Choosing Love | On Reconnecting and Growing Together

Chestnuts and New Beginnings: Back to School, Back to Us

Fri, 05 Sep 2025 05:59:45 GMT

"When little people are overwhelmed by big emotions, it's our job to share their calm, not join their chaos."

- L.R. Knost

And so it’s September. For as long as I can remember, my first associations with this time of the year have been chestnuts and school. They always tied together beautifully — I vividly remember picking the small, brown, shiny, sun-warmed jewels off the ground on my way to and from school, and stuffing them in my pockets. Extricating others from their spiky husks was thrilling and always brought a special kind of sense of achievement, like finding a treasure.

The chestnuts reminded me of the summer just gone and the connection to nature I always cherished. They also evoked that school was not everything… Their smooth surface under my fingers reassured me that the world is generous and that I am more than just a school kid; just like secretly holding a bunch of chestnuts in my hand, I could hold something just mine — by me and for me.

School-related stress was very real for my young self. I had good friends, and I always did well academically. Yet, the feeling of overwhelm with school expectations, and just the expectation to be physically out there for many hours, is something I recall to this day. The prospect of laughter and companionship, but also the smell of freshly purchased books and notebooks, the pencil case full of meticulously arranged, colourful stationery, and those memorable chestnuts sweetened the whole experience and took the edge off the anxiety.

As a mum, I have experienced the other side of the nursery and school adaptation process. Watching and accompanying my daughter through many rounds of new school year beginnings, some harder and some much easier, repeatedly awoke my own childhood triggers and allowed me to empathise with her, because I had walked that path before. This recurring experience taught me, over time, how to best support her in her struggles and celebrate her wins.

These memories and feelings return to me every autumn and bring with them the thought that this back-to-school time can be both exciting and daunting, challenging, and even scary — for both children and their parents. New people, new places, new timetables and obligations. Nursery or school adaptation is a process that entire families go through together, and it may look and feel different for everyone. It may also last different amounts of time — seem smooth and quick for some, and stretch into a few bumpy weeks for others.

It’s so important to acknowledge this, to lean into your own experience and to accept that it is yours and only yours — without comparisons to others (those can be painful and misleading), and with a lot of compassion for yourself and your child.

If your nursery child, school kid, or teen is finding it easy, that ease is worthy of acknowledgement — notice it and rejoice! But if they are having a hard time adjusting to the changed routine, separation from you, social or academic pressures, and all things new this school year, instead of negating their experience by telling them that “there is nothing to worry about” and asking them to “just get on with it”, I want to invite you to try to soothe them with empathy, and then encourage them to move on.

�� Offer empathy: Just be around and listen to their fears. Acknowledge their experience and let them know you see them. Reflect what you hear. Empathise.

Your presence has immense power as it allows your child to feel seen and heard, which meets some of their very basic human needs. It enables them to name their emotions, and then process them and eventually borrow your calm. They can return to safety and begin to see that they are able to move through unpleasant feelings and eventually overcome challenges.

“I hear you.”

“This sounds really hard.”

“It sounds like you’re feeling…”

“I hear your sadness.”

“I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

�� Welcome all feelings: Let them vent. Let them be quiet and just stay present until they’re ready to talk. Let them cry if they need to!

Crying is a natural way in which our nervous systems self-soothe, and the endorphins that get released in the process assist self-regulation. Have you ever noticed your child, or yourself, yawn after a good cry? Bingo — that’s a clear sign that their parasympathetic response, which supports relaxation, is engaged, and your child is on the way to feeling calmer and in control.

So welcome absolutely everything they are willing to share with you to support them on their journey through their emotional storm.

“I’m right here with you. Tell me more.”

“Your feelings are safe with me.”

“It’s ok to let it out — I’ll stay here with you.”

“I want to understand what it feels like for you.”

�� Expand your child’s perspective: Normalise their feelings for them and point out that they are not alone in how they are swayed and even in how they respond to their challenges.

Both my daughter and my clients often hear me say that our feelings and our actions are not us — they don’t define us as people. Every experience we go through is like one leaf amongst millions of other leaves on an enormous and endlessly rich and beautiful tree of our life.

“When I was your age, I was very nervous about it too….”

“Do you think anyone else in your class feels the same?”

