The Miranda Holder

Writing this from the plane… one week into my own September Homecoming, and I confess I have not been the star pupil. I wrote the menus, and I've still managed less of them than I wanted. (The irony is not lost on me.)

But the bits I have done? Working harder than any big plan I've ever made for myself. Yesterday I obeyed my own Sky Before Screens rule and went out to the horses in the field next door before I so much as looked at my phone. Ten minutes, one very nosy horse, a lot of deep breaths… and it was the loveliest start to a day I've had all month, before I'd thought about work once.

Am I alone in thinking we've been sold the big dramatic version of getting yourself back - the overhaul, the new you by Friday? I suspect not. But ten unglamorous minutes with a horse did more for me this week than any of the big stuff ever has.

So today's nine slides are the small returns I lean on when I feel far away from myself. Save them for one of those days… then pick one - just one - for tonight. That's how this actually works.

Love Mx

Lily flew to start a new life with Justin in Dubai, Jack has gone back to Oxford, and for the first time in almost thirty years it’s me, three dogs, four cats, five chickens and a kitchen built for six.
The first few days were long. I won’t pretend otherwise. The fridge suddenly seemed very loud and I couldn’t bring myself to curl up in our usual family TV spot in the evening, the sofa felt cold and far too big.
But this is ok.
Change… even the good kind, can often be a difficult pill to swallow, and my heart, though swollen with pride, is also longing to relive those precious early years that feel so long ago… But I wouldn’t change a single thing.
So I’ve been nursing my aching heart, and using the quiet to reconnect to myself after a busy summer, and this is what I’m doing with the quiet.
Coming back to yourself isn’t a one and done process, it’s a practice of returning again and again after life happens, and you find yourself at the bottom of your own queue once again, so in some ways the quiet is a gift, and I’ve decided how I’m going to use it.
Thirty days of coming back to myself, focussing on the small daily practices that hold me steady, find the joy and help me feel like myself again. The full details can be found two grid posts back. Nothing overwhelming, no mentions of reinvention, as I’m pretty happy with who I am, it’s just a question of remembering who that really is and reconnecting with her.
I’m calling it the September Homecoming and I’m living it daily on my stories, with extra guidance in my broadcast channel - The Homecoming - the practices, the wobbles, the very quiet kitchen. Join me there.
Week one is Remember. This post is me remembering what launching them actually took.
To all my fellow Mummas out there who are feeling this too, we are all in this together. If your house went quiet this month, send this to the friend whose house did as well. Fellow bird launchers need to find each other.
Love Mx

Yesterday I told you I’d decided what to do with all this quiet. So here it is.

The September Homecoming... thirty days of coming back to myself, shared as I go, and you’re invited.

Not a glow-up. Goodness knows we’ve all been sold enough better versions of ourselves... this is the opposite. This is about remembering the woman who was here all along. Four little menus: morning, day, evening, and one just for romancing your ordinary life. Pick at least one small thing from each, that’s the whole game. Two minutes counts. Hard days count double. Nothing costs a penny, and every bit of it fits inside a real midlife life, because that’s the only kind I’ve got.

There’s a mission each Monday, a pamper night when you’ve earned it (you have), and three chapters to the month... remember who you are, return to her, then rise as her.

Save this post, it’s your map for the month. I’ll be living it daily on my stories... the practices, the wobbles, the very quiet kitchen. And each morning there’ll be a voice note waiting in my Homecoming channel... the closest seat in the house.

And if you want to begin tonight, comment RETURN and I’ll send you my Coming Home Ritual... the exact one I’ll be doing with you.

We begin. Love Mx

The house has never been this quiet.

My beautiful 18 year old, not so little girl, Lily, has just flown off with her Dad to start her new adventure living in Dubai and Jack returns to University… it’s bittersweet. On one hand I am so proud of them both as they step into the next chapter of their lives and am so excited for what their future brings them, on the other, I am heartbroken and grieving the cycle that has just ended.

And that’s ok….

If my heart didn’t ache this much, it would be a bit odd. Motherhood is a mixed old bag of emotions and it’s what at least half of us around here knowingly signed up for, but at times it can be pretty damn tough and this is one of them.

This photo is from Spain last week... the day Lily left the holiday early to begin her new chapter in London before moving half way across the world. Someone caught the hug, and I’m glad they did, because it says everything I couldn’t.

Everything is right. The moves are right, the timing is right, everyone is exactly where they’re meant to be. But grief doesn’t check whether the change was good before it moves in… and right now I’m learning to hold both at once.

I know everything will be absolutely fine, better than any of us could ever have imagined even. But right now it’s about letting myself feel it all without judgement, and looking back at the life we made together that brought us here, with a grateful heart.

So it’s just me. Me, three dogs, four cats, five chickens and a very quiet kitchen.

But I’ve decided what I’m going to do with all this quiet. I know exactly what this month needs to be….

I’ll show you tomorrow.

Love Mx

Coming back to yourself isn’t a one and done deal… I should know, it’s literally my brand.

I landed in Spain tired. Nothing dramatic, just a very full year that had me giving my balance away in bits, and a mountain to get done before I could leave. So the summer became the practice again. Nothing fancy, nothing that cost a penny… the sea at sunrise, a notebook, slow mornings, rescue cats who decided I belonged to them.

And page by page, it worked. It always works. Not because I’m special, because the practice is… you don’t come home once, you keep choosing to return.

Summer showed me what I’m bringing home. What I do with it starts tomorrow, and I’d love you with me for that part.

Send this to the friend who needs her own comeback summer. Tell her it starts with one slow morning.

Love Mx

To the one who’s always fine.

I wrote this list because nobody handed it to me. For a long time I held everyone and everything up, and I believed falling apart was a luxury other people could afford... that showing emotion was weakness, that saying no needed a written excuse, that looking after myself could wait until everyone else was sorted.

It couldn’t. The feelings I kept pushing down didn’t politely disappear. They waited... and they grew. And somewhere along the way I learned, properly, that the strong one is allowed to be human too.

So these are the reminders I needed back then, written down for the woman who needs them today.

And if that woman isn’t you, you’ll know exactly who she is. The friend who holds everyone together and never once asks to be held. Send this to her instead of trying to find the words. Sometimes “I saw this and thought of you” is the whole message.

Love Mx