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The things we can let go of
Some weeks seem to gather themselves around a single idea, although you don't realise it until much later.
This week, it was poppies.
Only a few days earlier there was an occasional splash of scarlet along the lane where we walk daily towards the river. Then, almost overnight, they had appeared everywhere. Their bright red petals danced along the verges, gently swaying in the breeze and impossible to ignore against the green.
When there were only a few they were easier to miss.
Perhaps that's true of many things in life. We don't always notice change while it's quietly happening. Sometimes we only become aware of it when it has become too obvious to overlook.
As I reflected on the week, I realised the poppies weren't the only thing that had changed.
Last week tested many of us.
The relentless heat made even ordinary tasks feel difficult and, with perimenopause adding its own challenges, I found myself doing something I'm not especially good at: accepting help.
A Shark Chill Pill became my constant companion, and after what felt like an expedition worthy of Hamza Yassin, I finally tracked down an in-stock air conditioning unit that made life feel more manageable again.
I thought to myself:
Why had I resisted making life easier until now?
Why do so many of us believe we simply have to keep going no matter what?
Despite knowing I should probably slow down, I continued cleaning, jet washing the patio, scrubbing garden furniture and preparing for my brother and his family's visit.
If I'm honest, I probably went a little overboard - as I often do.
Somewhere deep down was an old belief that everything needed to be just right.
Yet by the end of Sunday afternoon, none of the things I'd spent hours worrying about really mattered.
As I thought about writing my blog, I realised that I hadn't taken a single photograph of the afternoon. Not one.
For once, none of us had our phones out. We were simply talking, laughing, playing games with the boys and enjoying being together. Perhaps that's why the memories feel so vivid. We were living the afternoon rather than recording it.
What mattered was hearing my nephews laugh.
Watching them play games in the garden.
Sharing food from the barbecue.
Feeling completely at ease together.
Those are the moments that I'll remember.
I suspect they're the moments everyone else will remember too.
Nature seemed to be offering little reminders everywhere we walked once it had cooled down somewhat.
One evening we noticed a group of cows had pushed through a barbed wire fence.
Curiosity got the better of many of them.
One after another they wandered through into a neighbouring broad bean field while their more cautious companions remained by the riverbank, watching events unfold from behind the fence.
It was fascinating to watch them file along farm vehicle tracks beyond the field and onto the lane, until a man who drives his car down there to let his dogs exercise drove at them to send them back again. The atmosphere changed in an instant. The gentle wandering became agitated calls and the unmistakable sound of a frightened herd gathering speed.
We decided to quietly retreat. Getting caught in an angry stampede wasn’t something we wanted to experience!
As we continued our walk, I found myself thinking about how often we, like the cows, wander into new territory out of curiosity or habit, without pausing to consider where we truly want to go.
A little further along, in another field, a roe deer stood almost completely hidden among the barley.
We only spotted it because of two alert ears protruding above the barley's own ears.
It watched us for several moments before deciding, in its own time, that we'd come as close as it was going to allow. With a few effortless bounds it disappeared across the field.
And for the first time, we heard quail calling from the crops. An unfamiliar sound.
A reminder that there is always something new to notice if we pay attention.
Earlier this week I spent time with my own peer coach thinking about my business and where I’m heading.
Not next month.
Next year.
I began with the questions:
"If my business was working brilliantly in 12 months' time, what did I stop doing?", and
"What assumptions am I making about why my business isn't growing yet?"
The conversation wasn't about doing more, but about becoming more intentional.
What deserves my energy?
What no longer does?
What needs to begin?
What might I need to stop?
I considered, if this were one of my own clients sitting opposite me - someone capable, conscientious and quietly doing all the right things without seeing results yet - what would I be curious about, rather than trying to fix?
I left feeling lighter and more focused.
Hopeful.
Excited.
Not because everything had changed overnight, but because my thinking had sharpened and my motivation was refreshed.
Coaching rarely changes our circumstances immediately. It changes how we meet them.
Sometimes clarity comes not from adding more to our lives but from gently laying a few things down.
Old expectations.
Unhelpful habits.
The pressure to be everything to everyone.
The belief that we have to earn our place by making everything perfect.
As I think back over the week, perhaps that was what the poppies had quietly been teaching me all along.
They weren't trying to be anything other than themselves.
They simply opened up when the time was right.
Perhaps we can do the same.
Maybe we don't need to carry quite so much.
Perhaps we don't need to prove quite so much.
Maybe making space for what truly matters begins by having the courage to let a few things go.
Looking back, the greatest gift of the week wasn't the cooler weather, the poppies or even the laughter in the garden. It was the quiet realisation that I didn't need to prove anything in order to belong.
As you reflect on your own life, consider:
What are you carrying that no longer needs to come with you?
What might you be ready to let go of, to make space for more joy, clarity or growth?
If this reflection has resonated with you, and you'd value some space to explore what you're carrying - and what you might be ready to leave behind - I'd be delighted to walk alongside you.
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