End-of-Summer Musings - A Gentle Reflection on August’s Moments & Mindful Living

"This summer wasn't just mine. It was ours."

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End-of-Summer Musings - A Gentle Reflection

Did you ever actually look back at a month just gone and take stock of what you’ve done, where you’ve been, what you’ve achieved?

This little idea popped into my head at midnight (of course) and by 1pm the next day, I was typing it into my phone notes so I wouldn’t forget.

We’re usually go-go-go, barely remembering the good bits… or is that just me? Then something slows you down for a moment and you think, Oh wow - that really was a good month. I’m not saying we should live in the past, but moments like this are part of mindful living - noticing and appreciating what’s already been - and they can feel so heartwarming, especially on the greyer days ( photo books,welcome!).

And yes… autumn is already peeking around the corner.

My little lady will soon be back from Latvia, school will be in full swing again, and life will return to its usual whirl (Hello mindful chaos!). Which is exactly why I’m taking a moment to appreciate how I spent this summer - what I learned, who I met.

What Rose in Me This Month

Not everyone has the time (or the midnight tendency) to sit and philosophise about it.

But here’s what rose in me lately:

I realised I’d been carrying a quiet ache - a soft shadow of feeling a little “not useful,” if that word fits. Most days, I’m wrapped up in looking after others - cooking, caring, the small acts of love - my son, now busy with work and only home on weekends, or my daughter, who’s been away.

And then, like a gentle breeze in the stillness, a whisper came through: Hey… there’s still you here. You deserve kindness too.

So I did. I listened inwards. I read the magazine that’s been sitting on the table for months.

I stared into a candle in the evening and thought about nothing (yes, really).

I even adopted a pumpkin spice candle in mid-August - no shame, fellow autumn lovers.

Moments That Shaped My Summer

And oh, the places I’ve been:

Sunrises spilling gold over the sea, sunsets painting the mountains in soft fire, lakes that stole my breath in quiet wonder.

Cold dips that woke my skin, paddle boarding with my bestie under open skies, sitting in the hush of a cave. Soothing myself among sunflower faces and bare feet brushing lavender petals. Recording meditation after meditation, sharing my breath and voice with you. Celebrating the tiniest steps as if they were mountains moved.

This summer gifted me slow, gentle moments - the kind of time that lets you truly listen inward, to the quiet aches and whispered needs tucked deep inside. Moments where the heart unclenches, releasing what’s been held too tightly, if only just a little. And I keep returning to that soft letting go, again and again.

Looking back, it’s not only the “big” moments that shape the season — it’s the small, tender stitches woven quietly between them that give summer its gentle shape.

Your Little Nudge Before September

With August almost waving goodbye, maybe this is your little nudge to pause - look back at what’s been, and, if you fancy, jot down a few hopes for September too.

Thank you to everyone who’s shared your own moments with me through my blog, YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram this summer - your words have been such a beautiful reminder that these conversations matter.

Even Facebook, with all its quirks, has made me think more about how I work - how to share without flooding your feeds with my sea of hugs and generosity (what can I say… I’m an extrovert, I can’t help myself ).

Sometimes, when I gather all my blog posts from a season, I tear up. (Ahh… I’m soapy,

I admit - all soft edges and little bubbles of feeling.) Not every time, but often enough.

I think it’s because each piece feels like a real conversation - tender, a little exposed -

and I quietly hope the words might wash up somewhere they’re needed.

The Moments You’ve Shared With Me

And maybe that’s my favourite thing about looking back - not just the moments I’ve lived, but the ones you’ve shared with me.

There’s the mother who will pass my words to her daughter struggling with social anxiety, the friend who realised that calm isn’t lost but only tucked beneath the noise, and the one who named her anxiety “Bridget” - love this - and learned to greet it without fear. There’s the person who sat in the pouring rain, feeling small and grounded as the field blurred into silver waves, and the reader who found her “one soft thing” in a quiet coffee before the house woke.

And then there was the message that made me pause. She told me that one line I had written - “To the quiet truth that we are allowed to be unfinished” - felt like a light being switched on. It eased something in her, lifted a little weight from her shoulders. She reminded me not to underestimate the influence of my words… and I realised how much I needed that reminder, too.

There are days I wonder if my thoughts matter, but her kindness gently placed my feet back on the path. Sometimes the right words find the right heart at the right moment - and that is everything.

You’ve reminded me that healing doesn’t need to shout to be real - like the quiet unfolding of a dawn mist. That starting over isn’t weakness, but a quiet act of courage, like a small green shoot pushing through soft earth. Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is slow down, take baby steps, and let the silence speak for us, like leaves whispering in a gentle breeze.

This summer wasn’t just mine - it was ours. A patchwork quilt of shared pauses, whispered truths, and small acts of care, stitched together like sunbeams dancing on a lake’s surface. And for every word you’ve sent back to me, know this: I carry them like sunlight tucked deep in my pocket, warm and steady, lighting the way.

Before You Go…

If today offers you a quiet minute, take it. Write down one thing summer placed gently in your hands that you’d like to carry into September - even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small.

And if you feel like sharing, I’d love to read your words in the comments. Somehow, what you write always turns this little corner into a shared garden - each thought a leaf, a petal, a seed we plant together.

I’m so glad you’re here, reading and sharing this space with me.

From my corner of calm to yours,

Eva.

"Growth rises where vulnerability and encourage meet - like the sea embracing the shore."

P.S. In this post, I share a sunrise by the sea - a quiet moment perched on the cliffs, where the waves reached closer than ever before, whispering ancient secrets. Trusting the water is still a new language I’m learning, one written in both fear and wonder. That day held a delicate tide of trembling and joy, reminding me that the most beautiful growth often rises where vulnerability and courage meet, like the sea meeting the shore in a timeless embrace.

~E.