childhood home. She was collecting her tiny treasures—little stones, just as I once had.

And then I realised…

She was me.

With all the love I could gather for that little girl, I gently rolled those same two stones towards her. As if to say, Believe yourself. Trust what you know. The impossible isn’t always impossible.

Maybe that’s what healing is.

Sometimes we become the person we needed all along. And if you truly don’t believe in anything I hope you believe in the future version of yourself watching willing calling you forward.

I’m curious…

When you look back at your childhood, do you ever feel like you’ve been watching over yourself all this time?

Lx

12/07/2026

We have celebrated Matariki as a family ever since our children were little. It began as a tradition at our Playcentre, and over the years it naturally became something we continued at home. Now, as Matariki approaches each year, the children expect the celebration. This year it felt as though the gathering took on an energy of its own, growing organically into something really special.

We invite everyone to bring food to share, set up an open mic and a guitar for anyone who wants to tell a story or sing a song, and create space for people to remember those they have lost. Around the fire, we write messages to our loved ones, offering them to the smoke and trusting it to carry our words to the stars.

It’s a different kind of celebration one wrapped in remembrance, gratitude, connection, and community.

I’ve always thought of the Matariki season as a time of truth and honesty. Growing up in the UK, it often felt as though we were expected to “get over” the death of someone we loved, even though we never really do. We simply learn to carry our grief more quietly.

Matariki gives us permission to speak openly and lovingly about those we miss. It welcomes every emotion without judgement, and somehow, despite the tears that sometimes come, it never feels sad. Instead, it reminds us that life is precious, fragile, and temporary and that because of that, we should live fully, love deeply, and cherish the good people around us while we can.

Mānawatia a Matariki. ✨
From my family to yours
Lx

04/07/2026

Awakening Balance

I notice more beauty.
I also sense more threat.

All is not as it appears.

Once, my boundaries only came after a physical threat something I witnessed with my own eyes or was told with my own ears.

Now, they begin with my energy.

My eyes have deceived me.
My ears have been told lies.

But my life-force energy doesn’t panic me.
It simply refuses to illuminate what is not meant for me.

Instead, it is the quiet… the nothingness… that gently redirects me.

Today I received an analogy:

You can never truly capture how you felt in a photograph.

A photo can become art on a wall, but that is all it is. You cannot walk back into that moment forever. You can even replace the picture, but not the feeling it once held.

Looking at it simply reminds you of what you needed in that moment an open heart, ready to receive more.

People, places, old friends, even family, should open your heart not make you doubt yourself.

So look at the picture.

Does it remind you of love?

Or does it remind you of hurt?

That is energy work: trust the feeling, not the desire to recreate what is gone.

Lx