The Flowers: Musings From Motherhood

When the day began to feel too full —

too loud in my mind,

too heavy in my body —

I learned to look for something small.

Something ordinary.

Sometimes, it was as simple as stepping outside

and picking flowers with my baby.

There was no plan in it.

No outcome to achieve.

Just hands reaching,

petals brushing our fingers,

the quiet rhythm of being together.

In those moments, the world slowed.

I noticed the way my baby watched intently,

as if the flowers were something entirely new —

because they were.

I noticed my breath soften.

My shoulders drop.

The noise inside me quieten.

It wasn’t about the flowers themselves.

It was about the connection.

About building a relationship through shared attention.

About letting gratitude replace urgency.

About being reminded that presence can be found

in the smallest rituals of the day.

When motherhood felt overwhelming,

this simple act brought me back.

Back to the ground beneath my feet.

Back to the warmth of my baby beside me.

Back to a moment that didn’t ask for anything more.

Mindfulness didn’t arrive as a practice.

It arrived as participation.

As noticing.

As touching.

As choosing to stay with what was right in front of me.

The flowers didn’t fix the hard days.

But they softened them.

They reminded me that even in seasons of heaviness,

there is room for beauty,

And sometimes, that is all we need

to keep going.