Home Education and the Changing Seasons

There’s something deeply satisfying about harvesting in autumn. Even if it’s just a handful of herbs you’ve kept alive on your windowsill or a single carrot pulled out of the soil looking a bit wonky and surprised to see you, it hits different this time of year. It’s not just food. It’s a pause. A quiet moment where you realise: the work I did months ago? It mattered.And today, I want to talk about that harvest.Not the romanticised, golden field version.The small, scruffy, real kind; balcony baskets, allotment beds, pots tucked into corners, and whatever else you’ve managed to coax into growing.Because even now, even as the days shorten and the weather cools, there’s still so much growing to be done. And when it comes to eating seasonally, cooking with what’s in front of you, and preserving those small harvests? Autumn is where it all comes together.Growing in Small Spaces (Yes, Even Now)If you’ve been here a while, you’ll know: we don’t have a sprawling garden. Our main growing spaces are: a 1m x 4m balcony, two floors up, with patchy light and random gusts of wind, and a small, scruffy allotment plot.And still nine seasons in we’re pulling food from it and loving it.Tomatoes that made it through summer. Courgettes that tried to take over the world. Herbs tucked into every available corner.The Allotment in Autumn: Messy, Honest, and MagicDown at the allotment, things are winding down, but it’s not over. Far from it. This is the season of roots, storage crops, and putting the soil to bed.The courgettes have usually packed it in by now. The tomatoes are sulking. But the beans are drying on the vine, the squash is fattening up, and the carrots and onions are waiting for the fork. I like to head down in the early evening, basket in hand, and come home with muddy veg and cold fingers. It’s one of the most grounding feelings I know.There’s also the clean-up… pulling old plants, clearing space, layering mulch or cardboard to protect the soil over winter. It’s the kind of work that doesn’t give you instant gratification, but it matters. It’s slow stewardship. It’s thinking ahead, even when the garden’s starting to look like it’s giving up.And there’s still time to sneak in some autumn sowings, overwintering onions, garlic, broad beans. The stuff that sits patiently through the cold and explodes into life in spring. It’s quiet, humble gardening. The long game. My favourite kind.Autumn in the KitchenOnce the food’s in the basket (or bag, or jumper — no shame), the real magic starts. The kitchen turns seasonal too.This is when the slow cooking starts. Big pots of soup. Roasted roots. Crumbles. Casseroles with everything chucked in. Bowls that steam up your glasses when you lean in.We make tomato sauce from the glut, freeze berries, whizz up pesto from the last of the basil, and stuff herbs into ice cube trays with olive oil. It’s not fancy. It’s practical. It’s “future me will thank you” food.And I’ll be honest… we don’t have a giant freezer or a dreamy pantry. Our kitchen is small. Our storage is small. But every year, we still manage to tuck away a bit of autumn. And when I pull out that tomato sauce in January, it’s like the season left me a note: Hey, remember this? You grew it. You made it. You’re still doing it.Real Meals, No Aesthetic RequiredI’m not here for curated meal prep shots. I’m here for traybakes made from whatever’s in the allotment basket. Omelettes with herbs you snipped from a pot next to the washing line. One-pot pastas that somehow feel fancy because there’s garlic and kale in them.This is the kind of cooking that feels good. Not because it’s complicated, but because it’s connected.It’s the kind of cooking where you remember: this food didn’t just show up. It came from somewhere. Maybe even from your own hands. And that matters.Sometimes we light a candle at dinner. Not for the vibes, but to mark the moment. To slow down. To give thanks, quietly, for the work that went in. For the fact we get to eat this way. I want my kids to remember that food isn’t just something you grab. It’s part of the cycle. Part of the season. Part of us.If You’re New to Growing — Start HereIf you’re reading this and thinking, I don’t grow much, that’s okay. Start small. One pot of herbs. One tray of roasted veg. One soup that uses what’s in season. That’s enough.You don’t need to be a farmer. You don’t need a huge kitchen or a big garden or a fancy dehydrator. You just need the willingness to notice what’s growing, and work with it. Let it feed you. Let it teach you. Let it slow you down.The Season of EnoughAutumn isn’t here to tell you to do more. It’s here to remind you what enough feels like. Enough food. Enough work. Enough harvest. Enough you.So whether you’re pulling a few carrots from the soil, or just adding a handful of balcony herbs to your dinner, you’re doing it. You’re part of the rhythm. You’re part of the season. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

