When the Striving Grows Quiet

My dear Mermaid Darlings and cherished friends of Stillwater Petticoat Society,

This morning arrived with a curious sort of clarity; not the loud kind that announces itself from a rooftop, but the gentle sort that slips through an open window whilst the kettle hums and the world has not yet quite awakened.

I have spent much of my life believing that if I loved a little harder, worked a little longer, gave a little more of myself, then perhaps I would finally feel seen. Many of us who grew up feeling overlooked learn this lesson early; we become caretakers, peacemakers, and steady hands for everyone around us, often without realising that we have quietly abandoned ourselves in the process.

Yet there comes a season when one begins to understand that whatever we most long to receive from others must first be supplied from within.

If we desire appreciation, we must learn to appreciate ourselves. If we desire kindness, we must extend it inward. If we wish for someone to fill our cup, we must first discover the spring that already rests beneath our own feet.

The difficulty lies in accepting that no person can wholly provide what the soul requires. They may add sweetness to our tea; they may walk beside us for a little while; they may offer encouragement when the road grows steep. Yet the deeper work belongs to us alone.

I believe that is why so many of us find ourselves arriving at a peculiar crossroads, one where striving begins to lose its charm and peace becomes far more attractive than pursuit.

Perhaps that is not surrender at all, perhaps it is wisdom. 

For those of you listening faithfully to my subliminals, you may have noticed something rather curious. Occasionally, a recording that once brought comfort suddenly feels irritating, and you find yourself wanting to switch it off altogether. Many people become concerned when this happens, though I have found it to be a familiar part of the voyage.

The subconscious mind rarely welcomes change with open arms. It prefers the old pathways, even when they no longer serve us. When a new belief begins to take root, the mind often pushes back. A little resistance is not necessarily a sign that something is wrong; often, it is evidence that something is shifting.

Persist gently, my dear.

Not with force, nor frustration, but with the quiet certainty that a gardener brings to her seeds. She does not dig them up each morning to see whether they have grown; she simply tends them and trusts the process.

If you have not yet collected the free subliminals, you are welcome to email (Raquel@RaquelCarter.com) me, and I shall happily send them along. I continue to share new videos on YouTube throughout the week, along with regular live gatherings for those walking this path beside me.

Here at Scarlette Rose Cottage, life has found its rhythm once more.

The shelves now stand in place, and after nearly two years of boxes, wrappings, and little piles waiting their turn, I can finally see the shape of home emerging again. A few projects still wait patiently in the wings. I hope to finish the fireplace board very soon, perhaps this week if energy allows, though next week seems equally content to receive it.

Most days, I retreat to the cottage and lose myself amongst stories.

Two new children’s books sit open upon my desk, waiting for their next chapters, and I confess I am quite impatient to begin the illustrations. There is something magical about reaching that stage, when words begin to ask for colour.

Sweet little Buckaroo has also returned home from the taxidermist. I shall be creating a glass case for him and hope to fashion something reminiscent of the cover of The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies. It will require a rather grand shelf when finished, though I suspect he would approve of such arrangements.

There are many adventures ahead; quiet ones, creative ones, and perhaps a few unexpected ones as well.

If you should like to keep company with me between letters, I share glimpses of daily cottage life on Instagram stories each day. It remains the one place where I gather most regularly, and I should be delighted to see you there.

As for me, the dough is waiting upon the kitchen counter, and a week’s worth of bread will not make itself. The afternoon sun has begun to shift across the windows, and that seems as good a signal as any to tie on an apron and carry on.

Until next time, my dear friends, may your cup be filled from within, your heart remain light, and your days unfold with a little more peace than striving.

Most affably yours 'til my next enchanting swim, Lady Raquel