Affirmation

You think you have something special, but you can never be completely sure. The people closest to you—those you choose to share your work with—will often build you up. They'll say the story is beautiful, moving, wonderful. It’s kind, and it means the world, but sometimes... it’s not quite enough to quiet that little voice of doubt.

This week, something changed.

A dear friend and early childhood teacher offered to read my manuscript aloud to her granddaughter. Hearing my words spoken out loud, just as I wrote them, was something I didn’t realise would move me so deeply. It brought tears to my eyes. I felt something shift—like maybe, just maybe, this story truly has a place in the world.

What made it even more powerful was where we were: sitting together in a library, surrounded by the books of published authors. Shelves lined with beautiful, timeless stories. To hear mine among them, even informally, felt like stepping into a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have.

It was a quiet, extraordinary moment—and such a gift.

Thank you, Neelika and Alex, for sharing it with me. I’ll carry it forward, always.

Empowered connections

We live in a world that often feels like a constant competition—where success is measured against others, and comparison is the norm. When I first stepped into leadership in the early years, I struggled with this mindset. It didn’t sit right with me. So, I did something different: I opened the doors to anyone who wanted to see what we were doing.

Some might have seen this as risky—why share your methods, your ideas, your hard work? But here’s the truth I discovered: no one can steal your philosophy. They might take inspiration, adopt a few ideas, or integrate some approaches. And to me, that’s not a threat. That’s the highest compliment.

Today, I was reminded of the power of openness once again. I connected with a fellow author, Peta Wilson, and was met with such kindness and generosity. The support and encouragement I received were truly heartwarming. In that moment, I was reminded how shared experiences and authentic connections can build confidence and light the way on a new journey.

To Peta—thank you. Your words and guidance meant more than you know.

Stillness and connection

Everything feels like it is in slow motion when you are absorbed by grief.

The days go slowly, yet suddenly you look up and wonder—how is it July? How have so many months passed me by? How can it be 18 months since I last saw Coop?

There are moments it feels like I’m outside of my own life, watching it unfold from a distance. I’ve never been so still in all my life. I used to be constantly moving—juggling work, family, life; always a to-do list, always on the go. Even after Cooper died, I kept going, clinging to busyness as a way to outrun the silence, the void, the unbearable absence.

But writing for Coop has made me stop.

Sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a soft blanket with my laptop on my knees, I feel something I didn’t expect: close to Cooper. There’s a calm, a quiet purpose in these moments. A connection to Cooper that can’t really be explained—but it’s real. And for once, I don’t see this time as unproductive or indulgent. I see it as sacred.

Time spent in memories is not time wasted—it’s a luxury not everyone gets.

Working on my book, building the website, learning new skills through the self-publishing course, collaborating with an illustrator—these are the things that anchor me now. They help me focus. They give shape to the grief, and more importantly, they keep Cooper’s presence alive in everything I do.