She’s Growing, and So Am I: A Story of Two Becoming

Last night, something stirred deep within me.

Khushi and I had been talking again about what’s happening in Iran, and in that quiet moment, she gently brought it up – how, when her friend returns, they’re planning to talk about moving in together next year.

I felt it immediately, right in my chest. A soft ache. Not fear, not resistance – just this tender, fluttery knowing.
It landed gently, but deeply.

She’s ready to fly.
And I want that for her with every fibre of my being.

But this… this is something no one prepares you for.
The moment when the child you’ve raised with so much love begins to truly carve out a life separate from yours.

There’s no fight, no friction. Just space.
Just the sacred detachment a mother must eventually learn to hold.

This isn’t a sharp break.
It’s a slow, steady loosening…
An unravelling of a role I’ve poured myself into for the past 21 years.

It’s beautiful. It’s painful. It’s freeing. It’s terrifying.
It’s everything all at once.

And in the quiet that followed that conversation, I found myself circling back to an idea that’s been with me for a while…

The idea of buying a caravan.

I already have a local park in mind. It’s peaceful, tucked away, surrounded by Mother Nature and a lake, just enough space for me. I already have everything that I need, and what I don’t have, I’ll invest in slowly, intentionally.

Because for the first time, I’ll be living completely on my own.

No one to cook for unless I want to.
No background noise unless I choose it.
Just me.
In my rhythm.

And that thought? As terrifying as it is, it’s also exhilarating.

For so long, I’ve defined myself in relation to others:
As a mother. A daughter. A coach. A giver.

But now, I get to be in a relationship with myself.
To meet the woman I’ve become, not through someone else’s gaze, but through my own.

This next chapter isn’t about isolation – it’s about intimacy.
With my space. With my pace. With my truth.

I’ve spent years pouring into others, especially Khushi.
Now, I’m learning what it means to pour into myself.
To give from a place of overflow, not depletion.

And you know what I’m realising?

The more I show up fully for myself, the more I attract those who are doing the same.
When you live in your truth, you naturally create space for others to step into theirs.

This isn’t just about physical space.
It’s about spiritual spaciousness.
Breathing room.
Becoming room.

And this right here?
This is the beginning of me.

This is a time of rediscovery.
Of slowing down. Taking time.
Of figuring out who I am now, and who I want to be.

It’s scary. It’s sad.
But oh, it’s also exciting.

Our kids get asked all the time who they want to be, what they want to study, and where they want to live.
But this is our moment to ask ourselves the same.

What dreams have I been quietly holding onto?
What am I secretly looking forward to?

And me? I love my quiet time.
My long walks with Mother Nature.
My life lived entirely on my own terms.
My afternoon FIKA ritual.
My daily gratitudes that keep me grounded in what matters.

Yes, I’ll miss Khushi with all my heart.
But I know I’ll grow to love this season too.

Because this next chapter isn’t just hers.
It’s mine, too.

A chapter that’s less about what I’ve given and more about what I’m here to create.
A chapter that asks:
What do I want now?
What do I need?
What makes my soul light up?

To every mum standing at this crossroad, know this:
You’re not losing your purpose.
You’re simply shifting into a new one.
And it can be beautiful.

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