Category Archives: doing life

Stepping Back Into the Light

I have not written anything for a while, despite my mind drowning in thoughts. Many things happened over the course of September—both personally and in the world—that affected me deeply, hence the silence.

For now, I will keep the personal challenges to myself, as I believe they will form part of my testimony when the time is right.

On a world level, like many, the assassination of Charlie Kirk and the events leading up to and including his memorial stirred something deep in my soul. It forced me to confront how far I have drifted from living a life in step with God. As I sat reflecting, decades of bad choices came rushing back and floored me. Yet, along with the conviction, came urgency—an urgency to realign my life with the Lord.

A Season of Change

October will be a month of fasting, praying, and delving into the Word for guidance, wisdom, and direction. I am done living with one foot in the world—stepping between light and darkness.

I know this decision will bring pain and some loss, but I also believe the gains will far outweigh them.

I will be examining myself and my roles—as a woman in our community, as a mother and wife, and as a partner in our business. Alongside my husband, we will be reassessing how we run our business and rooting all decisions in biblical principles and stewardship.

Expecting Miracles

As I write this, I feel slightly overwhelmed at the thought of unpacking every aspect of my life. Yet I am also deeply excited. I am expecting nothing short of a miracle, and for God to reveal His plans for me, just as He promises in Jeremiah 29:11.

I am determined to make the changes needed so that I can follow Jesus without question or compromise. My prayer is that my children will see what happens when you invite God fully into your life—and that they will choose Him much earlier in theirs than I did.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
— Jeremiah 29:11

Closing Blessing

May the Lord keep us and bless us as we take courageous steps back into His light.

When Make-Up Becomes Meaningful

This past weekend I did something I haven’t done in years. I had a conversation with a friend about the make-up she wears, and before I knew it, I had ordered a bag of goodies for myself from the cosmetics house she recommended. According to the courier message, it’s arriving today—and I am so excited!

Now, why would this be such a big thing, you might ask? Because, dear readers, I’ve had a very unstable relationship with make-up.

From Corporate Perfection to Khaki Simplicity

I spent a decade or two working in the corporate environment. In the world of marketing and managing key accounts, looks ranked right up there alongside skills when it came to landing and keeping clients. My appearance became a full-time project. Hair, nails, make-up, outfits, and accessories weren’t just details—they became an obsession.

And while I always looked amazing on the outside, inside I never felt truly content.

Fast forward to life on the farm- at first among herds of sheep. Then came life in the bush behind a camera. Life in khaki clothing, with no make-up and no concern for appearances. That’s where I found myself again. That’s where I began to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I stopped working on my looks and started mending my heart and soul.

Strength, Balance, and a New Chapter

Six weeks ago, I began training hard at the gym. As I’ve shared before, my physical health has become a priority as I grow older. Each week I feel stronger—mentally and physically.

And this is where the excitement about make-up returns. It feels different this time. Now that I am in a healthy place mentally and emotionally, I actually want to play around with make-up again—not to meet expectations, but simply to enjoy the process of looking a little more polished.

This time, it feels balanced. I’m doing it for myself. And it feels awesome.

The Pressure Women Carry

As women, we live under the scrutiny of the world from the day we are born. By young adulthood, many of us have already lost confidence in who we truly are. No matter how intelligent or talented we may be, comments about our looks always find their way into our lives.

It has taken me time to find my way back—to know what I bring to the table and to be proud of it. Today, I feel ready to step into this older and wiser version of myself. A version that is strong, radiant, and unapologetically me.

“You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

A Note to My Sisters

To all the ladies out there: take the time to learn to love yourself. Celebrate your strength. Embrace your beauty. And never forget—you are enough, just as you are.

When a Cold Disrupts the Flow

“Sometimes we need to slow down, not because we are weak, but because that’s where the strength of wisdom begins.”
— Unknown

Rebuilding Strength and Rhythm

I’ve really been getting into training at the gym again. For the past four weeks, I’ve been lifting heavy, eating better — especially more protein — and finding my groove. It’s amazing how quickly your body responds. I must say, I’m loving the feeling of getting stronger, of adding a little more weight each week.

