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The art of taking up space

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It’s spring darling, let yourself bloom.

Taking up space does not necessary mean expressing yourself to others. Being loud about your becomings; look at me, value me, please, give me permission to be me.

Maybe it’s more about taking up space within yourself. To allow yourself to be. To focus on yourself, and not being so caught up in other people’s whereabouts.

Take up space in your own life, darling.

Become comfortable sitting with yourself. Listening to your own voice. Choosing your own path. Within, within. Within. It all starts from within. Who are you when no one is watching? When no one is there to validate your presence? Your accomplishments. Is your art still valuable, without the attention of the other? Or, is your own validation not enough? What do you seek from them, that you cannot give to yourself?

It’s human to want connection. Without others, we’re incomplete. But without yourself, you’re nothing.

Allow your breath to deepen, allow your thoughts to expand. Allow your voice to matter. You have the whole universe within you, and somehow you still seek all the answers out there.

What if you became quiet? No distractions. No temptations. No noise. Nothing. Complete stillness. You see, stillness does not equal silence. You will hear the birds sing, the heart spring. That subtle light emerging from within. Growing, expanding into every cell of your body.

Stillness is like a lullaby. A warm hug from a loved one. A gentle stroke on the cheek. The body finally whispering It’s safe. Safe to be me.

Allow yourself to exist, darling.

You do not have to be load to be valuable. You do not have to shout to make your voice heard. You do not have to share to exist. Breathe, darling, breathe.

Create space for all things new. Allow boredom to enter. Take up space within your body, take up space within your mind. That is what makes you free – To be able to be stimulated, without external stimuli.

Live slower, and You will emerge faster.

Wintering

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”Anna Karenina is not for the light days of summer, it is to be read during the depths of winter.”

Winter is a season for slowing down. Just as nature is asleep, preparing herself for her blooming becoming of spring, we too have the opportunity to find deep rest. It’s not so much about being inactive, but more so about attentiveness, and still moments filled with silent whispers from within.

So, don’t treat winter like she is summer. She is deep. Nourishing and quiet. Let her thick layers of pure white snow comfort you. Let her cool wind guide you home.

Allow yourself to be winter when you are winter, and summer when you are summer.

What is your favourite winter activity? ❤️

https://youtu.be/6r4Dxxs1Gs8?si=MMYwJshwiRkB0wC0

Why self-care is an inner journey

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I matter

I truly cherish a real glow-up day with my whole heart—morning meditation, mat Pilates, face massage, skincare routine, dry brushing, a shower, and finishing it all off by moisturising my entire body. Closer to a goddess I cannot become. This is me every morning. Some would call it high-maintenance; I call it important time with myself.

This is simply an outer form of self-care, yet within its vanity there lies a deeper meaning: I matter. You see, it’s not so much what you do, but why you do it. Do you do it to get others to like you, or do you do it because you love yourself?

A 10-step skin care routine won’t magically transform you to a self-loving individual who knows their worth. Without the inner form of self-care, the outer form stands worthless. But what is that inner form of self-care? How does it show up in your life? It’s sticking to your promises. It’s making time for your hobbies in a hectic schedule. It’s allowing yourself to simply be – quiet, patient and in tune with yourself.

It’s listening to your needs, your wants and desires. It’s saying no when you’re tired, and yes when you’re curious.

It’s updating your CV, calling your parents. It’s not needing to have fifty pair of shoes collecting dust, but instead five pairs you love and actually use.

It’s allowing yourself playtime in the snow. It’s letting your sensuality come forth, your passion and light shine through. It’s knowing not everyone will cheer on you or pat you on your back when you succeed, yet knowing you still matter, you still belong.

It’s starting something new – attending a course, reaching out to a stranger. It’s choosing differently. It’s saying goodbye to your old self, and holding space for all of you while you do.

When you truly start to care for yourself, you truly start to care for others. When you learn how to hold space for yourself, you can hold space for others. When you love yourself, you love others. It stems from within – it all stems from within.

When you run away from yourself, you run away from life. Stop.

Self-care is realising you were never flawed. There was never anything that needed fixing. You simply needed enough stillness to become aware of that.

Self-care is being you in a world that keeps telling you to be someone else.

Don’t let the creativity pass you by

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Why I write.

Within each and every one of us lies a creative potential. As children, this creativity comes naturally to us. I remember being a competitive gymnast, a famous writer, an actress and a super model – all in one day. I didn’t question my imagination; rather, I invited it on a daily basis.

But then I grew up and started doubting every creative thought that passed by. No, I did not become either a competitive gymnast or an actress – not even a super model! However, becoming something was never the point; I was already blessed – with a vivid imagination. Maybe that’s why I continued writing.

