On chilly mornings, warm beds, and the slow joy of being with someone you’ve missed.
There’s a particular kind of comfort that comes with waking up in the middle of the night and feeling your partner asleep next to you. When it’s cold out, and they’re warm, and for just a moment everything feels safe and still. Bugsy snuggled in his bed, the hush of autumn just beyond the window, and his hand finding mine under the covers. It’s not dramatic, but it is everything.
Last night we went to visit friends for a drink. We sat around, the four of us, listening to Joe Cocker’s Woodstock performance of With a Little Help From My Friends, drinking wine, and laughing until our bellies ached. It was the kind of night that fills your cup in ways you didn’t know it was empty.
When we got home, Bugsy was over the moon to see us. We stayed up until after 2 am, just talking and laughing, savouring the feeling of being together again. I was supposed to be back here a week ago, but broken-down cars and a relentless list of responsibilities kept pushing the date out. Life happened, as it does. But man, was it good to come back.
We call this my home too now, because home is where the heart is. And he has my heart.
This weekend, we’re letting ourselves unwind. We have plans to visit a local bazaar; right now, we’re cooking meals, watching movies, and diving into a feast of sports, rugby, Roland Garros tennis, and Formula 1. It’s the kind of cosy weekend routine that makes space for recovery. Bugsy is fast asleep next to the French doors, curled up in his bed, the green garden just beyond.
Outside, it’s chilly, grey, and beautifully quiet. Inside, it’s all warmth and rest. It feels like a much-needed pause, a gentle return to ourselves. A little slice of emotional burnout recovery in real time.
I learned the hard way that working 18-hour days, six days a week, will break you in more ways than just physically. Burnout isn’t a badge of honour. Downtime isn’t optional. It’s vital for your well-being and your soul.
So if you’re reading this and running on empty, I hope you give yourself the gift of slowing down. Let yourself rest. Let yourself be held. Let yourself remember what it feels like to come home, to your body, to your breath, and to the people who love you. This season, let reconnection be your ritual.
I’ve always believed that life is just far too difficult to do alone. Not just the big, obvious stuff—like raising a child or recovering from loss—but the quiet, daily aches that wear us down. Healing, surviving, rebuilding… it takes a village. And more and more, that village is showing up in the form of community-based trauma therapy.
Why Community Matters in Healing
In South Africa, where many still carry the weight of generational trauma, structural violence, and social inequality, traditional one-on-one therapy isn’t always accessible—or culturally aligned. But healing doesn’t only happen on a therapist’s couch. It happens when stories are witnessed. When pain is spoken and met with compassion. When we remember we’re not alone.
Community-based trauma therapy recognizes that. It creates spaces—sometimes in community halls, sometimes on surfboards—where people can process trauma together. These models don’t just offer therapy. They offer belonging.
“Healing doesn’t only happen on a therapist’s couch. It happens when stories are witnessed.”
The Tree of Life: Stories as Medicine
One powerful example is Phola, a psychosocial support organization in Orange Farm. Their approach is rooted in narrative therapy, using tools like the “Tree of Life” to help individuals reframe their stories—not as broken, but as brave. The method allows people to speak about their experiences metaphorically, making it safer to explore painful memories, especially in group settings. This isn’t just storytelling—it’s survival alchemy.
“This isn’t just storytelling—it’s survival alchemy.”
Surf, Salt, and Solidarity
Another beautiful model is Waves for Change, which brings surf therapy to kids in under-resourced coastal communities. The ocean becomes a therapist of sorts—a place of play, trust-building, and emotional regulation. Trained surf mentors guide kids through structured sessions that blend movement with mental health support, reducing symptoms of trauma and anxiety over time.
Traditional Wisdom Meets Modern Healing
In many communities, healing is not separate from culture—it’s deeply spiritual. Practices like ukuthwasa, an initiation process into traditional healing, emphasize connection to ancestors, purpose, and the unseen. While not every path involves becoming a sangoma, the broader lesson is this: healing is not just psychological. It’s communal. It’s sacred.
The Work of Repair
South African psychologist Dr. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela speaks of a “reparative quest”—a collective effort to confront historical trauma and create new pathways forward. Her work reminds us that healing is not about forgetting what happened, but about holding it with care, together.
“Healing is not about forgetting what happened, but about holding it with care, together.”
What We Can Learn
These community-based approaches aren’t just inspiring, they’re instructive. They remind us that we are wired for connection, and that recovery doesn’t have to be a solitary act. Whether it’s sharing a story, holding space for someone else’s pain, or simply showing up, we all have the capacity to be part of each other’s healing.
Eating low-carb doesn’t have to be expensive or complicated. With just a dozen well-chosen staples in your pantry and fridge, you can create nourishing, delicious meals without running to the shops all the time.
Here are the 12 must-have ingredients I always keep on hand to stay low-carb, healthy, and on budget.
1. Eggs
They’re nature’s protein-packed powerhouse. Scramble, fry, boil, or bake into frittatas, eggs are the foundation of countless low-carb meals.
