Avani Amore, Sunshine Coast (2026)

30/10/2026

𝗜𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗲'𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲?

I've been thinking about this lately.

From the time we're little girls, many of us are encouraged to be kind, helpful, considerate and polite.

To share, compromise and think about other people's feelings.

To be good girls. Not selfish, demanding or difficult.

And of course, kindness and consideration are beautiful qualities.

But I wonder how often we were also taught that our own needs, feelings and desires mattered just as much.

Were we encouraged to say no without feeling guilty?

To disagree without worrying about upsetting someone?

To express what we wanted, even when it was different from what everyone else wanted?

Or to make choices simply because they felt right for us?

I suspect many of us weren't.

Instead, we gradually learned that being loving meant being accommodating.

We became very good at anticipating other people's needs, adjusting our plans, smoothing over disagreements and keeping everyone comfortable.

And somewhere along the way, we became so accustomed to considering everyone else that we forgot to consider ourselves.

The interesting thing is that we often don't even recognise this as a pattern.

We simply think we're easygoing, flexible, caring women who don't mind going along with what others want.

I know I did.

For much of my life, I genuinely believed that being loving meant being accommodating.

I rarely questioned it because it felt so natural.

It was only when I began my own journey of returning to myself that I realised how often I'd been leaving myself out of my own decisions.

Not necessarily because anyone expected me to.

But because I'd learned to do it automatically.

And I think that's what makes self-abandonment so difficult to recognise.

It doesn't always look like sacrificing yourself.

Sometimes it looks like being a wonderful partner, mother, daughter or friend.

Sometimes it looks like being the woman everyone can rely on.

Until one day, you realise you know exactly what everyone else wants, but you're no longer quite sure what you want yourself.

And perhaps the most important thing I've come to understand is that we don't have to stop being loving, kind or considerate to change this.

We simply need to remember that our own needs, preferences and desires deserve just as much consideration as anyone else's.

We can be kind without always agreeing.

Generous without always giving.

Loving without always accommodating.

And deeply connected to others without losing ourselves in those connections.

Because being a loving woman was never meant to require leaving yourself out of your own life. ❤️

21/10/2026

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻. 🌸

I've been noticing something interesting about my own journey of returning to myself.

For so many years, I made choices without really recognising that I was making them.

I'd automatically consider what someone else wanted before thinking about what I might prefer.

I'd agree to things because it seemed easier.

I'd adjust my plans, accommodate someone else's wishes or simply go along with what was happening.

And most of the time, I didn't question it.

I thought I was just being loving, considerate and easygoing.

And sometimes I genuinely was.

But I've come to realise that there's a difference between choosing to do something for someone because you want to, and doing it automatically because you've become so accustomed to putting yourself second.

Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped including myself in many of my everyday decisions.

What's surprised me is how this pattern shows up in the smallest things.

What shall we have for dinner?

What would I like to do today?

Do I actually want to go along with this plan?

Am I doing this because it brings me pleasure, or because I feel I should?

They're such ordinary questions.

But when you've spent much of your life thinking about everyone else's needs and preferences, remembering to ask yourself what *you* want can feel quite unfamiliar.

These days, I'm learning to pause.

Not to question every little decision or make life complicated.

Simply to notice whether I'm choosing consciously or responding out of habit.

And sometimes, after checking in with myself, I make exactly the same choice I would have made before.

The difference is that now I'm choosing it because it feels right for me.

I'm no longer leaving myself out of the decision.

And there's something quietly freeing about that.

I'm discovering that returning to yourself doesn't necessarily mean changing your whole life.

Sometimes it means bringing more of yourself into the life you're already living.

Your preferences.

Your enjoyment.

Your own sense of what feels right.

Perhaps that's where so much of our freedom begins.

Not with the big, life-changing decisions.

But with those little moments when we pause and remember...

My choices matter too.❤️

18/10/2026

𝗣𝗲𝗿𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺.

