Once upon a time, I was young and bold and vibrant and … young. I used to love spring energy. I felt like a tree, its sap rushing up, its flowers all in bloom and all its leaves bursting into greenness and life at the same time.

I love that feeling. Really.

So I defined myself as someone who love spring and summer.

Then, a few years back, one fine spring… I bloomed faster than my roots could handle.
The sun came out, the calendar filled itself without asking, and, just like every other year, I was on. On for clients, on for friends, on for every idea that had hibernated through the winter. I thought I was ready. I wanted to be ready. But underneath the buzz of activity, my body whispered a different story.

My energy frayed like an overused thread. My joy, once so full-bodied and juicy, started to feel thin. Even the things I loved, movement, creating, singing, connecting, felt like obligations instead of offerings. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was blooming too fast, too much, too soon. And I was burning out.

The spring energy was too much for me (yes, I know, ironic right!)

That’s when I began listening again. Not to the noise outside me, but to my body, to the land, and to the slower, deeper rhythm that had been patiently waiting underneath all along.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love the vibrancy and dynamism of spring and summer. But, truth be told, until the summer solstice brings a much needed respite and I can feel the energy beginning to go downwards again, I usually feel too much "pressure" in the spring time. Maybe that’s what ageing looks like… in which case… I’ll take ageing! And I seriously cannot wait until June 22^nd!

So these days, when spring rushes in with her floral dress and megaphone, I pause. I breathe. And instead of trying to match her tempo, I tune into my own.

What saves me now isn’t more planning or pushing … It’s sensation. My body knows what my mind forgets in all the flurry: that blooming is a slow, intimate act. That joy, energy, and creativity don’t come from pressure, but from presence.

Here’s how I stay rooted while the world blossoms.. I come back to my senses (lol!):

I See Gently

I let my eyes rest on beauty that soothes me instead of overstimulating me. I watch a single bee for a while. I light a candle in the early evening. I soften the brightness around me, my screens, my surroundings, even my inner expectations.

Sometimes when I see less, I feel more.

I Listen to the Real World

I step outside and listen, not to podcasts or pings, but to birds, to the wind, to my own feet crunching against the newly grown grass. I let the rhythm of the land replace the fast-ticking clock in my head.

It helps me remember: I’m not late. I’m alive.

I Touch What Grounds Me

I press my palms to sun-warmed stone. I walk barefoot on soil. I wrap myself in linen, or stroke the petals of a blooming rose as if they might whisper back. When I’m frayed or restless, I use touch to call myself home.

I give myself permission to rest like the land does… soft, open, and full of promise.

I Smell Like a Wild Thing

I crush rosemary between my fingers and breathe it in. I lean into lilacs. I smell the rain, the bark of a pine tree, the sweet richness of warm earth. I bury my nose in the folds of my clothes after time in the sun.

Scent pulls me back to myself, quietly and completely.

I Taste With Awe

I slow down when I eat. I take smaller bites, let flavors linger. I add herbs with intention, thyme for strength, mint for joy. Sometimes I eat one ripe strawberry with my eyes closed, and that’s all it takes.

Taste teaches me how to be grateful without even trying.

And no, this isn’t about doing less, or practising some rigid regimen of restriction, starvation, or abstinence. I’ve tried that kind of discipline. It only made me smaller, not freer. What I’ve come to understand is that this path isn’t about subtracting joy, it’s about focusing it.

I don’t want a life that looks great on paper but feels like cardboard on the inside. I’ve seen people pace themselves to 100, carefully managing every bite, every breath, every joy, every obligation… But I can’t help but wonder: when do they get to live?

Living, for me, is in the full-bodied bite of a fig, the unexpected laugh that bubbles up from my belly, the warmth of my hand on my own chest when I remember I’m here. That’s not excess. That’s essence.

I don’t do all of this every day. But I choose one sense, one pause, one breath. And that’s how I bloom now, through sensation, not schedule. Through softness, not speed. I allow my blooming to be sensual, not scheduled.

So this May, if my weekends are in full bloom, from a trip to Paris with my mum, basking in exhibitions, concerts, and theatre, to a crazy fantasy festival in a steampunk costume, to a 4-day trip to the mountains (with hikes to magical fountains and a spa day included), to hosting a full Role Playing Weekend Convention with 20 youngsters at my house, and finally running a 3-day bazaar stall with my enlarged family for charity, if it all seems wacky and overwhelming, trust me, I made sure to build in plenty of rest time, quiet moments, and unscheduled afternoons. Time for nothing. Time for deep breath. Time to simply be.

And if you’re craving more of this, more rootedness, more softness, more you in the way you live, create, and bloom, here are two beautiful paths I’ve created to hold you, two spaces for you to come home to your senses and your rhythm.

One is in the heart of nature, my upcoming retreat in the wild lands of southwestern France, called Sacred Self-care and peace in French Fields. A space to slow down, bask in profound self-care, and truly feel held by the land, the senses, and a circle of kindred souls.

The other is woven into your everyday life, a gentle yet powerful journey through 30 Days of Goddess Self-Love, where daily invitations help you come home to your body, your truth, and your joy.

Because blooming isn’t a race. It’s a return.

Voilà.

I believe that is all for today.

I would be so happy to hear from you.

If this spoke to your heart, I’d love for you to share it with a sister, a friend, a fellow Goddess on the path.

I send, as always, love, light and gratitude.

Isaya

PS: I am now on Substack, sharing my writing adventures over there too… If you’re interested, you subscribe for free here:https://substack.com/@isayabelle