2. Cauliflower
From mash to pizza crusts to creamy soups, cauliflower is endlessly versatile.
3. Tinned Tuna or Pilchards
Protein-rich and shelf-stable. Mix into salads, lettuce wraps, or quick fishcakes.
4. Olive Oil
Healthy fat for cooking, drizzling, and dressings. A little goes a long way. My personal favourite is the garlic infused olive oil.
5. Leafy Greens (Fresh or Frozen)
Baby spinach, kale, or swiss chard, great for smoothies, omelettes, or quick sautés.
6. Full-Fat Greek Yoghurt
Great as a breakfast base, creamy sauce, or sour cream substitute. Choose unsweetened. I use it constantly for dips, dressings, and desserts.
7. Chia Seeds
Low-carb and high in fibre. Use to thicken smoothies, make overnight puddings, or add crunch to salads or desserts.
8. Cheese (Hard + Soft)
A good source of fat and protein. Keep a firm cheese for grating and a soft one for snacking or topping. Personally, I always have the herb Feta in my fridge. I blend it with yoghurt for dips or dressings, or I sprinkle it over my greens.
9. Herbs & Spices
Coriander, smoked paprika, garlic, basil, and cinnamon are my go-tos. They transform simple meals into something special.
10. Cabbage
Cheap, low-carb, and long-lasting in the fridge. Use in stir-fries, slaws, or as a wrap alternative.
11. Coconut Oil
For sautéing, baking, and fat boosts. I even put a tablespoon of it in my bathwater for silky, gorgeously soft skin.
12. Seeds
Sunflower Seeds or Pumpkin seeds, they’re affordable, nutrient-dense, and versatile (great for snacking, topping salads, or blending into sauces). I toast them for a few minutes in a dry pan and sprinkle with smoked paprika and garlic powder.
This morning, before I’d even opened my eyes, I knew. Not from a calendar reminder or a “you’re due for a flare-up” ping. Just the weight of my own body. Heavy. Cement-heavy. Fire-in-my-veins heavy.
Welcome to the delightful surprise party that is chronic illness. No RSVP needed. You just… wake up in it.
The Flare Days You Don’t See Coming
Some flares sneak up on me. Others kick the door down and announce themselves with full-body spasticity, shooting nerve shocks, and hands that feel like they’ve been beaten with hammers. Today it’s the latter.
My feet and calves are twitching like live wires, and my hands are stiff, aching, and protesting even this act of typing. Vision? Blurry. Pain? Electrical. Plans? Cancelled.
And here’s the kicker: I used to ignore this. I’d push through. Slam a Red Bull, down some coffee, and throw myself into work like I was invincible.
Spoiler: I’m not.
Before Chronic Illness, “Rest” Was an Afterthought
Rest used to mean feeling guilty. Lazy. Weak. I grew up in a culture of “hustle harder” and “push through the pain.” Rest was what you earned once everything else was done, except everything else was never done.
So I’d rest, sure. For twenty minutes. While scrolling. Or I’d lie in bed with my laptop, answering emails like a good little burnout-junkie.
Turns out, that’s not rest. That’s just horizontal productivity.
Now? Rest Is a Ritual
Rest is no longer a break; it’s a boundary. It’s a ceremony.
The bed is made, properly made. Soft, high-quality linen. No scratchy textures. My skin is too sensitive, and my nervous system too fried, for anything but comfort.
Sounds of nature fill the room. Crickets. Forests. Sometimes just silence, blessed and still.
Lavender floats through the air, either from a candle or a diffuser, because my brain needs cues that it’s safe to exhale.
Baths with Epsom salts when I can manage it. Lavender-infused again. Heat is magic. Fun fact: so is Lavender.
And always, always tea. Sometimes a fancy store-bought herbal one, sometimes a wild little blend of whatever’s in the fridge: fresh ginger, honey, lemon, mint, berries. I long for a proper teapot with a built-in infuser. I’ll get it one day, fingers crossed.
There was a moment, a real one, when I realised: rest is not a luxury. It’s not a nap. It’s not working from bed. It’s not multitasking with a heating pad on.
Rest is permission. Permission to shut off. To stop proving yourself. To not be available to everyone all the time.
I finally saw what my body was begging me for: clear boundaries. Not “I’ll just do this one last thing.” Not “It’s fine, I can take that call.” But a full switch-off, emotionally, physically, and mentally.
Friday to Monday. No clients. No guilt.
Just… recovery.
If My Body Could Speak…
It would say:
“You call this rest?! Give me real rest or I’ll force it out of you.”
And honestly? Fair.
Because my body has forced it out of me before. Through flares. Through burnout. Through collapse.
Rest Isn’t Weakness, It’s Wisdom
If you’re living with chronic illness, or even just carrying too much life in your bones, you don’t need permission to rest. But I’ll give it anyway:
Let your rest be lush. Let it be soft. Let it be sacred. Let it be enough.
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If this post helped you feel seen or reminded you to rest, consider buying me a tea. It helps support my work, and keeps this blog alive and well (even when I’m not).
