Mummy might need this...

An opportunity to rest and retreat

Looking back over some of my social media posts that I wrote weeks ago, for some reason, they stopped me in my tracks.  As though someone else had written the message but it was addressed to me personally.

These days I forget. I forget what day it is, where my dogs collars are, why I went upstairs, what meetings I have booked in. So it’s no surprise that I forget what I’ve written, wondering where I was at the time and why I was compelled to write about a particular subject. Oh the joys of brain fog at 48 and not yet reaping the benefits of HRT.

The majority of times I write, whether it’s on social, on Substack or in my journal, I’m writing to me for me. Gently forcing messages, stories and ideas out into the universe, hoping they will fall back to earth and slap me in the face. 

As much as I thrive off connecting likeminded souls, making sure my retreat guests are well looked after and indulge in quality rest, I wish it was me who was retreating. 

I wrote this letter as a post back in N…