For as long as I can remember, I have loved to write. From the time I started writing essays in English at school until this very day, my love of the written word has never waned. Now, as I begin to work with my writing coach to edit and prepare my first book for publishing, I'm facing challenges on many levels. 

Being brought up with the adage of, nice girls are not angry, I always struggled with such feelings. I found it difficult because, like everyone, I did feel angry from time to time and I didn't know what to do with it. 

Our bodies need fuelling, we all know that. But getting the balance right when exercise is part of the picture, is another story. Not that I've ever been an athlete, and nor will I be, I have recently started to do a little more and I'm finding it challenging to get the calories right. 

I don't know about you, but when I discover something new about myself, it can sometimes take me time to adjust. A recent realisation that seems obvious has left me reeling in thoughts and feelings that are difficult to grasp. Of course logically, I know this to be true, yet I'm still catching up with myself over it.

It often happens this way for me, and this has been one of those weeks. Every year I'm aware of when the anniversary of my mother's death is looming and this year I thought it would be no different. Except it was. It's felt like a double whammy this time around with the passing of my brother 15 months ago on top.

It was Sunday morning and after a lie-in and a shower, the feelings started again. With tears running down my cheeks, a wave of deep sadness and desperation flowed through me. Sitting at my desk to journal about this barrage of thoughts and feelings, I pounded at the keyboard; I had to make sense of this.

Like most kids, I learnt to ride a bike around the age of three or four. But, due to the fact that we lived in the country when I was at both primary and to begin with, secondary school, I didn't cycle a great deal. I tried cycling a couple of times over the years, but just didn't love it, until recently. 

Today marks the 44th anniversary of my mother's death. She was 47, I was 12. Reflecting on the evening of April 4th 1977 when my father sat us down to tell us she was not going to make it, and the life I have subsequently lead, I'm aware of how sad, but also blessed, I am. 

In parallel with mother nature, who at this time of year releases its summer growth, we too can take this opportunity to do the same. Reflecting on the previous season, and year, to identify what we need to consciously let go.

This week I have been reminded of the cyclic and natural flow of emotion. With a project delivering one frustrating outcome after another, it's been difficult to navigate. Keeping my optimism levels has been a challenge but at the same time I have been reminded to trust.