I grew up believing that rest had to be earned. For me, there was a magic number: 38.4 — sick enough to be allowed to stop, but not too sick to enjoy being cared for. Years later, I can see this pattern clearly in myself and in my coaching work:
so many of us learned to rest only when our bodies, minds, or lives force us to.
Chaos has been my lifelong companion. Growing up undiagnosed neurodivergent, I learned to survive by organising the mess — inside and out. But what happens when sorting is no longer the answer?
In this reflective piece, I explore chaos, creativity, coaching, and what it means to end a year without rushing to fix or define what comes next.
She let her body move with the fast rhythm, responding in small ways to the movements of the people around her. A back arched forward and arms moving like around a fire; quick jumps and fast leg movements; arms moving in curves and circles; she exchanged smiling glances with the dancers, letting her body dissolve and forget its form. She could see lines of light extending from each palm and foot. The lines were connecting between the dancers, coming in and out, moving and twisting, colour shifting and changing. They were all connected, and together they were making a beautiful vision of remembrance. This is what she came here for.
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