For much of my life, I don't think I really understood that those two things could exist together.

Somewhere along the way, I'd come to believe that loving someone meant adjusting myself around them.

Considering what they wanted before deciding what I wanted.

Changing my plans to accommodate theirs.

Sometimes putting my own preferences aside because it seemed easier, kinder or more loving.

And the thing is, I wasn't consciously choosing to do this.

It had simply become my way of being in relationships.

I thought being loving meant being accommodating.

And of course, relationships involve compromise, consideration and caring for one another.

But I've come to understand something important.

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

For years, I think I confused togetherness with needing to want the same things, enjoy the same experiences and make decisions around what worked best for us.

Sometimes without even stopping to consider what worked for me.

And little by little, my own preferences, desires and dreams became quieter.

Not because anyone was taking them away.

But because I wasn't always giving them a place.

Lately, something has been changing.

I'm discovering that I can love someone deeply and still have my own interests.

My own dreams.

My own preferences.

My own way of doing things.

I can enjoy sharing experiences without needing us to enjoy everything together.

I can choose something that feels right for me while allowing someone else the freedom to choose differently.

And I'm discovering that this doesn't have to create distance between us.

Quite the opposite, really.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺 𝗜 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗜 𝗮𝗺, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘂𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀.

There's less obligation.

Less automatically adjusting.

Less feeling that I need permission.

And more of a sense that I'm bringing my whole self into my relationships.

Not just the version of me I think someone else might need.

I used to think freedom meant being independent.

But now I'm beginning to see it differently.

Perhaps real freedom is being able to belong to yourself while still sharing your life with the people you love.

To have closeness and individuality.

Connection and space.

Love and the freedom to be fully yourself.

And what I find so encouraging is that we don't necessarily have to change our entire lives or our relationships to experience this.

Sometimes we simply need to begin including ourselves in the life we've already created.

Our needs.

Our dreams.

Our preferences.

Our happiness.

Because love becomes something quite beautiful when there's room for both people to be themselves. 🌿❤️

16/10/2026

**𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝘁.**

This is something I've been coming to understand more deeply lately.

For much of my life, whenever someone I loved was struggling, unhappy, frustrated or disappointed, I felt an almost immediate need to do something about it.

Find a solution.

Offer advice.

Make things easier.

Help them feel better.

Sometimes I'd even change what I was doing or put my own needs aside because I found it difficult to see someone else uncomfortable.

I genuinely believed this was what being loving and supportive meant.

And of course, there's nothing wrong with wanting to help the people we love.

But something has become much clearer to me.

**There's a difference between caring about what someone is experiencing and feeling responsible for changing it.**

When I feel responsible, their unhappiness becomes something I need to fix.

Their disappointment becomes something I need to prevent.

Their frustration becomes something I need to soothe.

And before I know it, I'm carrying feelings and responsibilities that aren't really mine to carry.

I'm beginning to recognise just how exhausting that old way of being could be.

Not because I didn't want to help.

But because somewhere along the way, I'd come to believe that loving someone meant making sure they were okay.

And if they weren't okay, perhaps I wasn't doing enough.

Lately, I've been discovering a different way of loving and supporting the people in my life.

I can listen without needing to find a solution.

I can acknowledge that someone is having a difficult time without immediately trying to make it better.

I can be compassionate without taking on their emotions.

And I can allow someone to feel disappointed or frustrated without automatically believing I need to do something about it.

But perhaps the biggest shift has been this.

**I'm learning to trust that the people I love have their own capacity to find their way.**

They have their own feelings to experience.

Their own choices to make.

Their own challenges to navigate.

Their own lessons to learn.

And sometimes, when we rush in to make everything better, we may unintentionally take over something that belongs to their journey, not ours.

I've been thinking about how easily we can confuse love with responsibility.

How we can believe that if we're not fixing, helping or making things easier, we're somehow letting someone down.

But I'm beginning to understand that allowing someone to have their own experience isn't a withdrawal of love.