My son tells me it’s muscle memory that’s making it easier to find my rhythm again. And maybe he’s right. I’ve been training on and off my entire adult life. I’m not chasing a beach body — I’m building strength for the long haul. For the version of me who still wants to hike, run, travel, and do what I love at 60 and beyond. Flexibility, strength, vitality — that’s the goal.

The Unexpected Pause

This week was supposed to be a big one. We’re heading out on a hunting safari this weekend with clients, so I planned to train hard before we go. It’s not that we aren’t active while hunting — we are — but it’s a different kind of movement.

Monday started strong with a killer glute and hamstring workout, followed by a 5km walk with my husband in the afternoon. I felt unstoppable. Then Tuesday arrived with a dry, scratchy throat. I brushed it off and still hit a chest and triceps session that afternoon. But by Tuesday night, sleep was elusive. A full-blown head cold had settled in.

Mind Over Body?

No aches or fever, just congestion and irritation. Still, it meant no training on Wednesday. Now it’s Thursday, and physically I feel better — but mentally, I’m unhinged. I want to train. I want to stay on track. I haven’t had a cold or flu in six or seven years — why now, just as I’m starting to see progress?

I find myself wondering whether I could sneak in a short dumbbell workout at home. Nothing too strenuous. I vaguely remember that exercise boosts the immune system — and if there’s no fever, it’s fine to train, right? But then again, I haven’t been eating properly the last couple of days. I’m not fueling my body like I should.

Letting the Lesson Land

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? We struggle to go with the flow when the flow dares to interrupt our plans.

Instead of surrendering to rest, I’m mentally negotiating how to push forward. Outside, it’s grey, cold and wet — a perfect match for the fog in my head. And yet, somewhere in the stillness, a deeper truth arises.

I get to do this. I get to move. To train. To be strong. So many others would give anything to do what I’m able to do. For them, physical limitation is their “normal.”

I’m not naturally a morning person — but maybe I should be. Maybe I should wake each day with gratitude simply for being able to rise, move, and live without constraint.

The Gift in the Pause

Every day offers a new lesson — even when the teacher shows up as a humble head cold. So take the pause. Let your body speak. And when the moment’s right, return to the rhythm. Stronger. Wiser. More grateful.

Go on — seize each day. Make your life extraordinary.

Unfiltered: Smoke Signals

Sharing personal stories with the hope of helping someone else is essentially the purpose of this blog. As well as figuring out this thing called life for myself.

I’ve been going through a rough patch the last few days. It felt like too many personal and work issues collided all at once — pressing on every nerve and fraying every edge.

Physically, I was wiped out by an exceptionally heavy period. The kind that leaves you drained and disoriented. I couldn’t train for the better part of three days. And after almost four weeks of focused, intentional weight training, that felt like failure. Not even a long walk. The movement my body had come to rely on was suddenly unavailable, and it hit me harder than I expected. Blue days followed.

Missing Out

There was a fundraiser at my daughter’s school — a Warrior Race kind of day. Normally I would’ve jumped at the chance to join a team and run, climb, laugh. But not this time. Not with the fatigue and discomfort. We went, stayed for a couple of hours, and left before the fun really began. Another notch up on my scale of frustration.

Back at work, small fires caused by other people’s slackness meant I had to step in and sort things out. Again. The irritation crept in like smoke under a door. I felt used. Taken for granted.

Then Came the Cigarette

But the thing that finally pushed me over the edge was a small, almost cinematic moment. My husband’s new habit of smoking a cigarette before bed.

It started a couple of weeks ago when he casually announced he was going outside for a smoke. I was surprised — this from a man who didn’t even smoke in his twenties. At first, I brushed it off. But now it’s become a thing. He goes out when I’m in the bath, then comes back in, cold and smelling like smoke, being all warm and enamoured with me.

I didn’t want to be harsh or dismissive, but kissing my man after a cigarette just didn’t sit well with me. And worse — it felt like while I was focused on getting strong and healthy, he was sliding in the opposite direction. We were out of sync. I lost it. I asked him what on earth he was thinking starting this now, at his age. His answer was soft: it helps him relax and unwind under the stars.

