For the ones who can see the life they want but can't yet find the path to it. For the woman who suspects the way back to herself might be through something older and slower and closer to the earth than anything she's tried so far. Each week I write about life transitions, plant wisdom, and seasonal rhythm... real letters, not polished advice. When you join, you'll get The Stile, five honest questions that show you which landscape you're actually standing in right now, plus the plant ally that grows there and a small five-minute practice to do.
Trusting the unfurling
Published about 1 hour ago • 2 min read
Hey Reader,
Today I'm dancing that balance between having the time and headspace to get going with things... alongside the oft-begrudging acceptance that I have to trust the process (which is rarely on my timeline).
Yes, more lessons from the fells. Last week I decided to go up the other side of Crook, because the maps tell me there's a way to get up there and get onto Sickers Fell, which I've been wanting to get onto for a while.
So I go onto the very wild and bracken-covered fell wall path to find the way up the far side of the fell - can't find anything resembling a footpath in all that, so end up trying to hack through what appears to be a sheep trail.
I soon realised no path was gonna appear, and I didn't really have any idea where I was going other than up (going back down a steep fell covered in waist-high bracken was not on my options list!)
So I trusted the spirit of the fell to guide me. After a while the bracken opened a little and I realised I'd found a trail that the fell ponies use, and from there it wasn't too long until I was out of the bracken and nearing the summit.
The back of Sickers Fell, from Crook.
And guess what was at the top?
A fell pony. Like a symbol of wild resilience.
That's the bit I keep needing reminding of. The path only shows up once you stop demanding it exist on your schedule, and I don't think that's just true of fells.
After my dad died, everything in my life paused. I didn't push through it. I let it stop me, and something started to shift that wouldn't have shifted any other way.
I've launched things too early before. Tried to force healing onto a schedule that wasn't its own. Both times, it came back around later, louder.
I've recorded an audio version this week for YouTube, on the two questions I actually ask myself now when something doesn't feel ready yet, and why I've stopped treating slowness as a problem to fix.
If you're in the thick of a life transition and could do with seeing the shape of the path beneath your feet, my free workshop - Finding Your Footing Through a Life Transition - is a good place to start. You can find out more and access it here.
The Witnessing
If you need something more personal — write to me. Hit reply and tell me a little about where you are: what's ended, what you're carrying, what's pulling at you. I'll write back, and if it feels right I'll suggest a plant ally or two that belong with where you are right now. I read every reply and I'm always glad to hear from you. Or if you'd rather talk book a tea & chat and we can explore it together over Zoom.
For the ones who can see the life they want but can't yet find the path to it. For the woman who suspects the way back to herself might be through something older and slower and closer to the earth than anything she's tried so far. Each week I write about life transitions, plant wisdom, and seasonal rhythm... real letters, not polished advice. When you join, you'll get The Stile, five honest questions that show you which landscape you're actually standing in right now, plus the plant ally that grows there and a small five-minute practice to do.