Sometimes it's a deeper expression of it.

It's saying, in a way:

*I love you.*

*I'm here beside you.*

*And I trust you to find your own way.*

There's something quite freeing in that.

For them, because they have the space to experience their own life.

And for me, because I no longer have to make their happiness or wellbeing the measure of whether I'm being loving enough.

It doesn't mean I stop helping.

It means I can offer help because I genuinely want to, rather than because I feel responsible for making everything okay.

And I'm discovering that this creates a different kind of connection.

One where we can care deeply for each other without losing ourselves in each other's experiences.

Where love doesn't have to mean carrying everything.

Where we can support one another while still honouring our individual journeys.

**Perhaps one of the most loving things we can do is walk beside someone without believing we have to walk their path for them.**

To love them.

To support them when we can.

To trust their capacity to grow.

And to remember that we each have our own life to live. 🌿❤️

14/10/2026

**𝗜’𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗜 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳.**

For most of my life, I was really good at noticing how other people were feeling.

I could sense when someone was unhappy.

When something was bothering them.

When they were disappointed, frustrated or needed something.

And often, before I'd even stopped to think about how I was feeling, I was already wondering what I could do to make things better.

It became such a natural part of who I was that I never really questioned it.

I thought I was simply being caring, considerate and attentive.

And I was.

But there's something I've only really begun to understand more deeply.

**I'd become so used to paying attention to everyone else that I'd almost forgotten to pay attention to myself.**

What did I actually want?

How was I feeling?

What did I need?

What would I choose if I wasn't already thinking about how someone else might feel about it?

Those questions rarely came first.

Sometimes they didn't come at all.

And I think this is one of the ways we can slowly lose touch with ourselves.

Not through one big decision.

But through years of automatically looking outward before looking inward.

Of noticing everyone else's needs before our own.

Of feeling responsible for making sure everyone around us was okay.

And eventually, it becomes so familiar that we don't even realise we're doing it.

Lately, I've been practising something different.

Before I automatically respond to someone else's mood or needs, I'm learning to check in with myself.

How am I feeling right now?

Is there actually something I need to do here?

Am I responding because I genuinely want to, or because I feel uncomfortable leaving things as they are?

Sometimes I still feel that familiar urge to make everything okay.

But I'm beginning to understand that just because I notice how someone else is feeling doesn't mean I have to take responsibility for changing it.

I can care without immediately doing something.

I can listen without needing to fix.

I can consider someone else's needs without automatically putting my own last.

And what I'm discovering is rather lovely.

The more I check in with myself, the more clearly I can hear my own voice.

I'm noticing preferences I hadn't really paid attention to.

Things I genuinely enjoy.

Things I want to do differently.

And little by little, I'm beginning to trust my own choices more.

Perhaps returning to ourselves isn't always about making enormous changes or discovering some completely new version of who we are.

**Sometimes it simply begins with giving ourselves the same attention, care and consideration we've spent years giving everyone else.**

And remembering that how we feel, what we need and what we want matters too. 🌿❤️

09/10/2026

𝗜’𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 “𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳” 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲.