We talked it through. We resolved it, mostly. But it stirred something deep in me.

“When you share a life with someone, their choices aren’t just theirs anymore.”

When It’s Your Person

If this were a friend, I’d be curious. Maybe concerned. But I wouldn’t be shaken. But this — this is the man I’ve chosen to walk through life with. So no, I can’t just let it go. It’s not about judging. It’s about sharing a life. Sharing teenagers who are watching. A business that depends on both of us being healthy and strong. A future we’ve built brick by brick.

So many questions:
What example are we setting?
Why now?
What is he carrying that I don’t see?

Living with Love and Limits

Today I’m calmer. And I’m sitting with the question: Why did this shake me so deeply?

Maybe it’s the unspoken agreement in marriage — that we will do our best, for the sake of each other and the shared life we’re building. When one of us breaks that rhythm, even in a small way, it feels like a breach. Like something sacred was missed or misunderstood.

Loving someone means wanting the best for them, not just for their sake, but for yours too. Because we’re in it together.

And maybe the deeper question is this:
How do we love fully and unconditionally, while still drawing boundaries that protect us both?

It’s made me think of the families dealing with deeper struggles — addiction, depression, disconnection. This wasn’t that. But the feeling, I imagine, carries a similar weight.

How do we stay soft in the face of disappointment?
How do we hold space without losing ourselves?
How do we speak the truth, without shattering the love?

I don’t have the answers.
But I’m asking the questions.

And for now, that feels like a good place to begin.

The Backpack

I watched a film over the weekend—one of those tender stories about love, loss, losing and finding yourself again.

There was a particular scene that lingered.
The lead character reconnects with a woman he once loved in high school. They reminisce. He asks if she ever made it to Paris, the city of her dreams.

She smiles, a little sad.
Tells him she bought a backpack—specifically chosen, with little pockets for everything she’d take on her journey. She placed it by her front door, ready to go. But life kept happening. A sick family member. A work emergency. The wrong season.
So the bag sat. Unused. Unmoved.
Eventually, she grew tired of seeing it—tired of being reminded of the thing she never did. So she packed it away at the back of a closet.

It’s still there.
She never saw Paris.

The Dreams We Bury

That moment sat with me.
How many of us have a proverbial backpack waiting by the door?
How often do we tuck our dreams into the back of a closet—not because we can’t chase them, but because the excuses are more comfortable than the unknown?

We say:
“I don’t have the time.”
“I have responsibilities.”
“I’m too old now.”
“I’m scared.”
“I missed my chance.”

And then… decades slip by.
The yearning is still there. But it’s twisted now—threaded with regret, steeped in what-ifs.

But What If It’s Not Too Late?

What if it was never about missed chances?
What if it’s just been about timing?

What if we stopped staring at the closed door of the past, and simply opened a new one?
What if the question became:
Why not now?

Filling Up So I Can Pour Out

What I’ve come to learn is this:
The more I move toward my dreams, the more I can give to others—not in money or material things, but in what truly matters.

Love.
Presence.
Wisdom.
Laughter.
Patience.
Grace.

When I fill my own cup, I have something meaningful to pour.

A Letter to My Younger Self

If I could go back, I’d whisper:

Live, my girl. Really live.
Follow the wild call of your own path.
Stumble, rise, dance barefoot in the small joys.
Don’t be afraid to fail. That’s how the soul finds her rhythm.

The Way Home

The longer you resist your own nature, the harder the return.
But even if you wander for years, the journey is never wasted.

Because once you find your way back—once you arrive in that sacred space where you truly belong—even the hard days feel like home.

“Don’t pack your dreams away. Dust them off. Wear them in.”
— Wild Soul Notes

Raising Teens While Riding Hormonal Tides— or — What Was God Thinking?!

“What was God thinking when He decided I should be raising teenagers whilst going through perimenopause? It is the ultimate clash of hormones!”

