Our Little Friday Letter | Friday, 13th March, 2026

Happy Friday, friends.

Welcome back to our little fortnightly pause together.

If you’ve been here for a while, you know the rhythm by now — a cup of coffee, a few minutes of quiet, and a gentle check-in at the end of another couple of weeks. And if you’re new here, you’re very warmly welcome. I’m so glad you’ve joined us.

It feels strange to say this, but we’re already halfway through March. How did that happen?

The light is changing though — you can feel it now. The mornings are brighter, the evenings are stretching a little longer, and even on the duller days there’s that sense that winter is slowly loosening its grip.

It’s not quite spring in full bloom yet, but it’s definitely on the way.

From Our Little House in the Country

The past couple of weeks have had that lovely early-spring energy about them.

We’ve had a few bright sunny days where it suddenly felt possible to get back outside again. My husband and I filled a giant skip clearing out bits and pieces that had been gathering around the garden and garage — old building materials, forgotten odds and ends, all those things that somehow accumulate over time.

It’s funny how you assume everything stops growing over winter, and then you walk around the garden and realise the brambles have quietly taken over entire corners. Hedges need cutting back. Beds need tidying. It was like the garden had been waiting patiently for someone to notice it again.

We even managed the first grass cut of the year, which felt like a proper milestone after such a wet winter.

Of course, as I’m writing this now, we’re under a rain and wind warning. It’s just after 9am and it’s so dark outside you’d swear it was still early morning. The wind is howling and the rain is lashing against the windows.

Not exactly gardening weather.

I’ll be heading down shortly to look after little Miss Pony, which I’m not exactly thrilled about in this weather, but needs must.

On a much brighter note, I’ve started my little reformer Pilates adventure — and I’m absolutely loving it.

I’ve done four classes now, and it’s honestly been such a lovely addition to my week. The studio is only five minutes away, so I can pop up, do the class, and be home again within the hour. During the class I’m usually thinking, “this isn’t too bad”… but the next day I definitely know I’ve been working muscles I didn’t know existed.

It’s not the cheapest activity in the world, but at the moment it’s the only thing I’m doing for myself like that, and it feels like money well spent.

We’ve also had a bit of work done around the house recently. A beautiful banquette bench has been built into the kitchen with panelling behind it, and a gorgeous new desk has been fitted into my daughter’s bedroom so she has a proper space for studying.

Of course, whenever work is done in a house the place ends up absolutely covered in dust and sawdust. Floors, windows, everything. So I have a bit of a clean-up project on my hands over the next few days.

But it’s the good kind of chaos — the kind that means things are slowly coming together.

This weekend is also Mother’s Day here in Ireland and the UK, and with St Patrick’s Day on Tuesday it makes for a slightly unusual few days ahead. One child has a four-day weekend, the other doesn’t, but either way we have no big plans.

And after the past few busy weekends of horse shows, early mornings and long drives, staying home actually sounds perfect.

Sometimes a quiet weekend is exactly what’s needed.

Theme of the Fortnight: The Quiet Work of Showing Up

This morning, if I’m very honest, I nearly didn’t write this newsletter.

I was tired. The rain was lashing against the windows. It was dark outside even though the day had technically begun hours earlier. And I just wasn’t really feeling it.

You know those mornings.

There was nothing particularly wrong. I wasn’t overwhelmed or unwell. Just tired. A little unmotivated. The kind of mood where everything feels slightly heavier than usual.

And for a moment I thought, Ah sure, I’ll leave it. Nobody will notice.

But the truth is, I would have noticed.

Because sometimes the quiet work of life is simply showing up — even when we’re not especially inspired to do so.

Not in that “power through at all costs” way. I’ve never believed in that. Rest is important. Pausing is important. Listening to ourselves is important too.

But sometimes it isn’t about needing rest.

Sometimes it’s just about needing to begin.

I talk to my kids about this a lot as well. We can avoid things for all the wrong reasons — because we’re worried, or because we’re dreading them, or simply because they feel inconvenient in the moment.

And yet very often the only way through something is simply to do it.

I’ve noticed over the years that when I’m stressed about something, or putting something off, two things are almost always true.

First — it’s rarely as bad as I imagine it will be.

And second — once I actually begin, it’s usually over far quicker than I expected.

All that energy spent worrying or complaining about it often takes far more effort than the thing itself ever would have.

Sometimes showing up — even when you don’t feel like it — quietly proves something to yourself.

It reminds you that you’re capable.

That the thing you were dreading is manageable.

That the resistance in your mind was often the hardest part.

But I think it has a wider impact than that too.

When we show up in small ways — for the ordinary tasks, the responsibilities, the commitments we’ve made — we build a kind of quiet trust with ourselves.

Not perfection.

Not relentless productivity.

Just a steady sense that we can rely on ourselves to do the things that matter.

And sometimes that’s more powerful than motivation ever could be.

On the Blog Lately

The past couple of weeks on the blog have been a mixture of deeper reflections and gentle seasonal inspiration — which feels about right for this time of year.

Earlier this month, I published a five-part midlife reflection series that had been quietly forming in my mind for quite some time. It’s a more personal collection of essays exploring identity, loneliness, resilience, and clarity in this stage of life — not as advice or instruction, but simply as honest reflections on what this season can feel like.