“Do you remember the last time you felt this way? What did you do?”

“What is going well for you right now?”

�� Lead towards action: And then, when back into a more regulated state of mind, help them move on! Engage your own and your child’s problem solving skills, appropriate to their age, and together figure out small next steps.

“What would make you feel better about it right now?”

“What can you/we do tomorrow before school / on the way to school / at school / after school?”

Do something straight away — maybe draw a picture of your family together, prepare a favourite packed lunch, role play a difficult conversation with a friend, or practise asking the teacher for help. Why not plan a fun activity for after school?

By showing empathy and presence, by deeply connecting with your child, you can help them feel safe, so they can carry that feeling of safety to nursery or school with them.

And what about you ?

If back-to-school is what you have been waiting for — wonderful! Is your child mostly happy and excited about it? Fantastic! And let me ask you this: Do you get a chance to feel gratitude and enjoyment? Do you allow yourself to celebrate the ease and the harmony, or whatever else asks for a celebration?

And if your start to the school season is a little bumpy, what do you find challenging about this transition?

What exactly feels uncomfortable?

Where is that discomfort coming from? Can you pinpoint any experiences from your own childhood that keep hold of you as you are watching your child navigating similar situations or stressors?

Are you willing to try to acknowledge and accept your own feelings, maybe even fears and tears?

Are you then willing to try to put them in perspective and notice that you are not alone in this?

Can you recall some previous situations that seemed challenging but you managed to come through on the other side —stronger and wiser? How did that feel?

And what is going well for you right now ?

What can you do or give to yourself today that will make you feel lighter and that will allow you to breathe more deeply?

I hear you in all of this! I have been there. On all sides — as both frustrated and happy child; as both calm and overwhelmed parent.

And so, whether this season feels smooth or tumultuous, consider noticing the moments of connection that will carry you through. Like anything on our parenting path, back-to-school challenges are a chance for us to grow together with our children, even when it’s hard to see beyond the present moment. And before we know it, this new chapter will already be woven into the story of our lives, just like the beautiful long summer that’s just ended.

From Trolls to Techno-Apocalypse: The Ordinary Mums Behind Magic

megregan@ymail.com (Meg Regan) — Mon, 26 May 2025 06:04:50 GMT

"Perfection is not the goal; connection is."

- Dr Shefali Tsabary

I have this fond memory – one of those small, vivid moments that stay with you. I’m about 15, sitting on my bed in my old room, revising for a test, when my mum gently walks in with a graham roll filled with cucumber slices. The fresh smell, the care, the quiet love in that moment… It’s etched in my senses. That roll wasn’t a grand gesture, but it meant everything. My mum – who left us before my own daughter was born – showed her love in these gentle, ordinary ways. That’s how we remember: in pictures and feelings, not performances.

Today I’m celebrating Polish Mother’s Day, a tradition that still lives in me, even though I now live in the UAE. It’s part of the rhythm of my childhood, and a time I pause to remember, to celebrate, and to honour. On this occasion, I want to send warm wishes to all the mothers out there – wherever you are in the world, and whatever shape your motherhood takes.

Now, when my daughter asks me about my favourite characters in movies or series, I often surprise her by choosing … the mums. Not the heroes or the quirky best friends, but the mothers quietly holding it all together. Maybe it’s that cucumber-scented memory that draws me to Johanna, the deeply grounded mum in Hilda , whose signature cucumber sandwiches accompanied her daughter on her most unlikely adventures. Or Linda Mitchell from The Mitchells vs. the Machines , who juggles family tension and robot apocalypse with emotional intelligence and wild mum-strength. They’re not perfect. They’re real. And they remind me that being ‘enough’ doesn’t always look impressive from the outside.

Johanna, for example, lives in a world of trolls, elves and magical mayhem. Her daughter Hilda is spirited, curious, constantly off exploring. And while Johanna is often unsure – sometimes distracted or forgetful – she’s always attuned to Hilda. She doesn’t shut down her daughter’s wonder. Instead, she listens, gently sets limits, and lets Hilda be exactly who she is.

