The Lady in the Back Row

Life doesn’t wait for anyone.

Some days, the ordinary holds more weight than we realise.

Yesterday, a friend learned her tumour, removed 18 months ago, has grown back bigger.

Life can shift in an instant, and control is never guaranteed.

Today, I am thinking about my daughter.

She cannot feed herself. She cannot leave the house without support. We live in a supported care model. And yet, the children are fed, loved, and nurtured.

Their laughter threads through the rooms. Their routines continue. Small acts of normalcy quietly hold the day together.

Love and hope matter, but they do not replace stability.

Patterns, consistency, and survival matter more.

The children notice the little things, a story read, a hand held, a joke shared.

Those are the moments that carry life forward.

This is the life we live today.

It is not simple.

It is not perfect.

But it is real.

And we get on with it.

Positivity and gratitude is the key. 🔑

Life accelerates.

Responsibilities expand.

Today, I paused.

A doctor’s appointment. A check-in. A realignment for the year ahead.

Not because anything is wrong — but because staying well is intentional.

Health requires review.

Direction requires adjustment.

Energy requires protection.

Positive thinking isn’t blind optimism.

It’s discipline.

Today was maintenance.

And maintenance builds strength

5am. Mosquito bites.

Once I’m awake, I’m awake.

I sleep less the older I get.

Coffee. Dark sky.

Clear constellations.

Today begins a new lunar cycle, a pause to reset.

Last year was about illness recovery, health rebuilding, financial pressure, and waiting for stability.

This year:

Recovery into maintenance.

Health into structure.

Money into strategy.

Stability into design.

Strengthen the foundations.

Lean on what sustains you.

Quietly. Deliberately.

With clarity.

Weekends fly by now.

So do the days.

There was a time when Friday opened wide. Now it feels like a breath in, a breath out, and it’s Sunday night.

Time hasn’t changed.

Awareness has.

This weekend I tried to learn Instagram. A small thing, really. Yet stepping into a new space always reveals something about you.

My first interaction was negative.

Not dramatic. Just enough to remind me: every room holds both light and shadow.

We are more connected than any generation before us. Every thought, kindness, criticism — transmitted instantly. The world’s consciousness sits in the palm of our hands.

But exposure is not the same as connection.

Discernment is the skill now.

Not every voice deserves your attention.

Not every opinion deserves your energy.

The days move quickly.

The practice is simple:

Move with the world — without letting it move you.

Stay open.

Stay steady.

Choose what lands.

Awake at 2am.

Seventeen-year-old little dog yelping confused.

Dementia.

Yesterday I took the kids back to see the little horse. I got too close to the electric fence. The shock hit like a log across my back. Sharp. Invisible. Real.

Dinner was another pub menu. Same meals, different heading.

I hate cooking, which probably makes me bad at it.

Facebook. Instagram.

Everything recorded. Everything polished.

Except this part.

The old dog pacing at 2am.

The electric fence shock.

The quiet effort it takes to keep showing up.

A 95-year-old, sharp as a tack, remembered I was coming back Saturday.

A 17-year-old dog, dementia-ridden, lost in her own hallway.

We are lucky to wake up each day, as long as we have our health.

Grass under bare feet.

Salt water.

Planting vegetables.

Reality doesn’t perform.

It just asks you to be there.

Growing up, we are taught to believe in the Cinderella story, the fairytale, the rescue, the happily ever after.

My relationships have often felt more like cinders than castles.

I carry no regrets, because life is meant to be lived, experienced, and learned from.

The truth I’ve discovered is this:

I have always been my own Prince Charming.

I have rescued myself when I needed saving.

I have rebuilt, reimagined, and restored my own story.

Now, I live in a palace,

not built from glass or stone, but from the strength of my own heart.

A place grounded in health, happiness, peace, and quiet joy.

So today, on Valentine’s Day,

I celebrate love. ❤️

The love I have given, the love I have learned, and most importantly, the love I have found within myself.

To the universal love generating around our world today.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY ❤️🥰❤️

Restless sleep. Awake at six.

The air is crisp, holding that fragile space between night and day.

The moon lingers, a quiet smile in the fading dark

while beneath the clouds, the sun begins its patient rise.

A changing of guard. A reminder that nothing stays still.

Friday carries its own rhythm.

My favourite workday, lighter somehow.

My granddaughter counts down the hours

until her first sleepover with a friend.

Simple joy. Pure anticipation.

The week has been heavy.

Emotionally. Mentally.

The kind of tiredness that settles deep.

Chinese New Year approaches,

the Year of the Horse.

Movement. Strength. Forward motion.

Shedding the Year of the Snake.

Releasing what coils too tightly around the spirit.

Letting go of what no longer serves.

The world feels intensely yin and yang.

Destruction and abundance,

suffering and excess,

all delivered instantly to our screens.

So I return to my own ground.

My breath.

My work.

My family.

Gratitude as anchor.

Mindfulness as compass.

Step by step into a new year.

I woke up in my own house this morning.

The scent of my garden drifting through the air felt grounding, familiar, steady, safe.

Yesterday reminded me that progress is rarely linear.

Two steps forward, one step back.

Work was difficult. Home felt heavy. My energy was unsettled, and everything seemed to amplify from there.

Workplace bias added a layer of strain that sat with me longer than I expected.

I chose to come home for the night.

That choice, simple as it was, filled me with gratitude.

Not everyone has that option. Many carers around the world live in a constant state of responsibility, no break, no relief, no pause from the illness they support.

The weight they carry is relentless.

This journey is long. I am learning that it is not about controlling the length of it, but about how I meet each day within it.

Patience does not come naturally to me.

I have a temper.

I feel things deeply and react quickly. But I am beginning to understand that mindfulness is not about perfection, it is about awareness.

It is about catching myself, recalibrating, and choosing again.

Today feels like a reset.

A conscious return to gratitude.

A deliberate choice toward positivity.

Not because everything is easy, but because perspective is powerful.

Gratefulness and Positivity are the intentions of the day.

I stopped to talk to a 95-year-old man last night who lives around the corner from me, on a hill with paddocks and horses nearby. I’d wondered if my granddaughter might one day ride one of them.

The horses aren’t his, but he invited me inside. The stories he shared were living history — a lifetime of work, service, love, and loss, spoken quietly and without fuss.

His wife passed away last year. He still lives in the home they shared.

As I left, a small horse came up to the fence. He said he’d ask the neighbours if my granddaughter could ride one.

I walked away knowing this wasn’t just a chat — it was a privilege.

Day four today.

Small amounts of fruit continue — steady, meaningful progress.

My brother and his family remain a constant source of support, calling daily and surrounding her with positive energy.

Momentum is building, gently but surely.

A fresh day begins — birds chirping, hopeful vibes, one step forward in a long journey.