The Unexpected Gift of Taking Two Weeks Off

For the first time in over two years, I took two weeks off work.

Even writing that feels strange.

If you know me, you’ll know sitting still isn’t exactly my natural state. My brain likes projects. Ideas. Learning. Creating. Doing. I genuinely love my work and feel incredibly privileged to do what I do.

So the thought of taking two whole weeks away from it felt uncomfortable.

Really uncomfortable.

In fact, I almost didn’t.

Part of me felt guilty.

Part of me worried about clients.

Part of me felt like I should be doing something productive.

And part of me simply didn’t know what I would do with myself.

The original plan had been to go abroad.

That didn’t happen.

And if I’m honest, I’m glad it didn’t.

Because what I actually needed wasn’t distraction.

I needed space.

Space to breathe.

Space to think.

Space to feel.

Sitting With What Is

Anyone who has experienced grief will know that sometimes keeping busy becomes a survival strategy.

And sometimes that’s exactly what we need.

However sometimes, eventually, we need to stop running.

Not because we’re doing anything wrong.

Just because there are feelings quietly waiting for us.

So instead of rushing off somewhere sunny, I found myself sitting with my own life.

With my thoughts.

With my grief.

With my hopes.

With the reality of what has been one of the hardest periods of my life.

And strangely, it was exactly what I needed.

Not easy.

Not comfortable.

Yet totally needed.

It Started With Some Weeding…

Like many things in life, it started small.

A bit of weeding.

Just a few hours outside.

A chance to clear my head.

Or so I thought.

Fast forward a little and what started as pulling weeds became something much bigger.

Much deeper.

I found myself creating.

Building.

Planning.

Learning.

Growing.

Not just a garden.

Myself.

What surprised me most was how therapeutic it all felt.

No pressure.

No expectations.

No deadlines.

Just me, the dogs, the land, and whatever the day brought.

The Therapy of Growing Things

As therapists, we often talk about growth.

Healing.

Change.

The seasons of life.

But gardening has made me experience those things in an entirely different way.

You can’t rush a seed.

You can’t force a flower.

You can’t demand a rose bloom because you’re ready for it.

And for someone with ADHD who likes ideas to happen immediately, that has been quite the lesson.

Patience.

Now there’s a skill I am still working on!!

The garden doesn’t care how quickly I want something to happen.

Nature moves at its own pace.

And perhaps there’s something beautiful in that.

Because healing works in much the same way.

People don’t heal because someone tells them to.

They heal when they’re ready.

When conditions are right.

When they’ve had enough safety, support, nourishment and time.

A New Love Affair

What I didn’t expect was to completely fall in love with it.

Not perfection.

Not pristine borders.

Not magazine-worthy gardens.

The process.

The learning.

The mistakes.

The excitement of something new appearing.

The joy of seeing wildlife arrive.

The creativity.

The connection.

The peace.

I have learnt more in a few months than I ever imagined possible.

And the more I learn, the more I realise how little I know.

I think that’s true of most things worth doing.

Seven Acres of Perspective

When you have seven acres, you very quickly realise something.

It is never going to be finished.

There will always be another project.

Another idea.

Another area to improve.

Another season arriving.

And weirdly, I find that comforting.

For years, I think I unconsciously viewed life as something that would eventually be “done.”

That one day everything would be sorted.

Perfect.

Complete.

But life isn’t like that.

Neither are people.

Neither is healing.

Neither is grief.

Neither is a garden.

They’re all works in progress.

And perhaps that’s exactly how they’re meant to be.

What I Learnt

I learnt that rest isn’t laziness.

I learnt that doing nothing sometimes creates space for something important.

I learnt that grief still arrives when it wants to.

I learnt that fresh air genuinely helps.

I learnt that puppies make everything better.

I learnt that reading for hours is not time wasted.

I learnt that I still love learning as much as ever.

I learnt that creating something with my hands grounds me in a way I hadn’t fully appreciated before.

I learnt there are many ways to process feelings.

Talking is one.

Writing is one.

Walking is one.

Gardening is one too.

And perhaps most importantly, I learnt that I don’t need to have everything figured out.

A Lifetime of Learning

One of the greatest gifts this time has given me is a reminder that I don’t need to rush.

I don’t need to master everything immediately.

I don’t need to know all the answers.

I can simply stay curious.

Gardening has introduced me to an entirely new language.

Mulching.

Companion planting.

Dead hedges.

Perennials.

Pollinators.

So many things I had never even thought about before.

And I love that.

Because I hope I never stop learning.

As a therapist.

As a human.

As a daughter carrying grief.

As a wife.

As a friend.

As someone trying to navigate life the best they can.

The garden will continue to grow.

The land will continue to evolve.

The therapy space will continue to evolve alongside it.

And so will I.

Not perfectly.

Not quickly.

Just steadily.

Season by season.

Just as nature intended.

💚

Stay safe, stay connected and take gentle care.

Louise x