Thermo 4 Life

Tonight, on a Saturday evening, I was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t for anything grand or glamorous — no dinner parties, no extravagant plans. It was for something much simpler and, for me, much more special: a crafting workshop to support my friend’s brand-new business, Meet Me At Mabels.

Kellie has just opened a gorgeous little studio in St Albans, and tonight’s workshop was going to be two and a half hours of making a wall hanging. I couldn’t wait.

Maybe it sounds like a small thing, but for me, it felt huge.

You see, I don’t have much art up in my home. Life gets busy — four children, work, everything else — and decorating the walls has never been a priority. The idea of creating something with my own hands, something beautiful to hang up and see every day, felt exciting. Fresh. A reminder that I’m not just a mum or a professional or a cook or a cleaner. I’m also a woman who can create.

I probably hadn’t done a real crafting project since I was at school — sewing squares of fabric together to make a lumpy, misshapen pillow I proudly gifted to my mum. Tonight felt like a return to something forgotten but important: creativity for creativity’s sake.

So, after the usual Saturday evening chaos — baths, PJs, brushing teeth, reading stories — I said my goodbyes. My kids weren’t thrilled. They wanted me to stay until they were fully asleep. There were extra hugs and kisses at the door, promises that I’d be back later, and a little pang of mum guilt as I closed the door behind me.

But I stepped out into the soft spring evening air, feeling a little giddy. I was doing something different. Something just for me.

The workshop was across to the other side of St Albans. I walked there, full of anticipation, and… well, that’s where things started to unravel.

When I arrived, I couldn’t find the entrance. The gates were locked. The signs didn’t make sense. I walked up and down the street, checking the event listing, checking the address. And then my heart sank.

I was there.

But I was there on the wrong night.

The workshop had been yesterday.

I’d missed it.

I just stood there for a moment, under the streetlight, feeling completely, ridiculously deflated.

I had been looking forward to this so much. I had imagined myself sitting down for two and a half uninterrupted hours — a luxury I never normally allow myself — chatting to other women who had carved out time from their busy lives to do something creative.

I had pictured the wall hanging I would make, something unique and imperfect but mine, proudly taking its place in my home. I had imagined the quiet joy of making something, not for anyone else, not for any other reason than because it felt good.

And in a second, all of that was gone.

I walked back home, feeling sadder than I expected. It wasn’t about the wall hanging, really. It was about what it represented.

It was about carving out time for myself in a season of life where every second feels spoken for. It was about trying something new and daring to believe I could create beauty, even if I don’t usually think of myself as artistic.

And it hurt to realise that through a simple mistake — mixing up the date — I’d missed it.

I’m sharing this because if you’re anything like me (and if you’re reading this, maybe you are), it can be so easy to think everyone else is more organised. More disciplined. More “on it.”

I mean, I teach routines.

I talk about intentional living.

I love a good to-do list.

But here’s the truth:

I forget things too.

I get things wrong.

I make mistakes.

I disappoint myself sometimes.

I get upset.

And that’s okay.

That’s what makes me stronger.

Tonight could have ended with me beating myself up. Saying horrible things to myself — you’re so stupid, you can’t even read a date properly, why do you even bother?

Honestly, a few years ago, that’s exactly what I would have done.

But not now.

Now, I pause.

I let myself feel the sadness. I acknowledge the disappointment.

And then I ask: What happens next?

Because that’s the part I can control.

Here’s what I decided:

First, I’m going to reach out to my friend and apologise for missing her event. I’m going to tell her how proud I am of her for selling it out, for making her dream a reality.

Second, I’m going to book onto the next one. Because if something matters to you, you don’t give up at the first missed step. You try again.

Third, I’m going to remember how much tonight meant to me, even though (or maybe especially because) it didn’t go as planned.

The next time I sit down at a workshop — and there will be a next time — I’ll appreciate every single second. I’ll savour it, knowing how precious it is to create space for yourself in the middle of a busy, overwhelming life.

There’s a bigger lesson here too:

When you try new things, when you stretch yourself outside your normal comfort zone, when you carve out time for yourself — there’s always a risk.

A risk you’ll get it wrong.

A risk it won’t be what you expected.

A risk you’ll be disappointed.

But you know what? It’s worth it anyway.

Because the alternative — never trying, never stepping out, never daring to create or experience or feel deeply — isn’t really living.

To all the busy mums out there who feel like you’re always two steps behind, like you never have enough time for yourself, like you mess things up more often than you’d like — I see you.

I am you.

And tonight, standing outside a locked gate with a sad little heart, I learned something I want to share with you:

You don’t have to be perfect to be growing.

You don’t have to get it right every time to be moving forward.

You don’t have to pretend you have it all together to be worthy of trying again.

You are doing better than you think.

You are braver than you know.

You are already creating something beautiful — even if tonight, it doesn’t feel like it.

So tonight, my walls are still bare.

My hands are still itching to create.

And my heart is still a little bruised.

But I’m proud.

Because I showed up.

Even if it was a day late.

And next time?

I’ll be ready.

And it will be even sweeter because of tonight.

If you’ve ever had a night like mine, where your plans didn’t turn out the way you hoped, know this:

It’s not a failure.

It’s not a waste.

It’s just one chapter.

And the story you’re writing — messy, beautiful, imperfect — is more powerful than you realise.

Keep going.

Keep showing up.

Even on the wrong day.

Your masterpiece is coming.

With Love, Nikki xxx