When they move to a new city, Johanna doesn’t rush her daughter’s grief. She offers consistency, presence, and compassionate co-regulation. And when Hilda is later transformed into a troll – yes, a literal troll – Johanna finds her, embraces her, and loves her with no hesitation. It’s one of those powerful, deeply touching moments of unconditional love. The kind of love that says: You are safe with me, in any shape or form, and this will never change .

Linda Mitchell is another favourite. She’s the emotional glue in a wildly chaotic family – attuned to everyone, especially her daughter Katie. Linda validates Katie’s creativity and identity, and affirms her authentic self, even when her husband doesn’t quite get it. She quietly anchors the family, tracking everyone’s needs while holding her own self-doubt. And in an unexpectedly moving scene, Linda goes full action-hero to save her kids from a robot uprising. It’s funny, yes, but also fierce and full of love. That strength doesn’t come from superhero training – it comes from being a mum who sees her children clearly and loves them fiercely.

Neither of these mums is flawless. Johanna does have moments of parental dismissal, like when she initially brushes off Hilda’s talk of invisible elves living around the house (and who wouldn’t, right?). Linda, meanwhile, compares herself to the seemingly perfect mum next door. She feels like she’s always falling short and can’t shake the sense of being judged – the cupcake catastrophe and her family engrossed in their devices at dinner only seem to confirm it.

They both worry. They question themselves. And yet – they show up, again and again, with presence, compassion, and care. Their magic lies in their attunement and efforts at profound connection with their daughters, not perfection.

This reminds me of the real-life mums I meet every day and hold close in my heart. The expecting mum who quietly wonders if she’s got what it takes. The solo mum navigating life with courage and vulnerability. The mum who hasn’t slept in days, caring for her sick child. The mum who comes late to her child’s recital, and the one driving to school for the second time that morning to deliver the forgotten swim kit.

And the one who doesn’t make that second trip. And a dear friend who got so caught up in celebrating her teenage son’s birthday that she forgot to snap the ‘official’ family photo – because she was too busy just being there. These women may not feel heroic in the moment—but to their children, they are everything.

As Brené Brown says, ‘The willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.’ And this simple, brave act – of showing up – is the heart of what makes a mother enough.

It’s easy to feel like we’re supposed to do more. Be more. Smile more. Bake more. Hold it together more. We scroll through perfectly curated feeds and start to wonder: Am I doing enough? Am I enough? But our children won’t remember us for Pinterest-perfect party bags or spotless kitchens. They’ll remember the smell of cucumber sandwiches, the quiet hand on their shoulder, the feeling of being seen, heard, and loved.

We don’t need to be superheroes in the judgement of others.

We are already enough – not because of our superpowers, but because of our humanity. Because of our presence. Because of the ways we keep showing up, in all our imperfection, to love and care and witness our children as they are.

To the mum who doubts, the mum who forgets, the mum who quietly carries it all: you are the best mum for your child. Not because you’ve nailed every moment, but because you are there. Listening. Loving. Trying.

And that?

That is more than enough.

Seeing with New Eyes: Reflections from a Parenting Pause

megregan@ymail.com (Meg Regan) — Tue, 22 Apr 2025 06:54:09 GMT

"At the centre of your being, you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want."

- Lao Tzu

If I had to define myself in one word, I’d say: mum. It’s the role that’s shaped me more than anything else these past 13 wonderful years.

Right now, my daughter is on a school trip to Nepal – being adventurous, brave, and very far away. She’s spending seven whole nights away from us for the first time in her life. And for the first time in 13 years, I have an entire week of evenings without the familiar rhythm of her presence: the sound of her laughter down the hall, the thud of her iPad hitting the sofa, the quiet comfort of knowing she’s just in the next room.

So… what does one do with all this silence and space?

Get this: no school runs, no lunchbox dilemmas, no late pickups or timely bedtime routines. The minute Mr R and I waved her off at the airport, we were hit with a dizzying question: What now?! Oh, the possibilities!

I had grand plans, of course. Self-care and couple time – those elusive unicorns for working parents – were high on the list. My dream week included late mornings (a no-brainer for my body clock), beach walks and breakfast dates with Mr R, a dinner out, fancy cooking at home, finally using that long-lost Christmas massage voucher, yoga every day, a solo shopping trip (just imagine!), and uninterrupted work time – because I genuinely love what I do and rarely get to sink into it without clock-watching.