There’s this moment, right at the start of autumn, where everything changes, but not all at once. It’s the cooler air before the sun rises. The soft light slanting in through the window. The damp earth smell after it rains. The trees start their slow colour change, the shadows grow a little longer, and the energy of everything shifts. If you watch and listen you can feel it.And in our home, when the seasons shift, so does our learning.This time of year doesn’t scream new term to me. It doesn’t scream anything. It quietly taps you on the shoulder and says, you can slow down now. So we do.Ditch the Pressure to “Get Back On Track”September rolls in and the world loses its mind. Everyone’s sprinting back to something; school, routine, productivity. Even in the home ed world, there’s this creeping sense that we should be ramping things up.But here’s the thing: if you’re home educating, you’re not bound to that calendar. You don’t need to make your learning look more “official” just because it’s a new academic year. Honestly? Autumn is the perfect time to do the opposite. To slow down. To tune in. To trust that learning doesn’t get better when it gets louder, it gets better when it gets deeper.Let’s slow down and journey together through the seasons with simplicity and intention. Subscribe to receive simple musings directly in your inbox.Learning What’s Actually Happening OutsideWe don’t follow some idealised seasonal Pinterest plan over here. We look outside. That’s it. Autumn gives us all the prompts we need. Leaves changing colour. Birds on the move. Spiders spinning webs in the corners of everything. Mushrooms popping up where yesterday there was nothing. We go for a walk, and the questions come naturally:“Why are the leaves red now?”“Where are the geese flying to?”“Do worms sleep in winter?”That’s science. That’s literacy. That’s wonder.No worksheets needed. Just curiosity and luxury of time to follow it.Yes, We Do Crafts…Do we do seasonal crafts? Yes. But I’m not cutting out 20 felt leaves while my kids ignore me and the kitchen looks like a Pinterest fail. I’m talking simple stuff… beeswax candles, leaf prints, lanterns for those darker evenings, salt dough if we can be bothered.We make things that feel like the season. That’s the point. Not the matching aesthetic or the perfect Instagram reel, just that tangible, grounded reminder: this is where we are right now. That matters more than any curriculum.More BooksSomething about autumn makes us all crave story. The darker evenings, the earlier bedtimes, the slow afternoons, it just fits. So we lean into that.Our seasonal book basket gets heavy: autumn, migration, harvest, myths, forest stories. We read aloud more. It’s not always peaceful. But it is seasonal.And honestly, if reading does a lot of the heavy lifting in our “curriculum” for a few months, I’m fine with that. Some seasons are about projects and energy. Others are about listening, resting, and letting words do the work.The Season of Introspection (and Not Just for the Kids)There’s something about this time of year that naturally pulls us inward. So we make space for that too.We keep it simple, like drawing what we noticed on our walk or writing poems if the mood strikes, or just naming how the season feels in our bodies.Sometimes we do seasonal self-portraits. “How are you changing right now?” is a big question, but kids get it in a way adults forget. And that’s all learning, too: emotional literacy, art, identity, connection.If You Want to Tick the Boxes, You Still CanFor the record — if you want to tie it all back to subjects, that’s easy:* Science: fungi, hibernation, decay, seed dispersal* Maths: baking, measuring, conker-counting* Literacy: journalling, poetry, seasonal vocabulary* History: harvest traditions, ancestral celebrations, equinox mythsIt’s all right there, hidden in plain sight. But you don’t have to make it formal to make it meaningful.Slow the Hell Down (Seriously)If I could shout one thing from my balcony this season, it would be:You don’t need to speed up just because everyone else is.Autumn is not the time to sign up for five new classes, start a full on unit study (although I am kinda doing that, but in our defence we did start in the summer), and overhaul your rhythm. It’s the time to do less. To go slower. To sink into one or two things deeply, rather than skimming across ten.The world is obsessed with more. But we know better. And we teach better when we live like we know better.Your Rhythm Is Allowed to ShiftMaybe you start your mornings slower now. Maybe nature walks are your main lesson. Maybe your kids want to go to bed earlier and read for longer. Maybe you do way less “schoolwork” than you planned — and it still counts.Let it shift. Let it breathe. You’re not locked into the schedule you made in August when your brain was fried from the heat.And If You Don’t Home Educate?You’re still welcome here. You can still bring the season into your child’s life, through slow walks, stories and conversations about the weather. You don’t need a curriculum to connect.Even just protecting a bit of your evenings or weekends from the rush? That’s enough. That’s seasonal learning too.Autumn Doesn’t Ask for MoreIt asks for presence. It asks for you to notice. To soften. To respond.This isn’t about doing seasonal education “right.” It’s about living it. And trusting that when you live it, the learning comes naturally.So if you’re feeling like you should be doing more… don’t.Do less, with more care.Do less, with more connection.Do less, and let it matter more.The books. The muddy walks. The soup. The slower rhythm. That’s the curriculum. That’s enough.That’s autumn.Thanks for reading The Slow Living Collective! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

