Tomorrow is Friday, and for me, weekends carry a different kind of quiet.
When my children go to their father’s, the house becomes still — and that’s often when my writing begins. The ideas come in waves. So do the thoughts I’ve been holding at bay. Writing becomes my way of sitting with them, moving through them, and turning what feels heavy into something I can breathe with.
If weekends hold a similar kind of space for you — whether it’s for writing, reflecting, or simply being — I’d love to know:
What does the quiet give you?