For a long time, I think I imagined choosing yourself meant the bigger things.
Setting boundaries.
Saying no.
Making a difficult decision.
Walking away from something that no longer felt right.
And sometimes it does.
But lately I’m discovering that choosing myself happens far more often in the ordinary moments of my day.
Even something as simple as food has shown me this.
I’ve started making lunch each day because I realised I actually enjoy stopping, taking a break and making something that nourishes me.
And at dinner, Keith chooses the protein he wants and I make the vegetables and other things I enjoy.
It probably sounds like such a small thing.
But for me, something has changed in those little decisions.
I’m no longer waiting for someone else to decide what we should eat.
I’m no longer automatically organising myself around what someone else might want.
I’m beginning to ask myself:
What would feel good for me?
What would nourish me?
What would give me life?
And that last question has become a bit of a compass for me lately.
Does this give me life — or does it take life from me?
Not just with the big decisions.
With the little ones too.
How I spend my time.
What I eat.
Who I spend time with.
What I say yes to.
What I say no to.
What I keep doing because I’ve always done it.
And what I might be ready to do differently.
I’m also discovering that I can often feel the answer before I can explain it.
Some choices feel contracting.
Others feel expansive.
Lighter.
More alive.
More like me.
And perhaps this is what choosing ourselves really looks like.
It doesn’t have to mean putting ourselves ahead of everyone else.
It doesn’t mean becoming selfish.
And it certainly doesn’t mean we have to turn our lives upside down.
Sometimes it simply means including ourselves in our own lives again.
Noticing what nourishes us.
What energises us.
What makes us curious.
What brings us joy.
What makes us feel alive.
And then, little by little, choosing more of it.
Because our lives aren’t only shaped by the enormous decisions we make.
They’re shaped by hundreds of ordinary choices every day.
And I’m beginning to think that when more of those choices genuinely feel like our own...
our life begins to feel more like ours. 🌿

08/10/2026

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲.

I’ve been noticing this in myself lately.
For years, if someone was unhappy, disappointed or frustrated, I could feel an almost immediate pull to do something about it.
Fix it.
Explain myself.
Change my plans.
Adjust what I was doing.
Find some way to make everything feel okay again.
And because that response became so familiar, when I didn’t do those things, the discomfort I felt could easily make me wonder whether I was doing something wrong.
But I’m beginning to see that discomfort differently.
Sometimes it isn’t telling me I’ve made the wrong choice.
Sometimes it’s simply the feeling of not following an old pattern.
I can make a choice that feels right for me and still feel uncomfortable when someone else doesn’t like it.
I can say no and still feel the urge to explain myself.
I can allow someone to be disappointed and still feel that familiar pull to make things better.
I can choose what I need and still notice the tension that arises in my body.
The difference now is that I’m learning I don’t have to automatically respond to it.
I can notice the discomfort.
Allow it to be there.
And stay with myself anyway.
That has been quite a revelation for me.
Because I’m beginning to understand that if every uncomfortable feeling sends me straight back to pleasing, fixing or adjusting, then the old pattern is still making the choice for me.
Perhaps part of changing an old way of being is simply allowing ourselves to experience something different long enough for it to become more familiar.
Not pushing the feeling away.
Not pretending it isn’t there.
Just recognising:
This feels uncomfortable because it’s different.
That doesn’t automatically mean it’s wrong.
And perhaps this is another part of returning to ourselves.
Sometimes we have to become comfortable with a little discomfort.
We have to allow someone else to have their feelings without immediately making them ours to fix.
We have to trust that we can stay connected to the people we love without leaving ourselves behind.
And each time I do that, I feel something beginning to change.
A little more space.
A little more trust in myself.
And a little more freedom to make the choices that actually feel like mine. 🌿