Once, at an early-morning after party, a not-so-sober man I did not know decided to read my palm. While gazing seriously at my sweaty hand, he mumbled, ”You’ll become a famous writer.” My intoxicated young self believed him, grinning proudly to myself.

Or maybe he said fighter. The music was pretty loud.

While that is not the reason I write today, I will, however, tell you the reason why I do.

Writing keeps me present – alert. When I write, I am still. I listen, and I interact with the universe. I let the universe guide me; I am merely the pen following its instructions. It’s meditative. It’s grounding. It makes me feel more human – alive.

Writing, to me, means being close to something bigger than myself – something beyond my six senses. When I write, I am close to the infinity.

Creativity is found everywhere. You’ll encounter it in the midnight wind blowing through your window, in the softest, greenest grass, beneath your bare feet, or in a distant voice calling from behind a corner. Be still. Stay open. Receive.

There’s no secret to creativity other than it requires your attention. Creativity comes through you. You’re the instrument, the brush, the pen. If you’re not attentive enough, it will go elsewhere – it always does. It will move past you instead of through you. It will encounter another soul – open, ready, and willing to receive its magic.

Still, don’t let that discourage you; your time will come. But do remember, it’s a cooperation – this force needs a human being to burst into life, and the human needs that spark, that light, that quiet hint evolving into something so much bigger, so much grander.

Your job is to stay alert – to exist in the here and now. Why are you so afraid to be here? Why is it that you would rather live in your head, when you could instead live in the spaciousness surrounding you – every minute?

I am not a famous writer, but I still write. I do not have tons of followers, but I still write. I do not write perfectly, but I still write. Most of my friends do not read my writing, but I still write. I do not always feel like writing – I still write.

Why do you write?

I am not from here

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I love humans. I really do think they are rather amusing. But why so serious? Why so fearful of the unknown? Always complaining about being deprived, while deeply unaware they’re sitting on an enormous treasure chest. Being utmost beautiful, while screaming at their mirror, pointing out unnoticeable shortcomings.

What do you know, you might ask. Yes, what do I actually know, not being from here.

But you see, I live here. 40+ years I’ve been curiously interacting, more often observing, this strange earthly behaviour. There are so many questions arising in my chest. I seem to have lost the answers. Could I please ask you to help me find them?

The other day I heard this intelligent and attractive woman complaining. It seemed that everything was wrong in her life, and she kept on blaming herself for every decision she’d made. Another man was yelling at his children to hurry up, they had somewhere important they had to be. – What is more important than where you are right now, I thought. And then there were this couple. They were having dinner at this trendy restaurant (Instagram friendly, I heard the woman whisper to the man when they came in). They kept on taking pictures of their food (I stopped counting after 20 pictures). The food was cold and they started making a fuss about it. The waiter came, helpless. During their dinner the couple hardly made any eye contact. Nose in their phones.

One thing that keeps surprising me is all this focus on either the future or the past. Or this waiting for the perfect time. I lost count on how many times I’ve heard ”I will do it when…” – When? When exactly will you do it? I ask. No answer.

And then they start to come – the ”I should haves”. Usually these regrets are filled with words such as: It’s my mother’s fault I’m this way. If my kindergarten teacher would not have laughed at my drawing that time I was 5 I would be a famous artist by now. My girlfriend cheated on me. My boss is toxic. The weather is miserable.

No, it’s not the weather that is miserable. It’s your thoughts about the weather that are miserable, I silently shout. No one notices.

I am not from here, but I love it here.

I hope you see how absolutely gorgeous you are. I hope you comfort your children and tell them how enough they are. I hope you tell your partner how much you appreciate them. I hope you quit your job, cause there is one more aligned waiting for you. I hope you call her. I hope you visit that new café in town. I hope you write that letter. Attend that audition. Speak up. Dress up.

I am not from here, but I do, I really do.
Love it here.
I hope you too.

A love letter to a past life

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Italy has always had a special place in my heart. Ever since that first time in high school when I decided to take a beginner’s course in Italian, I knew there was a special bond between the country and me.

Fast forward 20 years and I find myself in Venice with a man I have never met before. And no, he was not a complete stranger to me; we’d had online contact about 4 months before we decided to meet up in Venice. I believe the city was his choice. Or, if I remember it correctly we made a list of possible cities to meet in, and Venice was on his list. I did not oppose, of course – let’s meet in Venice! So, I flew from my country, and he flew from his country. What am I doing, I thought to myself. I don’t even know how he smells!

To get from the airport I had to travel by ferry to reach Venice. It was late evening and I had booked a hotel on the nearby island Burano for my first night. The foggy canals were quiet yet welcoming. I slept like a baby and woke up at dawn.

