In Full Bloom.

Today was one of those days. The kind where even getting out of bed feels like a heroic feat. I lay there, tucked beneath my blanket, the world feeling distant, and my to-do list whispering at me from a corner I refused to face. I’d held my wee for so long it was beginning to feel like a metaphor for all the things I was holding in—discomfort, frustration, pressure, hope. And yet, there was also peace. A strange, stubborn kind of peace in admitting that today, I simply didn’t want to try.

And still, here I am—writing. Reflecting. Being.

As the first quarter of the year wraps up, I’ve been thinking about the goals I set back in January. Big, hopeful, heart-filled goals. I’ve achieved about a quarter of them, and that might sound like a small percentage—but for where I’ve come from, it feels like power. Because this time, I’m not giving up. I’m not disappearing. I’m still here, still rising.

One of those goals was passing my theory driving test. Spoiler alert: I failed. It cost me £23 and a bruised ego. But here’s the truth—I hadn’t even started driving lessons. I’d hoped I could just study online and wing it. Life, in its gracious way, laughed gently and handed me a reality check. And honestly, I’m grateful. Sometimes failure is just feedback with a little bite. Now I know better. Now I prepare better.

But where I’ve truly bloomed lately is in my writing. I made a promise to myself: to be bold, raw, honest—to write what I feel, especially the hard things. To not bottle it up. And that promise is changing me. Since January, my main blog has grown from just six subscribers to sixty. Sixty people who choose to read my words, who find something of themselves in what I share. That’s magic to me. That’s connection. That’s purpose.

And I didn’t stop there. Eleven days ago, I launched a second blog. A different vibe, a different voice, but still mine. That one already has 89 subscribers. Alongside it, I started a podcast called Things I Wish I Said, under a series I call Confession Fridays. It's vulnerable. It's intimate. It's me, finally speaking the things I used to swallow. The things that deserve air and light.

Then there’s the job hunt. I thought by now I’d be settled into something new. Something fulfilling. But instead, I’m still searching, still applying, still hoping. I’ve been intentional—webinars, seminars, appointments with the National Careers Service (who, by the way, are genuinely helpful), and lots of prayer. I’m not willing to settle. I know what I want. And I believe—deep in my bones—that the right opportunity will find me as long as I keep showing up. I’m putting myself in position. That’s what matters.

As for love... that’s a trickier bloom. I dipped my toes into the dating world again—just four days on an app. It was flattering, sure. Messages, good morning texts, attention. But something in me recoiled. I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. Not for someone else's time, energy, expectations. Right now, I’m still learning how to give those things to myself fully. Maybe summer will shift something. Maybe not. Either way, I’m at peace with where I am.

Because here’s the truth of it all: I’m becoming better. More stable. More honest with myself. And while some days it feels like I’m jogging on the spot—breathless but unmoved—I know that’s a lie my mind tells when it forgets how far I’ve come. I am moving. Slowly. Steadily. Brutally, yes. But beautifully too.

We don’t always get to choose the pace of our progress, but we do get to choose to keep going. To show up. To believe that our bloom is not delayed, just different. Measured. Rooted. Real.

So if you’re feeling stuck, if you're still in bed, if your tea’s gone cold beside you and your motivation is hiding in a sock drawer somewhere—be gentle with yourself. The flower doesn’t rush to open. The sun takes its time rising. And you, too, are unfolding in your own time.

This is my bloom season. And even on the hard days, I know—I am still becoming.