Today I’m feeling a bit burnt out. One of those days where everything feels louder and heavier than usual. Working on this week’s theme — Noticing has gently reminded me that creativity doesn’t always mean doing more. Sometimes it means doing less and paying closer attention instead. Noticing the light through the window. Noticing my breath slow down. Noticing when my body is asking me to pause. These moments don’t look productive, but they matter just as much. They hold us when we’re tired. They help us come back to ourselves. I have added week three to the classroom ( including kids version) enjoy and spread the wealth 🥰 If today feels like a noticing day for you too, that’s more than enough 🌱

I absolutely love how differently creative everyone in this community is — and that’s something worth celebrating. There’s no one way to create, no right pace, no loud or quiet requirement here. If you’d like to share what you’re working on, or even something you’re quietly proud of, we would genuinely love to see it. A sketch, a few words, a moment of noticing, a small step you took — it all counts. This is a judgement-free space. Come exactly as you are, share as much or as little as you like, and know that your way of creating is more than enough 🤍

The last few days we’ve spoken a lot about childhood, and I’ve been genuinely blown away by how openly this community has shared their memories, ideas and experiences. There’s something incredibly powerful about witnessing people gently trace back to where they began 🌱 My own childhood is a deeply personal place for me to talk about. Over the last few years, I’ve done a lot of quiet work there. Not loud work. Not performative work. Just slow, honest tending. One thing that helped me more than I expected was something very simple. I placed a photograph of myself as a child on my desk. Tucked beside it was a small handwritten note. You can read it for yourself in the image. It’s not complicated, but it is full. By doing this, I wasn’t asking the past to change. I wasn’t looking for answers from the adults who surrounded me back then. Instead, I was offering something different. I was allowing myself to be held by the adult I am today 🤍 The one who has more choice. More softness. More understanding. The one who can say, I’ve got you now. That small act created a sense of freedom I hadn’t realised I was missing. It softened the way I moved through my days. It loosened something in my chest. It reminded me that creation doesn’t have to come from tension or proving or pushing. Since then, the way I create has changed massively. My work feels more spacious. More playful. More honest. It feels less like reaching and more like remembering ✨ I’m sharing this not because everyone should do the same, but because sometimes the most profound shifts come from the smallest, kindest gestures towards ourselves. Thank you for holding space so beautifully this week. You’ve reminded me why this community matters so much 🫶

In reference to @Kate Bullock wonderful text “Where's your inner child?”, I would like to share another thought with you. What we can learn from Winnie the Pooh You know, Winnie the Pooh can teach us an amazing amount about life. He shows us how valuable it is to appreciate the simple things and enjoy the moment. “What's the magic word?” Pooh asks once. “Please?” “Honey,” he says. And therein lies a universal truth: it's not about always striving for something bigger or better, but about loving what you have – even if it's just a pot of honey. Pooh has a calm wisdom that we often lack. When he says, “People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day,” he reminds us that it's okay to just be quiet sometimes and not always have to achieve something. At the same time, there is his unwavering loyalty to his friends. Whether it's Piglet, Eeyore, or Tigger – he is always there for them. Of course, he sometimes makes mistakes, and Christopher Robin affectionately calls him “silly old bear.” But you know what? That's exactly the point: Pooh's value lies not in being perfect, but in simply being himself—a little bear with a big heart. Maybe we should all be a little more like Pooh.

There’s something deeply important about reconnecting with our childhood selves.Can you remember the last time you felt their presence ? Not to escape adulthood, but to remember the feeling of it — the excitement, curiosity, and sense that the world was full of small magic. As children, we created without judgement. We played, noticed, collected, imagined, and followed what felt good rather than what was “useful” or “productive”. As adults, life can slowly teach us to tuck those parts away. Responsibilities grow, confidence can shrink, and creativity often becomes something we think we need permission for. But those childhood sparks are still there — they just need a little space and kindness to surface again. Revisiting those feelings isn’t about being childish; it’s about being connected. When we allow ourselves to return to wonder, we soften. We breathe differently. We remember that creativity doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Here are a few gentle, creative ways to reconnect with your inner child: - Create without an outcome – draw, paint, write, or doodle with no plan and no intention to share. Let it be just for you. - Notice like you used to – clouds, puddles, patterns in bark, the way light hits a wall. Children are brilliant noticers. - Collect small things – leaves, pebbles, words you like, colours, memories. Keep them in a jar or notebook. - Play with colour – choose colours you loved as a child and use them freely, even if they “don’t go together”. - Revisit an old joy – colouring, cutting and sticking, making dens, reading an old favourite book, listening to music from your early years. - Follow curiosity – if something catches your attention, let yourself explore it without needing a reason. Reconnecting with childhood isn’t about going backwards — it’s about bringing that sense of excitement forward into who you are now. Those feelings still belong to you. They always have. So if today feels heavy, try something small. A moment of play. A moment of wonder. A smidgen of calm.