Good Monday Bloomers,
Yesterday, a Sunday morning, began quietly.
No urgency. No striving. Just a cup of coffee, stillness, and a gentle return to my spirit table for my daily journaling, which became a deeply reflective morning.
But what unfolded was not dramatic. It was tender.
Today, I got to “see” the little girl I once was. Not in sadness. Not in longing. But in recognition.
She was about nine years old, (I remember her well), twirling in sparkly gowns in my grandmother’s sunlit porch, (such a wonderful place to be), watching her reflection in the windows as if that reflection was her playmate, her companion, her quiet witness. She was joyful, imaginative, loving, and deeply aware, even then. Just a little spirit, who I look upon now with love; as much LOVE as I look upon my daughters and grandchildren with. Oh I wonder how much she needed ME.
That little girl lived in a world that did not always offer hugs. She learned early how to self-soothe. How to create sanctuary. How to sing into her microphone, write stories in her room, and build a beautiful inner world when the outer one felt stormy.
And today, sitting in my sanctuary home, decades later, I realized something profound: She never left. She simply carried me through the storms.
For years, I experienced joy – births, celebrations, milestones – but much of it was outer joy. Event-based joy. Life-based joy.
This Sunday morning, I felt something different. Inner joy. Quiet joy. Familiar joy.
The same soft contentment that little girl felt as she ran freely, watching herself in the glass, fully present in her own little world of imagination and safety.
And in a moment of gentleness, I told her: “You can rest now.” Not because her story is erased. Not because the storms didn’t happen. But because the woman she became is now safe, aware, and deeply grateful.
Afterward, I sat again at my spirit table, the place for me where Earth meets Ether, and pulled a few oracle cards for good measure; and Out comes Magical Blessings, Don’t Give Up on Love, Celebration, and Answered Prayers – so very divinely on time. I smiled. Not because life suddenly became perfect, but because something inside of me softened.
This journey — from childhood sensitivity to years of endurance, to healing maternal wounds, to creating sanctuary spaces throughout my life, has not been about escaping the past. It has been about INTEGRATING it.
I now see that my homes throughout my life, have always reflected my inner world: Sanctuary amidst storms. Beauty amidst complexity. Peace cultivated intentionally. My youngest brother, 9 years my junior, has said to me more than once, Chris, your homes are always so cozy. Well, the little girl who loved hugs so much, created them within the space of her lifetime homes.
And now, as I sit here in this current sanctuary — the home I came to nearly three years ago after closing a long chapter, I feel deep gratitude. I walk into this space greeted by a great big hug every day; gently regulating my system with quiet grace and love.
I know another chapter is coming. New spaces. New expressions. But today is not about rushing forward.
Today is about honoring where I am: Safe. Present. Grateful. Smiling.
The little girl who once cried herself to sleep also wrote stories, sang songs, loved deeply, and stayed soft in a world that asked her to grow strong too soon. She was not fragile. She was foundational. And perhaps that is the true blooming: Not becoming someone new, but gently reuniting with the truest parts of ourselves that quietly carried us all along.
So this Monday, I offer you a gentle reflection: Where in your life did joy first live freely?, And have you allowed yourself to feel that kind of quiet joy again – not the loud kind, not the performative kind – but the soft, steady kind that lives in stillness?
Today, I am not in survival. I am in sanctuary. And for that, I am deeply, humbly grateful.
With love and gentle blooming,
Christine
