The Week I Searched for My Anchor
Maybe your mind works like mine—a ship that never docks. Always drifting from thought to thought, task to task, storm to storm. And maybe, like me, you need an anchor. I have a few anchors. My mum is one—the kind…
Maybe your mind works like mine—a ship that never docks. Always drifting from thought to thought, task to task, storm to storm. And maybe, like me, you need an anchor. I have a few anchors. My mum is one—the kind…
Burnt out and barely holding on, I found healing in stillness. Here’s what helped when nothing else did—and why I think softness is still survival.