Hi lovely — fair warning, this one’s got some heat.

I had something else planned for this week’s post. Something thoughtful. Something tidy. Something nice.

But honestly?

Just back from another trip to the doc, and had a moment — one of those unexpected reflections that hit you when you’re sitting in your car, midlife hair doing its own thing, brain a little foggy, body just trying to keep up.

So…
I’ve been on the hunt for someone local to tame my eyebrows.
Maybe even my lashes too — nothing dramatic, just a little tint or lift.
Something that says I’ve got my sh*t together, even if I’ve been crying in the Woollies car park again.

There’s a kind of optimism I think we grow into with age.
It’s not sunshine and manifesting and pretending everything’s fine. It’s something messier, a bit more feral.

Look, I don’t have all the answers.
(And if anyone’s out there trying to sell you “the answers” for three easy payments of $49.99, you might wanna run.)

Sometimes it's tea and yoga. Sometimes it’s cards and gifts. Always, it’s care.

After sending a recent note called ‘Try Harder,’ I’ve been thinking about what that phrase means now — years later. And how it’s shifted. This is what came up…

I’ve come to realise…
Midlife isn’t falling apart.
It’s falling into place.

And it’s never too late to start something new — or stop something that no longer fits.

A few weeks ago, a quiet conversation started rumbling in the corners of our teaching community.

It began with a question I asked inside a private mentorship space:

As I was cleaning the floor of the studio earlier today, I found myself reflecting on something I often say in class — something I sometimes need to remember myself:

Every class begins long before the first student walks through the door. It starts in the quiet moments—the studio empty, mats laid out, the room still. Once I’m confident in my class plan, my little ritual begins.

Here’s something we don’t talk about enough: The yoga world is unregulated.

I mean completely unregulated. Anyone can teach yoga—no license, no governing body, no standardised education required. It’s a system where the quality of your experience can swing wildly from one teacher to the next.

I don’t think I’ve ever been on a yoga teacher training where I’ve felt like I belonged. Not once.

Remember the 90s? The Spice Girls were on repeat, Friends ruled TV, and yoga… well, yoga was a very different world. Back then, if you were serious about yoga, you didn’t just show up to class once or twice a week. Nope. You were expected to roll out your mat at home. Every. Single. Day.

For years, I dreamed of hosting a retreat that felt truly special. A space where we could step away from the noise, immerse in nature, and return home deeply restored. But finding the right location? That was another story.

With just two weeks to go until Term 1 begins, I wanted to share something personal that’s been on my mind—and might just resonate with you.

As the new year unfolds (and with it, the rain!), I’ve been reflecting on something both incredibly simple and deeply profound: habits.

As we inch closer to the new year, the pressure seems to intensify, doesn’t it? Everywhere you look, someone’s telling you how to change your life. “This is the diet,” “That is the path,” “You need this to be whole.” The messages are relentless—and profitable.

I had my first-ever session with my new strength coach, Gav, this week, and it sparked some serious reflections on movement, yoga, and everything in between.

I’ve been caught up in some DIY—getting my hands dirty with a much-needed reno. For years, I thought hubby and I could never tackle such a renovation together—he’s too much of a perfectionist, and me? It’s just not my bag. But once I shifted my mindset (and let’s be real, saving tens of thousands of dollars didn’t hurt!), everything changed. Now, I’m actually loving my trips to Bunnings, covered in paint, feeling like a cast member of The Block.