Finding My Place

A reflection on living in my own rhythm, learning to accept myself, and finding home in the people and spaces that truly see me.

The morning light spills across our home, quiet and still, each corner holding the echoes of yesterday and the promise of today. I pause for a moment, preparing for the rhythm of our lives to unfold. Here, among the people I love and the spaces that hold our stories, I have found my place.

Embracing the Messy, Beautiful Realness

For too many years, I tried to fit inside perfection’s narrow lines. I tried to be the woman who had it all together - who didn’t stumble, didn’t falter, didn’t feel too much. What I’ve learned is that real beauty lives in the imperfect. Life is unpredictable, sometimes chaotic, and entirely mine to live.

I move through the world in my own rhythm - sometimes intense, sometimes quiet, sometimes scattered, often overthinking every step. I don’t always fit neatly into the spaces others expect me to. And yet, I have found where I belong. Not somewhere out there in the world, but here - in our home, among the people who see me, hear me, and accept me fully, even when they don’t always understand my way of doing, saying, or being.

Morning Light and Quiet Rhythms

Our mornings begin in layers. Everyone rises and leaves for work at different times, moving to their own internal clocks. Mark still wakes before their alarms, making sure they’re up on time and enjoying a steaming coffee before the hurried rush of the day begins. He plays taxi for those without a car, driving back and forth without complaint.

I am the 'not so' quiet foreman of everything at home - delegating, organising, finishing the small unnoticed tasks others don’t see or worry about, but that my mind insists must be done. It’s not glamorous work, but it is grounding. It anchors the day before it has even begun - done from a place of love, not obligation.

Afternoon Energy and Connection

By late afternoon, the house begins to hum again. Music reverberates through the walls from the driveway. Doors open. Footsteps echo down the hall. Dinner simmers. There is a promise in those hours - the promise of reconnection.

Then finally, we gather at the table, joining hands in prayer before sharing our meal. Stories are exchanged - small triumphs, frustrations, moments of humour, the ordinary details that make up a life. Afterward, we move like a well-rehearsed production line: dishes washed, benches wiped, bags packed, everything prepared for the next day. This - this coming together - is my favourite moment of our home.

We all cherish our own spaces. There are stretches of quiet where each of us disappears into separate rooms, separate worlds. And then, suddenly, we collide again - laughter spilling from the kitchen, a debate rising from the family room, teasing on the alfresco, joy, the occasional disagreement quickly resolved. Then, one by one, each of the kids comes by to say goodnight, wrapping us in hugs before retreating once again to their own corners. 

These moments - the stillness and the sudden life - are the heartbeat of our home.

Evening Stillness and Togetherness

Eventually, the house settles. It’s just Mark and me awake - him scrolling on his phone or tinkering away quietly, me lost in thought, studying, or writing. Our cats claim their places too: one curled with his head on the pillow beside me, the other stretched comfortably across Mark’s legs.

Mark and our children move to their own rhythms, and I to mine, yet together we create something harmonious. In the chaos, in the laughter, in the long conversations and the quiet evenings, I am seen. I am home.

Where We Gather

Some weekends stretch wider, reaching beyond our walls. Catching up with my mum, my sister and brother-in-law, the kids weaving in and out of activities and conversations. There’s something grounding about those gatherings - shared history sitting comfortably beside the present moment. I see echoes of childhood in the way my mum laughs, in the familiar rhythm of my sister’s voice. The generations overlap in conversation - not always easy, but real. Old stories resurface alongside new ones being written in real time. It reminds me that this home is not just built from bricks and routines, but from lineage - from love passed down, reshaped, and carried forward.

Most weekends, our home is alive. 

Mark is often outside working on cars with the boys, the bonnet lifted and hands greased, teaching without preaching - lessons shared between tools and tightened bolts. I am often lost in deep, meaning-filled conversations with whoever needs my counsel that day - heartbreak, uncertainty, dreams, doubts - the kettle boiling more than once as words and emotions spill freely. 

Friends gather into the early hours; stories are shared with animation, laughter rises, warmth and expression ripple through every corner - from the driveway to the kitchen and down the hallway. We don’t plan it; it just happens. It’s organic. It’s us. 

Our home is where others gravitate. Not because it is perfect, but because it is open.

Because it holds space.

Guiding Wings, Finding Harmony

Parenting looks different now. Our children are young adults, learning to think for themselves and shape their own identities within the family unit. Mark and I no longer lead in the same way we once did. Now, our role is gentler - guiding, advising, encouraging growth, and fostering a kind of connected independence that keeps them rooted even as they stretch.

Because each of our children is unique, we adjust our approach - responding to their individual rhythms, patterns, and personalities. Some days it flows effortlessly, filled with connection and laughter. Other days, it feels like too much - the noise, the needs, the constant balancing act. And yet, even in the overwhelm, I wouldn’t change a thing. Every adjustment, every compromise, every effort shapes a family that is uniquely ours.

They are still learning and don’t have all the answers - and neither do we. But we carry the wisdom of our years. We know you can’t put an old head on young shoulders. All we can do is offer guidance that might make their path a little steadier; that they carry with them the morals and values that guide our own footsteps - steady, imperfect, but rooted in love.

I am the one who grounds everyone, and yet they steady and uplift me in return. I encourage them to reach for the stars, knowing it requires courage and outstretched wings. And if I’m honest, neither Mark nor I are ready to be empty nesters. Our dream is deeper than that - a space where we can all live and grow, separately but together, connected by love, rhythm, and shared ground.

Messy, Beautiful Realness

The smell of morning coffee. Sunlight spilling across the bedroom floor. Productivity drifting from the kitchen. The softness of a well-worn couch beneath my hand. Cats racing through the hallway in their evening zoomies. These small, ordinary details are what anchor me. They are what turn walls into home.

The way Mark brings me a cup of tea when I’ve been deep in thought for hours, or cracks a pun so quick it catches you off guard. The way our sons laugh at a joke no one else understands. The music blaring through the bathroom walls. The way our resident young woman shares stories from her day, filling our home with warmth and young feminine energy.

These are the moments that make it more than a house. They are the threads that weave it into something living.

It is here that I embrace the messy, beautiful realness of life - the highs and lows, the clarity and confusion, the small victories and the lessons that shape us. I realise now, perfection was never the goal. Belonging is. And in this home, threaded with generations past and present, I see the legacy of love continuing - a story we write together, moment by moment, breath by breath.

This is me. Not perfect. Not fully figured out. But growing, learning, living, loving - and finding my place in the family, in the home, and in the life I have built, exactly as it is.

Thanks for reading, and for letting me share a piece of my home and heart with you.

LLP, 
Tash xo