What I Want This Summer to Feel Like

In last week’s blog post, I wrote to you from the deck of our mobile home in the Loire Valley in France.

We had spent three slow, beautiful weeks there as a family before moving on for a few days in Normandy, and I have to say, that time away gave me something I think I’d been needing for a very long time:

Space.

Space to slow down.
Space to think.
Space to breathe a little deeper.
Space to reflect on what I actually want this season to feel like.

And I know I talk about this kind of thing often — slowing down, intentional living, quieter rhythms — but being away gave me the opportunity to really sit with it properly.

Not just as an idea.

But as a way of living.

Because if I’m honest, I’m not chasing perfection this summer.

I’m not trying to create the “best summer ever.”

I don’t want a packed calendar or elaborate plans or constant activity.

Of course I want to make memories. Of course I want us to enjoy ourselves. Of course I want moments we’ll look back on fondly.

But more than anything else…

I want this summer to feel good while we’re actually living it.

Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Not overfilled.
Not exhausting.

I want it to feel:
– calm
– peaceful
– connected
– grounded
– joyful in a quiet sort of way

And honestly, after the last few years, I think that’s what I’m craving most.

I think we’ve all been carrying more than we realise

The last few years have been full in every possible sense of the word.

Busy.

Emotionally heavy at times.

A lot of rushing.

A lot of overstimulation.

A lot of trying to keep everything moving while also simply surviving certain seasons of life.

And even now, while life feels much calmer than it once did, we still live in the real world.

There are still responsibilities.
Schedules.
Laundry.
Work.
Teenagers.
Family life.

Even though I’m no longer working outside the home full-time, I still work part-time, I still write and run my blog, and our family life is still full and busy in its own way.

But what I’m learning is that when we intentionally slow things down — even slightly — everything feels more manageable.

Not perfect.

Just gentler.

More breathable.

And often, those shifts don’t need to be dramatic at all.

Sometimes it’s simply:
– not overplanning the week
– leaving space in the day
– sitting outside for ten minutes
– letting dinner happen slowly
– choosing connection over productivity
– deciding not to rush when you don’t actually need to

Small things.

But small things shape the atmosphere of a home more than we realise.

I’ve realised the things I remember most are rarely the big things

The older I get, the more I realise that the moments that stay with me are usually the quieter ones.

Not necessarily the expensive days out.

Not the perfectly planned activities.

Not the things that look impressive from the outside.

If you read last week’s post, you’ll remember I talked about:
– windows wide open
– slower mornings
– reading outside
– fresh strawberries
– warm evenings
– simple dinners
– the quiet rhythm of ordinary summer life

And really, that’s still what I keep coming back to.

Because when I picture the kind of summer I want us to have, it doesn’t actually look particularly extravagant or dramatic.

It looks slow.

It looks like waking up early before everyone else, throwing on a cardigan, and sitting outside with a cup of tea while the house is still quiet and the air still feels cool from the night before. It looks like mornings that aren’t rushed. Windows open wide. Music playing softly somewhere in the background. Teenagers slowly wandering downstairs long after they normally would during the school year, sleepy and hungry and relaxed because nobody needs to rush out the door.

It looks like books left open on garden tables because someone wandered off halfway through a chapter. Towels drying in the sunshine after an afternoon spent swimming or messing around outside. Last-minute ice cream trips simply because the evening feels too nice not to. It looks like cooking dinner slowly while listening to a podcast or audiobook, with people drifting in and out of the kitchen chatting about nothing particularly important.

It looks like walks after dinner when the light is beginning to soften. Staying outside longer than planned because nobody quite feels ready to go back in yet. Rainy evenings that end with board games, blankets, candles lit in the kitchen, and everyone feeling a little more connected because life has finally slowed down enough for us to actually be together in it.

And perhaps that’s what I want most of all this summer.

Not perfection.

Not constant excitement.

Just enough space to properly enjoy our lives while we’re living them.

What I don’t want this summer

I don’t want a summer where every single day needs to be “special.”

I don’t want to overschedule us until everyone is exhausted by August.

I don’t want to spend the whole season trying to create perfect memories while missing the ordinary moments happening right in front of me.

And I definitely don’t want to reach the end of summer desperate for routine again because we’ve pushed ourselves too hard trying to “make the most of it.”

To me, that would feel like missing the point entirely.

Of course there will still be busy days.

There will still be plans and responsibilities and moments of chaos because that’s simply real life.

But I think what I want this year is balance.

Space alongside the plans.

Quiet alongside the adventure.

Rest alongside the fun.

I want this summer to feel sustainable.

Gentle.

Connected.

I want to arrive at the end of August and feel grateful for the season we had — not relieved that it’s over.

I want to miss these slower days when the school year returns.

Not feel desperate to recover from them.

Maybe summer doesn’t need to be bigger to be meaningful

I think sometimes we’ve been sold this idea that summer has to be huge in order to matter.

That it needs:
– packed bucket lists
– expensive activities
– constant entertainment
– perfectly curated moments

But honestly?

I think what many of us are actually craving is something much quieter than that.

Rest.

Connection.

Slower mornings.

A calmer nervous system.

A home that feels peaceful.

Conversations we actually have time for.

Moments where we’re present enough to notice our own lives happening.

And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe a beautiful summer isn’t built from extraordinary things every single day.

Maybe it’s built slowly:
– in ordinary evenings
– in peaceful mornings
– in laughter drifting through open windows
– in tired happy children
– in cups of tea outside
– in finally having room to breathe again

Final thoughts

I don’t think I want this summer to feel perfect.

I just want it to feel lived.

Slow enough to notice.

Calm enough to enjoy.

Gentle enough to hold onto for a while afterwards.

And honestly?

That feels like a pretty lovely way to spend a season.

Chat soon,

Ciara

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, you might also love these gentle summer reads from the blog:

Maybe This Summer Isn’t Meant to Be Magical — a reflective piece about letting go of pressure and unrealistic expectations, and creating a slower, more meaningful summer rooted in real life rather than perfection.

10 Simple Ways to Enjoy a Summer Morning at Home — cosy, realistic ideas for slower summer mornings, gentle routines, fresh air, quiet moments, and beginning the day feeling calm and grounded.

Why Slowing Down Feels So Difficult — a deeper look at why so many of us struggle to truly slow down, even when we know we need it, and how to begin creating a gentler pace in everyday life.

10 Things I’ve Let Go of This Summer (So I Can Actually Enjoy It)

12 Things I’ve Stopped Doing to Live a Simpler, More Intentional Life — both gentle reflections on slowing down and creating a life that feels calmer and more aligned.

And if you’d like to follow along more day-to-day, I share little glimpses of our life, seasonal moments, and gentle reminders over on Instagram at @ourlittlehouseinthecountry

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