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Image by Jenny McClymont

Sometimes we admire people not because of who they are, but because of what we think they represent, success, power, access. But when admiration turns into silence, and truth is swallowed in the name of favour, something deeper begins to unravel.

There are times we find ourselves drawn to certain people, not because they lead with kindness or wisdom, but because others seem to orbit around them. Their presence carries weight, not necessarily earned through action, but maintained by status, stories, or old influence.

Around them, truth becomes softened. People say ‘yes’ when they mean ‘maybe,’ nod when they long to question. Not out of loyalty, but out of quiet hope, that by staying agreeable, something might be gained.

In these spaces, praise becomes a currency. And flattery, a performance. Some learn to keep close by using sharp tongues dressed in sweet tones, silencing others to stay in favour.

However, when praise is no longer grounded in truth, something begins to erode. The self-respect of those who give it. The integrity of those who receive it.

And over time, the web that was woven to hold others down begins to tangle its maker.

Even the most charming mask can’t hide what’s eventually revealed, that the snake was always there, just waiting in the tall grass.

Reflective Question

What’s the difference between genuine respect and silent self-protection, and how do we know when we’ve crossed that line?

Image created by Jenny mcClymont.

There are times when we feel stretched beyond shape, like threads unravelled from their centre. This series of images, when layered together, tell a story not of chaos but of the subtle, unspoken shifts that occur within us when life asks us to let go, realign, or wait.

Just as text integrates meaning through rhythm and flow, these works integrate each layer, visually and symbolically, through overlay and texture. One image resting within another. Shadow meeting softness. Line merging into light.

A break in the line is not always destruction. Sometimes, it is a divine interruption.

Each image reflects the beauty of that interruption, the sacred pause, the in-between space where answers don’t come loudly but arrive slowly, like light spilling through cracked glass. These are not images of perfection. They are images of the process. The raw edge. The pulling apart. The tender reweaving.

In one, the colours are tangled but vibrant, like emotions we’ve struggled to name but dared to express. In another, soft curves and fading threads hint at renewal, even when the direction remains unclear. In yet another, broken patterns begin to form a new rhythm, unfamiliar but no longer afraid.

These works are not declarations. They are invitations. To notice. To reflect. To breathe with what is. Remember that growth sometimes looks like undoing. That presence isn’t loud. That strength often whispers.

This season, for me, is one of quiet reflection, a time of no grand decisions. Just noticing. Trusting that what has been let go will be held. That silence can speak. That wisdom sometimes arrives not in thunder but in stillness. That silence can speak.

I created these images not to impress, but to express. To remind me, and perhaps you, that when everything feels pulled out of line, it is the beginning of something sacred, reformed in softness and coloured by faith and shaped not by force but by surrender.

Image: “The Break in the Line” (2025), created by Jenny McClymont. Used with permission. All rights reserved.

We don’t always snap. Sometimes, we start bending.

One line at a time, work, sleep, focus, peace, drawn further apart from each other until we don’t quite recognise the shape of our days. Nothing’s gone dramatically wrong, but nothing feels quite right either. We wake up inside what looks like an ordinary routine and wonder, ‘Where did I go?‘

In my practice and my life, I keep meeting people who say:

I’m functioning, but I’m not fine.

I feel like I’m slowly disappearing.

I’m tired of being tired.

They are not burnt out in the loud, dramatic way we used to picture. They are quietly, constantly stretched—trying to hold together work, emotions, finances, purpose, and identity while pretending to be OK. And this pressure is now everywhere, understated but relentless.

A Mental Health Crisis Hidden in Plain Sight

• Over 85% of UK employees experience symptoms of burnout.
• More than 50% feel they can’t safely talk about mental health at work.
• Young adults report the highest anxiety levels ever recorded, often linked to instability, job insecurity, and social isolation.

And yet we’re told to “keep going,” “stay productive,” and “stay positive.” When you’re quietly breaking, these instructions feel like denial.

This is what inspired the image above: lines that should flow but instead are pulled and twisted, still connected but no longer whole.

Pause. What if you didn’t need to hold it all?

Sometimes, healing isn’t about fixing what’s broken. It’s about acknowledging what hurts.

It’s the moment you let yourself say:

This is too much.

I need rest.

I miss who I was before I got this tired.

Therapy doesn’t begin with answers. It starts with presence, someone beside you who sees you as you are, not as you’re trying to be.

Gentle Reminders for Those Feeling the Strain

1. You are not your output
2. Productivity is not proof of your worth. Your rest matters as much as your results.
3. It’s OK to name the quiet crisis
4. You don’t need to collapse to justify help. If you’re struggling, that’s enough.
5. Healing isn’t always dramatic
6. Sometimes, it’s a sigh, a pause, a long breath. That’s where recovery starts.
7. Let someone witness you
8. Not fix. Just witness. Being seen is often the first step to being well.
9. You haven’t failed
10. You’ve adapted. You’ve coped. And now you’re allowed to want something gentler.

