An Afternoon Pause, Just Like My Mum Taught Me

My mum always stopped in the afternoon. Not because she was tired — but because she was wise.

She knew something most of us are only now remembering:  a day doesn’t need to be pushed through to be lived well.

What the Afternoon Was For

In our house, the afternoon wasn’t a gap to fill. It was a moment to put your feet up. To pour a hot drink. To sit without apology. 

My mum never framed it as rest. She framed it as care. 

Care for the body. 

Care for the home. 

Care for the rhythm of the day itself.

When Pausing Became Difficult

Somewhere along the way, stopping began to feel indulgent. We learned to measure our days by output. To earn our rest. To keep going — even when our bodies asked otherwise.

But the afternoon still asks for us. It shows up quietly. 

Between obligations. Between meals. 

Between who we were this morning and who we’ll be tonight. 

Starting again doesn’t have to be loud. It can happen right there.

What I’m Returning To

This season feels like a beginning — softly.

My word this year is nunc coepi — now I begin. Not from scratch, but from grace. 

I’m not beginning something new as much as I’m returning to something old. A rhythm my mum lived by. A pace that held.

The afternoon pause reminds me that care doesn’t wait until the end of the day. It belongs in the middle.

A table is a beautiful place to begin again.