One Breath at a Time

 Tell Me A Story

Reflection

Some mornings, the world feels like it wakes up before I do — racing ahead while I’m still fumbling for coffee and clarity. 

Today was one of those days. But instead of chasing the pace, I sat by the window and watched the light creep across the wall. 

It struck me how often we rush through the gentle beginnings, eager for momentum. Yet there’s something quietly powerful about easing into the day, letting your mind catch up with your body. 

Not every morning needs to be productive. Some simply need to be lived, one slow breath at a time.

Tell Me a Story - Book Review

Tell Me A Story

This week I read The Comfort Book by Matt Haig — though “read” feels too formal a word. 

I dipped into it, really, like a hand into a bowl of warm water. It isn’t a book you race through; it’s one you keep nearby for those murky, muddled moments when your thoughts feel too loud. 

Haig’s reflections are gentle but firm, like a friend who won’t let you spiral too far before saying, “Come back. Breathe.” 

It’s a reminder that comfort doesn’t always come in grand gestures — sometimes it’s a quiet page, waiting patiently to be opened.

 Tell Me A Story

A Breath of Fresh Air

Yesterday, I went for a walk promising myself “just fifteen minutes of fresh air.” 

You know the kind — when your to-do list is breathing down your neck and stepping outside feels almost rebellious. 

Five minutes in, I passed a little boy walking a dog who was at least four times his size. 

“He thinks he’s in charge,” the boy whispered to me, conspiratorially. The dog glanced back, offended. 

And just like that, I felt lighter. It reminded me that control is often an illusion — and sometimes letting life tug us along leads to the best moments.

 

Tell Me A Story

Writing Advice

When I’m stuck on a story, I remind myself that perfectionism is just fear wearing a tidy outfit. It whispers that the sentence isn’t right, that the idea’s not ready — but really, it just wants me to stop. 

The trick, I’ve found, is to lower the bar. Write the clunky version first. Let clichés and half-thoughts spill out. 

Once they’re on the page, the real writing begins — shaping, cutting, polishing. 

You can’t edit a blank page, but you can rescue a messy one. Some of my best ideas began as something I almost deleted. Almost.

 Tell Me A Story

I finally read Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus, and I can see why everyone’s been talking about it.

Elizabeth Zott is one of those heroines who makes you want to stand a little taller — sharp, stubborn, gloriously out of step with her time. 

I loved how Garmus blended humour with heartbreak, showing the quiet battles women fought just to be taken seriously. 

It’s funny, too, how a book set in the 1960s can still feel like it’s talking to us now. I closed it feeling inspired — and slightly annoyed that I didn’t write it first.

Tell Me A Story

 Reflection

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how we measure progress. Not the big milestones — book deals, awards, followers — but the quiet ones. 

Like when a scene finally clicks after days of wrestling with it, or when I sit down to write even though I don’t feel like it. 

Those moments don’t make headlines, but they’re the heart of it all. They remind me that persistence is often quieter than passion, and that’s okay. Some days, progress is simply keeping the pen moving — trusting the words will meet me halfway.