A random internet post, or divine comedy? Either way, it hit home.

I read something funny the other day. It was a woman asking, “What was God thinking when He decided I should be raising teenagers whilst going through perimenopause? It is the ultimate clash of hormones!”

I was pondering this, as it’s very much a reality in my life. I’m pushing fifty and have three teenagers in the house. One biological son of 15, a stepson aged 14 and stepdaughter of 13. I find that mostly I just don’t seem to have the patience I had when I was in my twenties and even thirties.

Did I Miss the Timing?

Then the thought came that perhaps if I had children earlier in life, I wouldn’t be in this situation. So I started looking at history.

In biblical times, childbearing began shortly after marriage. It wasn’t uncommon for girls to have their first child between ages 13 and 16. But many continued having children up to their 30s and 40s—assuming they survived childbirth and remained fertile.

In the 1800s to early 1900s, women typically had babies in their early twenties. But that began to shift. By the late 1900s and into the 2000s, childbearing age steadily rose. Today, many women only begin having children at 28 or older. This shift is due to education, careers, contraception, autonomy, delayed marriage, and fertility technology.

Maybe There Was a Plan

Looking at this, I began to wonder: perhaps our Creator never intended for us to go through major hormonal transitions while our children were in the thick of their own. As with everything in creation, maybe there was a plan for it all to flow in harmony.

I had my biological child at 33. And while I wouldn’t trade that for anything, the truth is: teenagers are navigating a wild space between childhood and adulthood, and they need us to be patient, steady, wise. But it’s hard to show up that way when your nurturing hormone—oestrogen—is waving goodbye at a rapid pace.

If we go back to basics—without moral overlays—humans become physically capable of reproduction around 13. Which means, in the past, people would’ve been raising teenagers when they were still in their physical prime. Absurd in a modern context, yes, but biologically and emotionally? It kind of makes sense.

Did We Get Too Clever for Our Own Good?

Did we become so clever, so advanced, that we messed up nature’s rhythm?

Life has an invisible beat. And humans, for some reason, keep missing it—then land up playing a completely different tune, and we wonder why we feel confused, out of sync, and frustrated.

Life has an invisible rhythm. And humans, for some reason, keep missing a beat.

But Here I Am

Look, what’s done is done—and I’m not getting out of this raising-teens-while-riding-hormones situation. Honestly, I’m also glad I didn’t have a child at thirteen. That would’ve been its own kind of chaos.

Yet, I’m sensing more and more that the only way forward is to remember. To tune back into the ancient rhythm, the one still humming beneath the noise. To let go of my mind for a moment. And allow my life to flow again.

This way, we may just all make it through this crazy ride, mostly intact.

PS. Condolences to hubby, standing on the side, watching the proverbial shit show, with no idea what’s going down!

Renewal Season

A first note from the edge of the wild

These are notes from the edge of the wild —
words shaped by wind, silence, soul, and sky.
Welcome to the untamed corners of thought,
where the heart runs barefoot and the mind is allowed to wonder.

The body in transition

Life is a tide between hardship and wonder.
In my late forties the water feels different: slower in places, faster in others.
Perimenopause drifts in with its subtle shifts — energy that dips,
muscle tone that slips away if I’m not looking.

I read that in Japan this season is called konenki:
“years of renewal and energy.”
A threshold into deeper wisdom, not decline.
That feels like truth to me.

A mission for muscle and fire

I still wear the same jeans,
but strength isn’t a number on a tag.
I want lean muscle, clear mind, fuel for long trails ahead.

Not to impress anyone.
To inhabit this next half of life —
strong‑bodied, sharp‑eyed, wildly awake.

“The beginning of all wisdom is wonder.” — Aristotle

What you’ll find here

  • Unfiltered training logs & sunrise reflections
  • Nutrition experiments (with room for wine, but wiser pacing)
  • Notes on parenting three teens while running a business in the bush
  • Quiet confessions from the liminal hours — where courage meets fatigue

This is my renewal season, and these are my Wild Soul Notes.
Unfinished. Untamed. And finally, truly mine.