As the crisp air settles in and the leaves begin to fall, there’s an undeniable pull to hustle — to get ready for the holidays, to finish up the year’s goals, to be productive. But here’s the truth: autumn is not the time to rush. It’s a season for nourishment, for slowing down, and for truly recharging both your body and soul. In today’s episode of The Slow Living Podcast, we’re diving deep into the beauty of using autumn as a time to nurture yourself — not as a luxury, but as a necessity. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

As the crisp air settles in and the days start to get shorter, autumn naturally invites us to slow down. However, if you're anything like most people, you might feel the exact opposite pressure - the hustle. The message is loud and clear: “It’s time to get back on track,” and before we know it, our calendars are packed with work, to-do lists, and dare I say it, Christmas prep.But what if this season isn’t about speeding up? What if autumn is a time to rest, reflect, and prepare for the months ahead without the guilt of doing less?In today’s episode of The Slow Living Podcast, I dive deep into this exact topic. We challenge the common narrative that autumn requires us to hustle, accomplish, and check off endless boxes. Instead, let’s honour the natural rhythm of autumn, when things naturally wind down, and permit ourselves to lean into rest, reflection, and intentional preparation for the winter months.In This Episode, You’ll Learn:* Why autumn doesn’t have to be a season of hustle: We explore the pressure that comes with the fall months and why it’s important to resist it.* How to honour the season’s natural rhythm: Autumn is about winding down, not ramping up. I’ll share practical tips on how to slow down and embrace the beauty of this time of year.* Letting go of guilt: You don’t need to “do more” to prove you’re productive. Learn how to enjoy the simple pleasures of autumn without guilt.* Preparing for winter, intentionally: This is a time of transition — a moment to reset, refuel, and prepare, so that we can enter winter feeling grounded, not burnt out.Autumn is not a time to be rushing through the to-do lists, but a moment to lean into rest and honour your needs without feeling like you’re falling behind. Let’s explore how you can embrace autumn with intention and do less without the guilt.Follow me on Instagram for daily inspiration This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

Let’s talk about something wildly underrated: rest. Real rest. Not the kind you cram into the five minutes before a Zoom call or the kind you feel guilty for taking because your inbox is overflowing. I’m talking about deep, intentional rest, the kind that only comes when you decide to do less. Not once. Not just on Sundays. But as a way of living.I used to think rest was something you earned. Like a prize for making it to the end of your to-do list (spoiler: that list never ends). I measured my worth in how productive I was, how many balls I could keep in the air, how often I could say “I’m so busy” with pride. If I wasn’t exhausted, was I even trying?You probably know how this story goes: burnout came knocking. Not once, but repeatedly. Each time more insistent, more draining. I’d built a life that looked good on paper but felt awful to live inside of. It was all noise and motion and achievement, yet I was rarely present. Rarely rested. Rarely me.Eventually, I reached a point where I realised something had to change. I could no longer pretend that pushing through was sustainable. That always being available, always saying yes, always “making it work” was healthy or heroic. I had to do less. And not just temporarily. Permanently.The Glorification of BusyWe live in a culture that celebrates being busy as a badge of honour. Productivity is treated like morality, like the more you do, the more you’re worth. Rest, on the other hand, is often dismissed as laziness or indulgence. Even when we do rest, we’re expected to make it look productive: meditate with an app, stretch while listening to a podcast, journal our gratitude list while lighting the perfect candle.But here’s the hard truth:* You can’t heal your exhaustion with more output.* You can’t find stillness by constantly chasing it.* And you can’t live intentionally when your life is dictated by everyone else’s urgency.We are bombarded with messages to hustle, scale, grow, and maximise. But what if the real work is in slowing down, scaling back, and learning to be instead of do? What if the bravest thing we can do is opt out of the race altogether?Doing less is not failure. It’s wisdom. It’s recognising that your energy is not infinite, and your life is not a project to optimise.What Doing Less Really MeansDoing less doesn’t mean abandoning your responsibilities or opting out of life. It means becoming discerning. It means creating space, not just in your calendar but in your mind. It means letting go of what drains you and making more room for what nourishes you.To me, doing less means:* Saying no to things that don’t align with my values, even if I could technically “fit them in.”* Not filling every gap in my day with noise or scrolling or productivity.* Choosing quality over quantity—in conversations, in work, in how I show up for the people I love.