Last week I did something that isn’t really “me” at all.
I tried forest bathing — lying down outdoors, noticing the sounds around me, and letting my brain slow down for a moment.
I wasn’t sure what to expect.
Would I feel silly?
Would my mind run through my to-do list like it always does?
What surprised me most was how long it had been since I’d actually stopped.
Mums don’t stop — even when we sit down
Our bodies might pause, but our minds don’t.
We’re thinking ahead.
Organising things.
Juggling everyone’s needs.
Carrying invisible lists and never-ending mental tabs.
Lying on the grass felt almost rebellious — like doing nothing was something I had to justify.
The stillness felt less strange.
I noticed tiny sounds I never usually pick up on.
I felt my breathing slow down.
And it made me think about how rarely we give ourselves even a minute of quiet.
Mindfulness… without “doing mindfulness”
I’m not someone who meditates every day or sits with candles and calming music.
That isn’t my world.
But I do understand the power of tiny moments.
Standing in the garden with the sun on your face.
Walking slowly instead of rushing.
Taking a breath before answering the next “Mum?”
Watching your child play without multitasking in the background.
Those micro-moments count.
Movement helps too
Movement has always grounded me — cycling, CrossFit, unicycle hockey, running with a buggy, even 10 minutes in our little shed gym.
But movement doesn’t always need to be a “workout.”
A stretch on the living room floor.
A slow walk after school.
Dancing badly in the kitchen.
Movement pulls us back into our bodies.
It gives our minds a break.
December makes it harder
December is full of school plays, Christmas lunches, discos, jumper days, stay-and-plays, sensory-heavy events and endless changes to routine.
Even for children who love Christmas, it’s a lot.
And for children who thrive on predictability, it can feel enormous.
Plus all the usual parent jobs — presents, food planning, remembering who needs what costume — and the expectation to “make it magical.”
(And no Elf on the Shelf in our house either… I’m deeply grateful that trend passed us by!)
It’s no wonder our nervous systems are stretched thin.
What I learned from lying on the grass
I don’t think I’ll be forest bathing every week.
But I might go outside for five minutes when the sun appears.
I might stop rushing to “the next thing” quite so quickly.
And I might be kinder to myself on the days when everything feels a bit much.
If you’re reading this, I hope you find your own tiny moment this week.
A breath.
A pause.
A step outside.
Something small that reminds you you’re human too — not just the engine keeping everything running.