And then my daughter sent me a photo.

The Buddha Eyes.

Those calm, all-seeing eyes gazing out from a stupa in Kathmandu stopped me in my tracks. They hold layers of meaning –compassion, awareness, omniscience. They represent the third eye: insight beyond the visible, deeper wisdom. And maybe I was projecting a little (Is she safe? Has she eaten?), but the photo stirred something.

It invited me inward.

In that moment, I realised this time wasn’t just for ticking off a to-do list of restorative activities. It was an invitation to pause, to observe, and to really see – with fresh eyes – what this stage of motherhood is revealing to me.

So, yet again, I gave myself permission to feel.

Joy at the freedom of choosing my own rhythm. Sadness and worry when messages didn’t get through from the valley of the Trishuli River. Relief when they eventually did. And a deep, proud ache as I witnessed my daughter stepping into her growing independence.

And slowly, my carefully crafted self-care schedule softened. The “doing” gave way to simply being. Listening. Letting the day unfold based on how I felt – not what I’d planned.

Here’s what I didn’t end up doing:

∙ No beach walk (40°C is not my walking weather).

∙ No dinner out (home, old movies, and pizza won).

∙ No fancy meals (I read, and sorted holiday photos instead).

∙ No massage (yet – time freedom felt more restorative).

∙ No shopping (turns out I didn’t even want to!).

Instead, I honoured what I actually needed. A couple of late mornings, early or late nights depending on the mood. Reading. Writing. Yoga. Un-rushed work. Connected presence with my husband and delicious time alone. Things I genuinely wanted to do – and could do, fully.

They weren’t ”shoulds."

As Althea Luna puts it, “Your inner child is not a wounded child that needs fixing. It is your original self who still holds the keys to your joy, curiosity, and intuition.”

Over these quiet days, I reconnected with that inner self. I let her choose. And I said yes – to myself.

So – how does this tie into actual parenting?

Simply put, we can’t give our children what we’re unwilling, or unable, to give ourselves. When we practice noticing, honouring and meeting our own needs with compassion and presence, we develop the awareness and emotional muscle to do the same for our children. We learn what it actually feels like to be attuned, resourced, and regulated – so we’re better able to co-regulate, and respond rather than react, offering our grounded connection when our child needs us most.

When we tend to our own inner child with care, non-judgment and respect, we grow into the kind of parents who are able to create a safe emotional container for our real children: to welcome all of their feelings, acknowledge their rhythms, make room for their own decisions. We can hold space for them – to feel, to rest, to explore, and to choose for themselves.

And I know, without a doubt, my daughter will need exactly that when she comes back.

This rare parenting pause – aside from the occasional WhatsApp check-in and the odd international-crisis-averting call – has been a growth opportunity for all of us.

And now? I can’t wait for her to walk through the door so I can absolutely smother her with cuddles, stories, snacks… and the softest landing imaginable.

Because even Buddha Eyes would agree: there’s no place like home.

Feeling It All: A Parent's Guide to Processing Emotions

megregan@ymail.com (Meg Regan) — Fri, 15 Nov 2024 07:02:37 GMT

"You are not your emotions. You are the awareness behind them."

- Eckhart Tolle

Can I be completely honest with you? Life’s been hard lately. One of my beloved cats is very sick, and between daily vet visits that can sometimes take hours out of my day, it feels like my time is slipping away. Add in the precious family time, work, and household tasks, and I often find myself running on empty – constantly alert, always shifting from one thing to the next. It’s overwhelming, and yet, I keep at it.

What keeps me going is that everything I do matters . My love for my family is deep, unwavering. And my work is my passion – it brings me joy and purpose, even on the hardest days.

And then, there’s my brave little cat, showing me gratitude for every smallest thing I do for him. Gratitude fills me too: every time he eats, every time he curls up next to me and purrs, I’m reminded that I am making a difference and not everything is lost. There’s beauty and hope in even the tiniest moments. When I see him muster the strength to bat his toys around the room, making me laugh out loud, it’s a reminder that life moves in cycles – up and down, good and bad, joy and sorrow, all intertwined.