* Allowing slowness, even when urgency feels like the default.This work is uncomfortable, especially at first. Slowing down brings up things we’ve long ignored. The fears we’ve buried under busyness. The questions we’ve avoided by staying distracted. But once the dust settles? What’s left is a life that feels rooted and real.My Journey to RestLike so many others, the pandemic was my reckoning. When everything came to a standstill, I finally saw how exhausted I was. How performative my life had become. How disconnected I felt from the version of motherhood, entrepreneurship, and womanhood I was trying to maintain.The pause was uncomfortable, yes. But it was also illuminating. Without all the noise, I could hear myself again. And I didn’t like what I heard at first. I was tired. I was unfulfilled. I was running a life that didn’t reflect my values.So I began to let go. Slowly. Imperfectly. I gave myself permission to stop trying so hard. To rest without earning it. To stop equating success with being “on” all the time.Now, rest is no longer a reward I grant myself for surviving the chaos. It’s a foundation I build my days on. It’s in how I work, how I mother, how I simply exist.Slowness isn’t something I slip into when I have a break. It’s the frame through which I view everything now.Rhythms of Everyday RestRest doesn’t have to be grand or Instagram-worthy. It’s often quiet. Unseen. Unshared. It’s saying no to a commitment that drains you. It’s a slow cup of tea without your phone in hand. It’s going to bed earlier, not because you’re old or boring, but because you respect your body enough to let it recharge.Here are a few small ways I intentionally weave rest into my days:* I leave space between tasks instead of back-to-backing my day.* I let myself sit without a podcast or distraction, just breathing.* I cook slowly, not to impress, but to nourish.* I put my phone in another room when I rest, because I know it steals more energy than it gives.* I choose one big thing to do in a day instead of five, and I let that be enough.These are small acts, but together they change the entire tone of my life.A Change of Pace for the PodcastAs part of walking my talk, I’ve decided to shift the podcast to a fortnightly schedule this summer. Instead of weekly episodes, you’ll hear from me every other week.This isn’t about stepping back. It’s about stepping in. Deeper into my values. Deeper into the slower rhythms that summer invites. I want to enjoy this season, not just plough through it. I want to sit in the garden with my children. To watch the light change. To live the slower life I talk so much about.The podcast will still bring you intentional, meaningful conversations. But they’ll come with more space around them. And hopefully, that space becomes something you feel too, a nudge to create breathing room in your own life.The Radical Act of RestingIn a world that thrives on speed, choosing slowness is radical. Choosing to rest not when you’re broken, but before, is an act of rebellion.You don’t need to be on the brink to take a break. You don’t need to do it all before you can do nothing. You don’t need to earn your peace.You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to stop. You are allowed to be.So this summer, I hope you’ll make space. Not because it’s productive. Not because you’re preparing for something big. But because your soul is worthy of quiet. Of stillness. Of enoughness that isn’t measured in checklists.Here’s to naps in the sun. To unfinished to-do lists. To slow dinners and long conversations. To choosing less, and finding so much more. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

There’s a particular kind of magic that settles over the world this time of year. Maybe you’ve felt it too, that gentle call to exhale, to let things soften a little. To stop chasing the next thing and instead linger in the moment, barefoot in the garden with dirt under your nails and absolutely no idea where your phone is (and honestly, not caring either).Summer has its own rhythm. She doesn’t rush. She unfurls. She shows up unapologetically, sun-kissed, slightly overgrown, humming with bees and possibility. And every year, I find myself needing to answer her invitation again. To slow down. To live with less noise. To breathe more deeply.And if I’m honest, this year more than ever, I need that exhale.Walking the Walk (Even When It Feels Uncomfortable)I talk a lot on the podcast, here on Substack, on Instagram, about slow living, simple living, seasonal living. I share practical ways to strip back the chaos, to live more intentionally, to reconnect with rhythms that feel more human and less machine.But here's the thing: sharing about slow living is not the same as actually living it.I’ve had to sit with that recently. Because while I believe deeply in everything I write and teach and podcast about… I can also be incredibly good at staying busy in service of slowness. Isn’t that wild? I can fill my calendar with things that all “support” my values and still end up frazzled, overstretched, and a little bit disconnected from the very life I’m advocating for.So this summer, I’m choosing to walk the walk. For real. Which means creating more space in my schedule and energy. Saying no, kindly but firmly. Letting some things rest. Including, most notably: the podcast.