 Final Reflection

If your inner lines feel out of place, misaligned, broken, stretched, you are not alone. You are not broken. You are responding to a world that is often out of sync with what human beings need.

So, pause.

Soften.

Step back into your rhythm, however slowly.

Let the lines blur and reform on their terms.

Because you were never meant to be a machine.

Reference Sources

Reed. (2024, June 10). 85% of workforce feel burnt out and exhausted. The Times. Retrieved from https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/85-percent-workforce-burnout-mental-health-reed-pvcqwt3l3

CIPD. (2023, October 12). Almost half of UK employees uncomfortable discussing mental health at work. People Management. Retrieved from https://www.peoplemanagement.co.uk/article/1743062/half-uk-employees-uncomfortable-discussing-mental-health-at-work

Let’s look at the words:

Compassion.

Com – pass – I – on.

A whisper in a loud world.

A call to presence, to self-love, to connection.

“Com” – with.

“Pass” – movement.

“I” – the self.

“On” – forward.

Compassion moves with you.

It doesn’t demand perfection.

It asks you to show up—to honour who you are,

where you’ve come from,

and who you are still becoming.

Don’t worry about living someone else’s life.

That’s not compassion.

That’s forgetting yourself.

Compassion is not about denial.

It’s about remembering—

Remembering your value.

Showing gratitude to the self

that wakes up each day and keeps going.

Imagine the whole world

pausing, just for one second,

to offer someone—even a stranger—compassion.

What would shift?

What could heal?

At times, we lose our way.

And instead of stopping to reflect,

we blame, we deflect, we rush.

But that isn’t compassion.

Compassion is a soft place to land.

It is the moment you realise

it’s okay to be human.

To nurture. To care.

To love gently.

To offer yourself the same tenderness

you long to give others.

So, pause.

Breathe.

Ask yourself today—not tomorrow, not yesterday—

How can I have compassion for myself today?

It’s not selfish.

It’s sacred.

In our fast-moving, achievement-driven world, compassion is often overlooked. We rush through days filled with to-do lists and expectations, rarely pausing to ask: How am I treating myself? How am I treating others? In the busyness of life, we may begin to lose sight of the quiet, essential power that compassion holds—not just in therapy rooms or crisis moments, but in everyday life.

Compassion isn’t about grand gestures. It starts with simple things: how we speak to ourselves after a mistake, how we respond to a friend who’s struggling, how we choose to listen, soften, or make space for someone else. And yet, many of us find it easier to extend kindness to others than to ourselves. We are our own harshest critics—quick to judge, slow to forgive.

But self-compassion is not self-indulgence. It’s a foundation. When we offer kindness inward, we build the emotional strength to show up more gently and patiently in the world around us. It becomes easier to hold boundaries without guilt, to speak with more understanding, and to meet others with presence rather than pressure.

In today’s culture—where comparison, perfectionism, and individualism often take centre stage—practising compassion is a quiet return to what matters. It reminds us that behind every face is a story, behind every silence, a reason, and behind every outburst, a need.

We don’t have to wait for significant events or deep suffering to practice compassion. It can be in how we treat ourselves when we’re tired, how we pause before reacting, how we notice someone’s tone and choose empathy instead of assumption.

Let’s start there: to care. Not perfectly, not dramatically—just consciously, gently, and more often. Compassion isn’t weakness; it’s strength with heart.

Wings Without Wings

Reflections from Margery Wood and Colley Hill on the quiet power of stillness and simply being.

Have You Ever Just Stopped to ‘Be’?

In a world full of doing, achieving, rushing, and scrolling…

Have you ever stopped… just for a moment… to be?

Not to fix.

Not to solve.

Not to plan.

Just to breathe.

To notice.

To exist.

Take a moment—one minute, two, three or five—to be still.

What comes to mind when everything else pauses?

For some, this is a mindful practice. For others, it’s a chance to reconnect with their breath, their body, or something deeper.

It doesn’t need a name. It doesn’t have to look a certain way. It’s yours.

Spiritual journeys hold different meanings for different people.

Whether it’s through silence, movement, creativity, or connection with nature—this is your space to explore.

When we make time to pause, we remember we’re not machines.

We’re not here to keep going until burnout or breakdown.

We’re allowed to stop. To notice. To feel.

And in those moments, we often find clarity, grounding, and even unexpected joy.

Wings Without Wings

This weekend, I walked through Margery Wood and climbed Colley Hill.

The sun was high.

The sky, open and blue.