07/10/2026

𝗜 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱.
For me, it was rarely something dramatic.
It happened in very ordinary moments.
Adjusting my plans to suit someone else.
Feeling responsible for whether someone was happy.
Changing the way I did something to keep the peace.
Feeling that familiar urge to fix things when someone else was upset or frustrated.
So many of these responses had become automatic over the years that I didn’t even recognise them as leaving myself.
But lately, I’ve started noticing something.
I’m becoming aware of the moment before I automatically respond.
I notice the pattern.
I notice the urge to fix.
I notice the tightness in my body when something triggers that familiar response.
And in that little space, I’m discovering that I have a choice.
I can follow the old pattern.
Or I can stay with myself.
Sometimes returning to myself means allowing someone else to feel what they feel without believing I have to change it.
Sometimes it means keeping the plans I’d already made.
Sometimes it means doing something in the way that feels right for me, even if someone else would do it differently.
And sometimes it’s simply noticing the discomfort in my body and not allowing that discomfort to make the decision for me.
These are such small moments.
From the outside, they probably wouldn’t look significant at all.
But inside me, they feel enormous.
Because each time I choose not to leave myself, I’m practising something different.
Instead of automatically pleasing, fixing, adjusting or keeping the peace, I’m learning to notice what’s happening, stay with myself, and choose from there.
I’m beginning to rewire an old way of being.
Perhaps this is how a new way of being gradually becomes familiar.
Not through one enormous change, but through hundreds of small experiences of choosing differently.
And what I’m discovering is that returning to myself feels completely different from those old patterns.
It feels expansive.
It feels freeing.
It feels alive.
There’s a sense of meaning in it that I hadn’t expected.
I used to think changing your life happened through the big decisions — leaving something, beginning something, moving somewhere, choosing a completely different direction.
Now I think some of the deepest change happens much more quietly.
In those ordinary moments when the old pattern appears...
and instead of leaving yourself again,
you stay. 🌿
Perhaps that’s what returning to ourselves really looks like.
Not one enormous journey home.
But choosing, little by little, not to leave ourselves anymore. ❤️

02/10/2026

𝗜’𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗲.

For a long time, I think I imagined I would feel peaceful when everything around me was peaceful.

When there was nothing to worry about.

When the people I loved were okay.

When my body felt good.

When there were no difficult decisions to make.

When the world felt a little less uncertain.

But lately I’ve realised that's a lot of things outside my control.

And if I wait for everything to be okay before allowing myself to feel peaceful, I could spend a very long time waiting.

So I'm beginning to look at peace differently.

Maybe peace isn't the absence of difficult things.

Maybe it's something we create in little moments throughout an ordinary day.

A walk.

Qigong.

Music.

Self-hypnosis.

Sitting somewhere beautiful.

Having a cup of tea without reaching for my phone.

Looking at the ocean.

Or simply doing nothing for a little while.

Moments when I'm not fixing, anticipating, consuming or responding.

Moments when nothing is required of me.

I've realised how much I need those moments.

And perhaps this is another part of returning to myself.

I'm no longer waiting for the outside world to give me permission to feel peaceful.

I'm learning to create little pockets of peace within my own life.

Not to escape from life — but so I can be fully in my life without constantly being pulled away from myself by everything happening around me.

Maybe peace isn't somewhere we finally arrive when everything is sorted out.

Maybe it's something we practise, little by little, right in the middle of our beautifully imperfect lives.

Perhaps we don't find peace when life finally becomes quiet.

Perhaps we learn to become quiet within life. 🌿

30/09/2026

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱.

I used to think reconnecting with myself was mainly about learning to trust my intuition.

But lately I’ve been wondering if there’s something that comes before that.

Maybe we need enough quiet to actually hear it.

There are so many voices competing for our attention now.

Family. Responsibilities. Expectations. News. Social media. Experts. Other people’s needs and opinions.

And then there’s the constant conversation inside our own heads.

What should I do?

What will they think?

What if I get it wrong?

What does everyone else need from me?

Sometimes I wonder if we haven’t lost touch with our intuition at all.

Perhaps our own voice has simply become the quietest voice in the room.

When I look back at the times I’ve felt most connected to myself, there was usually more space in my life.

More quiet.

More time when I wasn’t consuming information, responding to something, analysing something or anticipating what might happen next.

So I’m consciously creating some of that space again.

More Qigong. More self-hypnosis. More music. More moments without my phone. More time simply being with myself.

Not because I’m trying to become a better version of myself.

But because I want enough stillness to recognise myself again.

To notice what I feel.

What I need.

What gives me life.

What feels true for me.

And I think this is becoming an important part of what Return to Self means to me.

Maybe we don’t always need to search harder for the answers.

Maybe sometimes we simply need to turn down everything else long enough to hear what has been there all along.

Our own voice.

And perhaps returning to ourselves begins there. 🌿

Avani Amore

30/10/2026

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