The familiarity only grew when I arrived in Venice — that strange sensation of being somewhere new, yet feeling as if I already knew every corner. I can’t recall the streets being crowded. Mid August, and I didn’t notice the stressed out tourists, I only heard forgotten secrets lingering in every corner.

And the man? Yes, the man… He showed up looking as handsome as he’d seemed online. If you can call a man beautiful, then I would call him beautiful. Yet he complicated reality by arriving in a form I didn’t think existed outside fiction. Disney Princes do exist beyond the movies, I thought. The way he looked at the city made me stop looking at it and watch him instead. He had this calm, careful way of taking things in, but there was always a bit of a storm behind his eyes.

I experienced this deep nostalgia for a place I’d never visited before. The narrow alleys and piazzas felt as if they whispered secrets from a past I had forgotten I’d lived. It was as if I had run along those streets and bridges, touched the buildings, leaned out from a small window and fallen asleep to the city’s late-evening sounds. And when the rain started to fall, the city became even more captivating. It drifted through the alleys and nudged us closer, clinging to our hair and clothes, shimmering as if the city had scattered tiny sparks instead of water.

For nearly a year after the trip, every time I meditated I found myself back in the arms of Venice. The first time it happened, it caught me off guard. There was always the same piazza — the one I kept returning to. I could see myself on a wooden bench beneath an olive tree, reading. It was a memory I’d never lived, yet somehow my soul recognized it.

I don’t know if he sensed the same alluring magic that seemed to control every street corner. I don’t know if he heard the walls hinting at secrets from a past life. I never asked him. I don’t think he would have laughed at me for asking (he would have laughed, though, if he knew I saw him as a Disney Prince). I think he would have contemplated his answer for weeks, and then given me a thoughtful reply.

Not all Disney Princes are meant for you. But he showed me something beautiful. He took me back to my soul city, and for that, I am forever grateful.

Your little dreams matter

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I have introduced a new weekly habit where I take myself to the library. On Saturdays I show up at the front door five minutes before opening, my sight on one of their comfy chairs. And after entering, together with 50 other humans seeking bibliosmia*, I find my seat, sit down, and begin writing. Sometimes I bring a chai latte, more often I wear a chic outfit, and every time make it into this dreamy weekend routine.

I don’t always feel motivated to write. Although I want to write the motivation to sit down and do so doesn’t always effortlessly show up. Especially if I don’t know what to write about. But I take action, I show up, and once I do, the motivation follows.

First and foremost, I want my dreams to matter to me. I want there to be time for them in this, so often, chaotic world.

For what is life, if we’re not tending to our own garden.

Your little dreams matter. Whether you wish to pursue writing, singing, painting or acting. Maybe your biggest desire is to dance ballet, although you’re clearly way past the best-before-date as a professional dancer. But the thing is, you don’t do it to pay your bills. You do it simply out of sheer joy.

Lately I have been guilty of asking ChatGPT whether a sentence of mine sounds good or not. I ask it to rewrite (if needed), and usually Chatty changes it into something near perfection. And it’s hard to resist not relying on him (yes my ChatGPT is male) for that impeccable excellence. But while the sentence turns into the beau idéal, my soul has vanished, the depth is gone, and I’m left feeling useless.

My purpose is not to write flawlessly in English (since my mother tongue is Swedish I would never ask that of myself). There are no doubt grammar mistakes lingering in every corner. However, writing from the heart, and letting the errors shine through, is what creates uniqueness, and certainly something that will help improve my writing over time. Not seeking perfection, but refinement.

I do want to be able to notice my own mistakes, and not always relying on Chatty to make it into something grammatically correct. I want to be able to trust my own marvelous brain.

So, while I am sitting here, in the library (no ChatGPT around) smelling the books, listening to people breathing, I am tending to my little dreams. All I wish is to create room for my little dreams to furnish curiosity, deservingness, and a little bit of fearlessness. Yet, I might throw in some imperfect sentences here and there, but at least they are my sentences, crafted from the heart.

So, while you’re out and about in the world today; tend to your garden; water your seeds and nourish your thoughts. The world needs diversity. The world needs your imperfect being fulfilling its purpose.

*the smell and aroma of a good book. to become wrapped up in the words, lost in new worlds, comfort in fresh ideas and absorbed in beautiful stories.

The choice

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I wanted to write about this thing, or thought, I have been having lately. I always knew about it – the choice – however, I have had difficulties embracing it. And the past few weeks, the universe has shown signs reminding me to dare to believe I actually have a choice. But, I have been thinking it’s not that simple. That life is not simple. That we need to struggle, and work hard, in order to receive things.

But what if, this entire time, I was wrong – maybe it can be simple? Maybe I can be happily satisfied with everything I already have, not constantly seeking more.

So, what is the choice, I am referring to?