🎙️ A Gentle Shift: What’s Happening With the PodcastStarting this month, The Slow Living Collective Podcast will be moving to an every-other-week rhythm for summer. No big drama. No huge announcement. Just a quiet recalibration to match the season.This isn’t about burnout. It’s not about stepping away.It’s about alignment.It’s about recognising that slow living isn’t a marketing message. It’s a lived experience and one I want to fully step into over these next few months. The podcast is still a core part of my work, and I’ll continue showing up there with love and thoughtfulness. But with more space. More intention. More… summer.Think of it like this: the podcast is taking a long, luxurious exhale just like the rest of me.What This Actually Means (And What It Doesn’t)It doesn’t mean I’m disappearing.It doesn’t mean the podcast is any less valuable to me or to you.It doesn’t mean you’ll stop getting thoughtful, heartfelt, seasonal content.It does mean that I’m choosing to let things breathe.It does mean that I’m putting my values into practice, even when it’s a bit uncomfortable.It does mean that I’m honouring this season, both literally and metaphorically, and giving myself space to feel it fully.And maybe, it’s an invitation for you too.Slowing Down With MeI think so many of us are tired of being told to go faster. To do more. To produce, perform, and push through no matter the cost. But the cost is real, isn’t it? Exhaustion. Disconnection. That foggy, always on feeling that leaves us wondering when life will actually feel like ours again.Slowness is not the enemy of success.It’s the soil from which meaningful, sustainable, joy filled lives grow.So this summer, I’m giving myself permission to rest more. To be outside more. To put my feet in the grass and my face in the sun. To write when inspiration strikes, not because there’s a deadline looming. To read books that aren’t “productive.” To eat tomatoes warm from the vine on my balcony. To notice. To live.Maybe you’re craving that too.So here’s your permission, if you need one.To listen to fewer things.To unsubscribe from urgency.To let some things be undone.To say, “That can wait.”Because here’s the truth: the world will keep spinning whether you respond to that email or not. And in the meantime? There’s a whole summer waiting for you. Sunlight through trees. Sand between your toes. Cold drinks, warm friends, long dinners that stretch lazily into the evening. A slower, simpler, softer version of life that’s not just possible but available, right now, if we let it be.What You Can Expect (And a Few Teasers)On the podcast: A new episode every other week, filled with the same thoughtful, grounded reflections you’ve come to expectvjust delivered at a slower, more nourishing pace. I’m actually excited to go deeper, not wider, with the stories I share.Here on Substack: I’ll still be writing regularly. Some longer essays, some short seasonal notes, and maybe the occasional behind-the-scenes of what slow living actually looks like with a home-educating household and a second-floor balcony garden.And behind the scenes? I’m dreaming into future offerings that support slow, small-space living, slow business, and the ongoing unraveling of hustle culture.But for now… I’m sinking into the slowness.And I hope you will too.P.S. If you’ve been feeling the itch to slow down but needed someone to go first, consider this your sign. I’m with you. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

When I look around online all I ever see is the traditional depiction of a homestead. People living in the countryside, surrounded by fields, with their own land, maybe some chickens and ample space to grow and live.But let’s be honest, that isn’t the reality for most of us, and the thing is I used to think that was my dream too. Until I actually refocused my vision and focused on where I am at right now. It was then that I realised I have everything I want, that the other influences weren’t actually what I was desiring, and I found so much love and joy in what I already have.When I scroll through my feed or browse the internet, it feels like everywhere I look, I see the same picture-perfect vision of homesteading: people living in the countryside, surrounded by acres of land, fields stretching out as far as the eye can see, chickens clucking happily in the yard, and rows upon rows of produce growing in neat little garden beds. The dream is often painted in soft, idyllic tones, filled with the promise of self-sufficiency, rustic charm, and an idyllic, peaceful life.For a long time, I thought that was my dream too. I imagined the quiet mornings on the porch, the scent of fresh bread, the satisfaction of growing everything I need, and a life deeply rooted in nature. It felt right, like the life I was supposed to live.But here’s the thing: that dream wasn’t my dream at all.Let me explain.The Reality of "Homesteading"I’ve spent a lot of time romanticising the life of a traditional homesteader, imagining myself surrounded by wide open spaces. But in reality, I live in a small, 650 sq. ft. home in a city, with limited space. I don’t have acres of land to grow fruit and veggies. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Actually, more than okay,I’m thriving.You see, there’s something about being constantly exposed to these “ideal” depictions that makes you think they’re the only way. You start believing that unless you have a sprawling farm, you’re somehow missing out, that your life isn’t complete. But what I realised is that the traditional homesteading life isn’t the only path to living simply and intentionally.Refocusing My VisionI had to take a step back. I stopped comparing myself to the “ideal homesteading” narrative and took a good hard look at my own life. And when I did, I saw something different: I have everything I need right where I am.It wasn’t the land or the chickens that I was truly longing (definitely not the chickens, they definitely aren’t for me) for. It was the connection to nature, the rhythm of the seasons, and the joy of slowing down and living intentionally. I wanted a life that was simple, but I realised that simple doesn't have to mean “country living” or a traditional homestead.A Radical Realisation: I Didn’t Want Land (or Chickens)And here’s the part that might raise a few eyebrows in the homesteading world: I didn't want land. I didn’t want a huge garden to tend to, and I definitely didn’t want chickens.Yes, I know. Radical, right? In a world where homesteading is often synonymous with raising animals and owning large property, saying that you don’t want these things can feel like an unpopular opinion. But the truth is, I’ve found that you can live a homesteading inspired life, rooted in simplicity, even if your reality doesn’t match the traditional vision.Finding Joy in What I HaveLiving in a small space, with a modest balcony garden, and a focus on creating a slower, more intentional life has brought me so much joy. I still have my own little corner to grow herbs and vegetables, I make things from scratch, and I’ve learned to embrace the natural rhythms of the seasons, even within my limited space. This is the homesteading lifestyle I’ve come to love: one that’s flexible and real, where it’s not about achieving some perfect image, but about finding joy in the here and now.In truth, I’ve found that the slow, simple, and seasonal life is much more about the mindset and choices we make than the property we own or the animals we raise. It’s about prioritising what matters to us, wherever we are. It’s about living in alignment with nature, rather than striving to match an ideal.Embracing the JourneySo, here I am, living a life that’s far from the traditional homesteading fantasy, and I’m grateful. I’ve learned that the dream doesn’t have to be the same for everyone. We can all create our own versions of what a slow, simple life looks like — no matter how big or small our space is.If you find yourself feeling like you don’t fit the “traditional” homesteading mould, I want to encourage you: You don’t have to. There’s beauty in whatever you’re doing right now, and it’s okay to let go of someone else’s idea of the perfect life. You can create your own, and it will be just as fulfilling. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

If you had asked me a few years ago what my secret to success was, I’d have told you, hands down, that it was productivity. I was obsessed. I mean, who wasn’t? The hustle culture was in full swing, and I bought into it whole heartedly. If I wasn’t ticking things off my to do list, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough, like I wasn’t good enough. Every moment of my day was crammed with tasks, plans, and deadlines. My life was a race, and I was determined to keep running.But here’s the thing: I wasn’t winning the race. In fact, I was burning out. And I was missing out on something I didn’t even realise I had lost – peace.Let’s slow down and journey together through the seasons with simplicity and intention. Subscribe to receive simple musings directly in your inbox. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

In today’s fast-paced world, it’s easy to feel disconnected from the natural rhythms that have guided humanity for centuries. With artificial lighting, technology, and a never-ending stream of tasks, we’ve lost touch with the cycles of nature, the changing seasons, the ebb and flow of life that comes with each shift in the weather.Join me for Show Notes & more:Join me on SubstackJoin me on Instagram This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe

A fair few years ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I’d made a vow to slow down, to simplify, to live intentionally. I was going to build this beautiful, peaceful life where every moment was carefully curated, where every meal was from scratch, every chore was perfectly executed, and every season was embraced in its full, slow living glory.Sounds dreamy, right?But here’s the kicker: trying to create the perfect slow life made me feel anything but slow.It was like I was chasing this ideal, this perfect picture of a slow life that I’d seen on Pinterest and Instagram, thinking that I could somehow embody it in my own life. I wanted to cultivate this utopia of peace, simplicity, and balance. But as much as I tried, the more I was running after this vision, the more stressed I felt.The perfection I was striving for was becoming my own enemy.It wasn’t until I let go of this idea of a perfect slow life that I began to feel the true magic of slowing down. And here’s why…Join me for Show Notes & more:Join me on SubstackJoin me on Instagram This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit theslowlivingcollective.substack.com/subscribe