The series includes:

When the “By Now” Story Unravels: When Life Doesn’t Follow the Original Plan

A reflection on that moment in midlife when life doesn’t look the way we once expected. This piece explores the quiet grief, identity shifts, and recalibration that can happen when the life you imagined and the life you’re living begin to diverge.

The Unseen Years: When Being Needed Isn’t the Same as Being Known

An exploration of the subtle loneliness that can sometimes appear in midlife — when life is full of responsibilities and people, yet there isn’t always space to be fully seen or known beyond the roles we carry.

The Hidden Cost of Holding It Together

A look at the quiet emotional labour so many women carry — being the steady one, the organiser, the problem-solver — and the unseen cost that can come from always being the person who keeps everything running smoothly.

Still Becoming: Why Midlife Is Not the End of the Story

A hopeful reminder that midlife is not a closing chapter, but a transition. Even now, we are still evolving, still growing, still discovering new parts of ourselves.

Midlife Clarity: Choosing Deliberately, Living Intentionally

The final essay in the series reflects on the clarity that often arrives with age — the ability to choose more carefully how we spend our time, energy, and attention, and to live with greater intention.

Alongside those reflections, I’ve also been sharing some lighter seasonal pieces as we move slowly into spring:

15 Things I’m Letting Go of This Spring

A gentle invitation to release small habits, expectations, and mental clutter as the seasons begin to shift.

Slow & Simple Spring Activities

Thirty calm, low-pressure ideas for welcoming spring — from nature walks to simple creative projects — designed to help you notice the season rather than rush through it.

Slow Spring Mornings: Creating a Seasonal Morning Rhythm

A look at how spring mornings can become small rituals of calm — opening windows, stepping outside, and allowing the day to begin more gently.

The Art of Welcoming Spring: Seasonal Shifts That Change How a Home Feels

A reflection on the small changes that help a home move from winter into spring — fresh air, lighter spaces, and the quiet feeling of renewal that comes with a new season.

Elsewhere from Our Little House

If you enjoy little snippets of everyday life in between newsletters, you’ll usually find me over on Instagram.

Over there this week I’ve been sharing a few small reflections and updates from around the house — including 15 Things I’m Letting Go of This Spring, a gentle look at the habits, expectations and mental clutter I’m choosing to release as the seasons shift.

I also shared a carousel about 10 things I do when I want a slow and steady day, along with a few little life updates — including my ongoing reformer Pilates adventure, which I’m still very much enjoying.

And of course, we’ve been continuing with the daily March prompts, which many of you have been following along with as we ease our way into the new season.

If you’d like to join those daily check-ins, you’ll find me there as @ourlittlehouseinthecountry.

The Seasonal Notes podcast has also returned with two new episodes since our last newsletter.

Season 2 opened with:

The Return of Light

A reflection on the moment when the “by now” story of life quietly unravels — and how that can become the beginning of something new.

And the second episode explores:

The Unseen Years: When Being Needed Isn’t the Same as Being Known

A gentle conversation about midlife loneliness, identity, and the emotional landscape many women quietly navigate during these years.

If you prefer listening to reading, you can find Seasonal Notes on:

• Substack

• Spotify

• Apple Podcasts

• Or directly on the blog

I’ll link to the podcast page here if you’d like to explore the episodes.

And if you enjoy slow-living inspiration boards and seasonal ideas, you’ll also find Our Little House in the Country over on Pinterest, where I save and share things that reflect the rhythms of the seasons.

And of course, everything always comes back to the blog at ourlittlehouseinthecountry.com, where all posts, printables, and podcast episodes live together.

Here’s where else you can find me:

📷 Instagram
📝 Substack
📌 Pinterest
🏡 Blog

Stay in Touch

If you ever feel like reaching out, please do.

I’d genuinely love to hear from you — whether it’s a thought sparked by something you’ve read here, a theme you’d like me to explore, or an idea for a future blog post, podcast episode, or printable. If there are writers, creators, books, or small joys you think I might enjoy and could be a good fit for the What I’ve Been Loving Lately section, I’m always happy to take a look.

This little letter is very much a two-way conversation. If something here resonates, if you have a thought to share, or if there’s something you’d love to see in a future newsletter, blog post, or printable, I’d really love to hear from you.

You can simply reply directly to this email, send a message via the contact form on the blog, email me at hello@ourlittlehouseinthecountry.com, or say hello over on Instagram — whatever feels easiest.

You can reach me any time by:

📩 Filling out the contact form
✉️ Emailing me at hello@ourlittlehouseinthecountry.com
💬 Sending a DM over on Instagram

Comments on the blog or Instagram are always welcome too. I read every single one.

Thank you, as always, for being here and for taking the time to read along.

Until Next Time

And that’s everything from our little house for this fortnight.

Thank you, as always, for taking a few quiet minutes to read along. I know inboxes are busy places, and it means more than I can say that you choose to open this little letter and spend some time here.

As we move further into March, I hope the days ahead bring a few signs of spring your way — a little more light in the evenings, some fresh air through open windows, and perhaps even a moment or two of calm in the middle of busy days.

We’ll meet here again in two weeks.

Until then, take gentle care of yourself, and I’ll see you soon.

Ciara 🤍