It is the choice to choose. To choose happy, to choose love, to choose peace. To choose prosperity. Simply to choose, whatever you wish. Every morning when you wake up you have a choice. And no outer circumstance, or person can interfere with that choice. It is solely your choice to make. Each minute of the day you have the power to choose.

What if I don’t have love in my life right now, you might say. What if I don’t have the prosperity I long for, in order to gain peace of mind.

But what if you choose to focus on the things you do have. We all have something. If you can read this, you either have a phone or a computer, and internet connection. You most likely have a bed to sleep in. Friends? Maybe you have a few really good friends, and a family that cares for you. You have eyes to see with, ears to listen with, legs to run with.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting more out of life, certainly not. You should strive towards the future you dream of. However, do not miss out of this moment you are in right now. This is where your future is taking shape. Each choice you make, each action you take, either brings you closer to or keeps you further away from your desired future.

What if everything is already good. What if you choose if you are content and filled with love, or not. Your love should not be dependent if someone loves you or not. Just look at nature, how effortlessly she is providing hear treasures.

Life is not about waiting for happiness or love to arrive. Happiness, love, is something beautiful that is created from within. You do not need a reason to be happy. You are permitted to be happy anyways. It is a choice you make every morning when you have the privilege to wake up.

The one choice. What will you choose?

The Power of Small Shifts

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This week I felt like I needed a change. Nothing major, just little shifts to bring some excitement into my usual routine. On Tuesday, I went for an early morning run before work; something I almost never do. Yesterday, I tried the opposite – a late evening run. And today, I booked a private flower arranging course. Hopefully I can already go this Saturday!

In between, I’ve been playing with the details of my day: trying new foods, wearing my scarf in different ways, swapping negative thoughts for positive ones. And I realised; it really doesn’t take much to feel a difference. Sometimes it’s just choosing coconut milk instead of oat milk, or taking another route to work.

I keep coming back to this idea of small, consistent behaviour. The parts of my life where I feel most grounded are the ones I nurture daily. Eating in a way that feels good for my body. Spending time outdoors. Moving—whether it’s a run, ballet or just twenty minutes of pilates. It doesn’t have to be anything huge. The point is to keep showing up.

I’m also trying to hold myself accountable with my writing. Some days I only manage half a page, but even then, I choose to pick up the pen. That small act matters.

Tiny choices, repeated every day, are what build into something meaningful over time.

Today I chose to change things up. I wonder; what will I choose tomorrow? And with every choice, inviting a bit more newness into my life.

So, what small shift could you make today? What tiny choice might brighten your routine?

Morning pages

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I’ve started my mornings by writing in my journal, almost on autopilot. Even on the days when there’s nothing to say — which happens a lot. At 6 a.m. my mind is usually quiet. I don’t write down my dreams since I seldom remember them; they tend to show up later in the day. My sleep is deep. I’m painfully slow in the morning, and I need time to come back to this world. Writing helps with that.

Sometimes I wonder if, while I sleep, I’m traveling “home,” and waking up I find myself back here. Have you ever felt that?

However, this is not going to be a post about my nightly travels. Rather, I wanted to share the benefits of writing your thoughts down, first thing in the morning. Writing without editing.

Creating is much more than simply producing something pretty; it’s a way of bringing the unseen into the seen. Creative expression often reveals what we are yearning for, what we value, or what we are healing. It’s a mirror of our inner world. For example when journaling a dream life, painting a serene scene, or writing poetry of love/abundance – this act of imagination can be seen as manifestation. When we create, we manifest.

I noticed while free writing early morning my mind is not as dense and occupied as it would be during the day or the evening. Still, I think journaling has its benefits at any hour, but I find there’s something magical about the early mornings. Before the day starts pulling us in different directions, the mind feels less distracted, more honest, more raw. The words don’t need to sound pretty, and they don’t have to carry some deep revelation. The purpose is simply to let them out.

The idea of morning pages comes from Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way. It’s a book I highly recommend anyone who wish to live a more creative life. The aim is to write three pages, however, some days I write half a page, others one page, and some more than three. On occasion, I even pick it up again in the evening. It really depends. I’ve never been one for rigid structures, I’d rather move with the flow.

One of the reasons I began morning pages was to hear my own voice again. It had become buried under so many outside distractions, that I could no longer tell which thoughts were actually mine. But through this practice, I found myself being more at peace again. More connected to my own emotions, and more in tune with myself. And even on the days when I only write a couple of sentences I notice how, little by little, my own voice starts to blossom again.

I want to be inspired by the outside world, however, it can easily become too much. Too much nonsense. Simply too much. I long for my own voice to guide and inspire me, for it alone carries the lyrics I was born to share.

How do you inspire yourself?