I feel all these emotions – hope, despair, joy, grief, anger – multiple times every day. And, if I’m being honest, it can be exhausting to constantly ride this emotional rollercoaster. But here’s the thing: it’s OK. It’s normal to feel all of it. In fact, it’s essential to let ourselves feel it all.

As parents, we often think we’re expected to hold it all together – to be the calm, steady force for our families. That can lead us to suppress our feelings, get stuck in them, and then experience overwhelming emotional reactions when we least expect them, and often in our interactions with our children. As Carl Jung said, “What we resist, persists”, so the more we ignore an emotion, the stronger it may become.

But the truth is, we’re human. We have moments of doubt, frustration, and exhaustion - and that’s completely valid. It’s like being a surfer, riding the waves of our emotions. Some moments feel like we’re gliding effortlessly on the crest of the wave, full of joy and connection. Other moments, we’re fighting to stay afloat, pulled under by sadness or frustration. But just like a surfer learns to balance and ride the waves, we can learn to find our footing amidst the emotional highs and lows.

What matters is how we process those emotions and move through them without letting them define who we are. It’s about allowing them to come, feeling them fully, and then allow them to pass.

Mindfulness is one of the simplest yet most powerful tools we have to navigate our emotional ups and downs. The key is to notice and name what we’re feeling in the moment. Try this: when you’re feeling overwhelmed or stressed, take a deep breath, pause, and ask yourself, “What am I feeling right now?” Name the emotion, whether it's anxiety, sadness, joy, or frustration – just name it. Acknowledge it. Then take it a step further - where do your feel it in your body? Is there tension in your chest, a knot in your stomach, or a heaviness in your shoulders? Maybe tingling in your feet? Tune into that sensation. Breathe into it.

(It does get easier with practice, I promise!)

By giving our emotions a name, we create space for them to exist without letting them control us. By feeling them in our bodies, we listen to their message and allow them to pass through us. When we accept that our emotions – both pleasant and unpleasant – are simply part of the human experience, visitors who deliver a message on something that is important to us, we open ourselves to a deeper sense of peace. Emotions will still come and go, but we can learn to ride the waves with more presence, grace, and resilience.

In my life right now, I’m practising to feel it all every day. And that’s what I want to offer you, too. As a parent, you don’t have to hide your emotions, and you don’t have to carry them alone. You can name them. You can feel them. You can let them pass. You’ve got this.

From Daydreaming to Courage

megregan@ymail.com (Meg Regan) — Mon, 28 Oct 2024 12:18:59 GMT

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
– Brené Brown

Welcome to my blog! It fills my heart with joy that you’ve stumbled upon this little corner of the internet!

Have you ever found yourself daydreaming about being the right person in the right place at the right time, with just the right amount of confetti falling around you? You know, that moment when you think, “Yes, this is it! I can feel it in my bones!”? Has that dream ever made a grand entrance into your life, complete with a spotlight and a marching band?

Well, buckle up, because that’s exactly what’s happening to me right now! I’ve got the family I’ve always dreamt of, and guess what? I’m brave to say, I’m launching my new career! (Insert jazz hands here.) If you’re here, you probably already know that. But what you might not realise is that this moment is the culmination of many different strands of my experience, woven together over time. This is exactly what I’ve wanted to do forever, and I’ve worked hard to bring it to life, step by step, following what I lovingly call my Master Plan.

The Master Plan involved a lot of learning, seriously hard work, some reshuffling and a great deal of readjusting – in other words, life as usual. But I am not here today to bore you with the details of my two (actual) Master’s degrees, my CV or my family history. Instead, I want to share the exhilarating rush of watching my vision unfold, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat – except this rabbit has been a couple of decades in the making.

Let’s talk bravery for a sec. I love how Brené Brown explains that courage is about embracing vulnerability and stepping into the unknown. She speaks about “couraging,” or the act of choosing courage over comfort. It’s not about feeling brave, but rather taking action despite the urge to hide under your blankets with a tub of ice cream. (Though let’s be real, sometimes that’s a perfectly valid option too!)

So here we are: you and I, embarking on this brave adventure together. Without you, my Master Plan would be a little sad and very lonely. I can’t wait to get to know you – if I don’t already - and to sprinkle some of my coaching magic your way.

So, welcome! Seriously, it makes me so happy that you’re here! I can’t wait to hear from you and share this journey together!