The view… breath-taking.

And in that stillness, I remembered something:

We can all fly—without wings.

Through presence.

Through beauty.

Through being.

And by letting go of what weighs us down.

A Short Poem from the Hilltop

The breeze was gentle, the path was wide,

A chorus of birdsong on every side.

The trees stood tall, and the sun kissed my face,

And suddenly—I felt held by this place.

No wings, no rush, no need to strive,

Just the quiet joy of being alive.

Let this be your reminder today:

You don’t need to do more to be enough.

Sometimes, all it takes is a breath… and the choice to pause.

Closing Note

Sometimes, stillness says more than words ever could.

If this resonated with you, be still—and perhaps revisit it when you next need to find stillness.

“Growth mindset” isn’t just a phrase for motivational posters or business seminars—it’s a quiet, decisive shift in how we relate to ourselves and the world around us. It’s not about being perfect or endlessly striving. It’s about believing that you can learn, change, and evolve—and that mistakes, challenges, and setbacks are part of the process.

When we adopt a growth mindset, something subtle but transformative happens. We stop viewing struggles as signs of failure and start seeing them as stepping stones. Life becomes less about proving ourselves and more about discovering what we’re capable of. This shift can give everyday moments more depth and meaning.

You might notice:

• Disappointments don’t define you. They guide you.
• Learning becomes energising rather than exhausting.
• The feedback feels helpful rather than threatening.
• Stop comparing yourself to others and start exploring your potential.

Most importantly, embracing growth means allowing yourself to make mistakes, to be a beginner, to try again, and to move forward even when things feel uncertain.

Whether you’re navigating relationships, work, parenting, or personal change, a growth mindset invites you to live more fully and compassionately with yourself. It says: you’re allowed to grow—and life becomes more meaningful because of it.

Reflection Question (for readers):

What’s one area of your life where you’ve been holding back because you were afraid of getting it wrong—and what might shift if you approached it with a growth mindset?

There is an ache that lives quietly within people. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t always cry. It sits at the edge of things — in the middle of a conversation, during a smile, behind a moment of silence.

Some people carry it so gracefully that they never know it was there.

You might look at them and think:

“They’ve got it all together.”

“They’re always creating, doing, thriving.”

But wholeness isn’t always loud.

And being okay doesn’t always mean being well.

The Things We Carry That No One Sees

 We all have weight that isn’t visible.

The constant effort of keeping things going. The loneliness tucked into the folds of a busy life. The questions that keep coming back no matter how many times we answer them.

It’s easy to feel like you’re the only one.

You’re not.

This isn’t just a blog. This is a pause—a companion.

An invitation to breathe — maybe for the first time today.

Loneliness, Described Differently

 Not all loneliness appears to be being alone.

Sometimes, it feels like this: A beautiful instrument left untouched — still full of music, just waiting for someone to sit down and listen — Jenny McClymont

This is the kind of loneliness that longs not just for company but for connection. To be seen clearly. To be heard without having to shout.

If you’ve ever felt like that instrument, this is for you.

Hunger That Isn’t for Food

There’s a craving we don’t always name —

Not for food, or sleep, or space.

But for meaning. Resonance. A reminder that we’re not the only ones.

It’s the hunger to see yourself in someone else’s words and think:

Yes. That’s it.

That’s how it feels.

This is my story, too.

If you’re hungry for something real, soft, and genuine —

You’ve come to the right place.

Let’s walk it together.

No fixes. No pressure.

It’s just a return to something quieter and more whole.

Some people seem to glow. They appear calm, accomplished, and creative. Others look at them and say things like:

“I want to be like you.”

“You’re always doing something amazing.”

“It just seems to come so naturally to you.”

But the surface rarely tells the whole story.

Behind closed doors, there may be self-doubt, fatigue, and the relentless pressure to keep going — to be steady, kind, productive, inspiring — even on days when it’s hard to get out of bed.

There’s the unseen effort of holding things together.

Of creating something out of nothing.

Of offering care and guidance while no one asks how you’re doing.

Sometimes, it feels like everyone wants a piece of the light, but no one sees the cost of keeping it burning.

And still — somehow — people carry on.

Not because they feel invincible, but because somewhere deep inside, they still believe in the quiet power of showing up. Of doing the work. Of reaching out with something gentle or generous, even when they’re tired.

There is quiet strength in simply continuing.

There is grace in not being perfect.

And there is hope in knowing you are not alone in your silent battles.

 Reflective Prompt: “What No One Sees”

Take a few quiet moments and write a short letter to yourself.

Begin with:

“Here’s what I wish someone knew about me right now…”

Let the words come without judgment. What are you carrying that others don’t see? What would it feel like to be fully seen — not just for what you do, but for who you are?