Our Little Friday Letter | Friday, 24 April 2026 - Our Little House in the Country

Good morning, happy Friday,

I’ve been meaning to sit down and write to you since my last letter, and I’m really glad I did.

That last email… it felt different to send.

There was a little bit of vulnerability in it, if I’m honest. But more than anything, it felt real. It felt like me.

And the response… I can’t quite put into words how much it meant.

The emails, the voice notes, the messages… people sharing their own experiences, their own “I feel like that too” moments. It reminded me of something I think we all need from time to time — that we’re not doing this alone.

So thank you. Truly.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been slowly finding my way back into a rhythm.

Not a perfect one. Not a rigid one.

Just something gentler.

Some days have felt really good — steady, calm, purposeful in a quiet sort of way.

And other days?

I’ve been tired. A bit overwhelmed. A bit stuck.

There were moments where I knew exactly what I wanted to do… and still couldn’t quite begin.

Even something as simple as Instagram — I found myself staring at it, thinking, what do I even share?

And then second-guessing it before I even started.

But I’ve started to catch that voice now.

The one that says I should be doing more. Doing it better. Doing it perfectly.

And instead, I’ve been trying something different.

Stopping.

Reminding myself… I’m human.

This isn’t life or death.

Tomorrow is always there.

And that shift — small as it sounds — has made a difference.

What’s been interesting is this:

Because I haven’t been filling every moment…

space has started to appear.

And in that space, I’ve found myself doing things I didn’t plan.

I spent two afternoons restoring an old camping barbecue we’re bringing to France.

Scrubbing it, fixing it, bringing it back to life.

Not because I had to.

But because I had the time… and the headspace… and it felt good.

I cleared out my utility room one day — properly cleared it.

Put on a podcast and just got stuck in.

And it didn’t feel like a chore.

That’s the difference I’m noticing.

I’m still being productive…

but it’s not coming from pressure anymore.

It’s coming from having the space to choose it.

The days themselves have taken on a gentle structure.

I’ve been getting up earlier — about an hour before everyone else.

I make a cup of tea, open the curtains, sit quietly for a few minutes.

A bit of journaling, a bit of planning, sometimes just a brain dump if my head feels full.

Nothing fancy. Nothing aesthetic.

Just a quiet start.

And I think that’s been one of the biggest anchors in my day.

Alongside walking…

and Pilates twice a week…

and just making sure I step outside, even when I don’t feel like it.

Those things have become my constants.

At home, something else has shifted too.

We haven’t added anything extra.

But we’ve been more present in the time we already have.

We’ve been eating together more.

Sitting down properly, chatting about our days.

I’ve found myself leaning into small moments —

watching my daughter at the yard instead of waiting in the car,

going for a walk with my eldest,

evenings where we put on music and just sit together.

Nothing extraordinary.

But somehow… it all feels more meaningful.

And I suppose that’s what I’m learning most right now.

That slowing down doesn’t mean doing less.

It means doing things differently.

It means noticing the pressure points —

the “shoulds”, the expectations, the constant sense of needing to keep up —

and gently questioning them.

Because the truth is, so many of those things don’t actually add to our lives.

They take from them.

What matters most to me at the moment is simple.

That my days feel calm enough to move through.

That I have time to connect — with my family, with myself.

That our home feels like a place we can all land at the end of the day.

And that somewhere in it all…

there is space to breathe.

If I’ve learned anything over the last few weeks, it’s this:

You don’t need to overhaul your life to feel better.

Sometimes it’s just about finding one small thing that helps —

a walk, a quiet cup of tea, ten minutes to yourself in the morning —

and building from there.

And if you’re in a season where things feel a bit off, a bit heavy, a bit too much…

you’re not alone in that.

Not even close.

If something here resonated with you, I’d genuinely love to hear from you.

You can always just reply to this email — I read every one.

And thank you again, for being here.

For reading.

For sharing.

For making this feel like a real conversation.

Until next time,

Ciara 🤍

A Slower Life, Right in the Middle of a Full One
Slow living doesn’t necessarily mean having a slow life. An autumn reflection on intentional living, seasonal rhythms, full family days and learning to notice the life that’s already happening around us.
Slow October: 31 Simple Ways to Cosy Up Your Days This October
Welcome to Slow October — 31 gentle invitations to notice the season, find little moments of comfort and connection, and enjoy the heart of autumn. Download the free illustrated and large-text October calendars plus the October Journaling Reflections page.
When the Days Feel Like Themselves Again
There’s something lovely about summer days losing their edges. But as autumn returns, I’m rediscovering the quiet comfort of the week finding its shape again — Friday feeling like Friday, Sunday feeling like Sunday, and ordinary life settling back into its familiar rhythm.
Not Everything Ripens at the Same Time
On a soft, drizzly September morning, the apples, pears and blackberries offered a quiet reminder: not everything ripens at the same time. A seasonal reflection on change, readiness and learning to let life unfold in its own time.
What Makes My Ordinary Life Feel Meaningful? A Gentle Reflection on What Really Matters
What makes an ordinary life feel meaningful? This gentle reflection explores the people, places, routines, contributions and tiny everyday moments that make a life feel like our own — with a beautiful free A4 printable to help you notice what matters to you.