A Day in the Life of Tash

A day full of depth, contradiction, devotion, humour, faith, self-examination - and a fierce love running through it all.

A New Day

I wake with the most practical of physiological thoughts: I need to pee.

And then, almost immediately, a quiet, deep gratitude. How blessed I am to see another day.

My body is tired - reflecting the wrestling match with the shadows. My mind is tired too - but wired. There’s a hum beneath the fatigue, a readiness. I like to imagine that when my feet hit the floor, somewhere the devil mutters, “Oh crap… Natasha's up.”

Reality is less cinematic, there’s no sprinting. Just steady movement onward.

The first thing I reach for is my phone - not to scroll, but to check my kids made it safely to work. Even in their growing independence, my heart still does its quiet headcount.

The rhythm of morning is slow, deliberate, charged with purpose - and always laced with hope. Beneath it, though, is a yearning. A longing to begin with stillness. To sit. To pray. To set intention before the noise of doing begins. To breathe before the world asks anything of me. 

I haven’t mastered that yet. 

I carry the intention like a bookmark, saving my place for when I finally pause.

In Full Doing

Without pause, I am fully in motion.

Sometimes I’m driven by pressure - expectations, both mine and others’. But deeper than that, more often, I’m driven by choice. The choice to build something meaningful. The quiet satisfaction of ticking something off the list. The desire for a life that runs well. The devotion to making our home hum - instilling order amidst chaos.

Not out of restlessness.

Out of reverence.

I care about doing things well. Not loudly. Wholeheartedly. I want meaning and excellence to sit side by side. I want even the smallest act to ripple outward with intention.

And yet, I overthink everything.

Every decision. Every conversation. Every silent pause.

Was that enough? Was that too much?

And beneath it all, lives a quieter question:

Am I enough?

Or perhaps more honestly - am I too much?

I push through more than I should. My limits. My pain. My emotions. Even uncomfortable silences. I know how to endure. 

I am still learning when to soften.

Grounded By Presence

Around my children, I do soften.

My rigid edges dissolve. My heart opens wide. They are my compass - my greatest joy and my deepest responsibility. A living expression of the values I hold most sacred: love, loyalty, perseverance, chosen bonds. 

My life isn’t built on chance; it’s built on choice. The choice to love fiercely. To persevere. To grow. To keep believing in the goodness threading through our days.

Motherhood stretches me thin, though. There’s the constant quiet self-monitoring - am I guiding or gripping? Leading or hovering? I sometimes wonder if they see how intertwined my identity is with theirs. If I always know who I am outside of being their Mum.

Love, in the ordinary moments, looks simple.

All of us in the same room. Some scrolling. Some gaming. Some crafting. Some chatting. Me studying. No grand gestures. Just presence. Existing side by side in quiet contentment.

That is sacred to me. 

Grounded. Open. Attuned to grace.

When the Noise Lowers

Night is when I return to myself.

When the house quiets - seated beside my sweet man, my anchor - I finally exhale. This is when I feel most like me. When I can fully breathe. When I talk to God in the stillness. When I can hear my own thoughts without interruption.

But night also brings reflection.

That I don’t quite fit in the outside world. That despite a mind full of knowledge and reflection, my words sometimes tangle before they reach my lips. That I ramble. That I misstep. That I could have said it better. 

I replay conversations as though I can edit them after the fact. I ask how I could have been more. Or less.

And still - I am proud.

Proud of my resilience. My persistence. My dedication. My grace and grit intertwined. I am someone who builds and nurtures. Who reflects and renews. Who works hard and loves harder. 

Not perfect - present.

Still, there is so much unfinished.

My parenting. My becoming. The legacy still unfolding. The memories yet to be made.

Peace comes when the house is calm. When there is a place for everything and everything is in its place. When the tabs in my mind close, one by one.

The Deeper Thread

There are contradictions in me.

I say I have no regrets - because every moment shaped me - and yet there are things I would do differently if given the chance. I believe perfection is a mindset, and still I reach for it. I hunger for knowledge, while knowing the deepest answers rise from within.

I am learning to rest without guilt.
To question whether my values are truly mine.
To release society’s mould.
To stop pushing past every limit.

People sometimes misunderstand me.

They see adaptability but not the discomfort or the effort it costs. They assume forgiveness means open access. They mistake my faith for creed, when really it’s a current - a quiet presence moving through warmth, laughter, evening walks. A whisper that says: you are exactly where you need to be.

If someone followed me for a day, they might be surprised by how much happens in my slow, steady tortoise-like rhythm. How even in rest, I am tending something. How I can be both hard and soft. Structured and fluid. Comfortable in silence and steady in noise.

I even thrive in moments of uncertainty - knowing I am in the driver’s seat of my own life.

And maybe that’s what makes me, me.

Not perfection.
Not performance.
But devotion.
Steady movement.
Grace that rises - even in pause.

This is a day in the life of who I am.

Ordinary.
Layered.
Intentional.
Becoming.

Mine.