Expectations, delusion, reality - in that order.

I’m almost three months into my four(ish)-month sabbatical, so I thought now’s a good time to reflect on how it’s actually going.

This is first time I've done anything like this which means there was no playbook, no blueprint, no “10 steps to a perfect Sabby T”

I'm rawdogging this sabbatical, as the youths say.

I told myself I was entering this time with zero expectations.

Just space. Just being. Just seeing what emerges when I’m not building, striving, performing, or constantly refreshing my inbox.

But now that I’m writing that I realise… I was lying.

Because here are some of the things I quietly expected I would achieve:

• Write poems most days, probably ending with a full collection

• Learn the full choreography to Janet Jackson’s Together Again

• Knit a scarf using the Wool and the Gang set I’ve owned since 3 Christmas’ ago

• Take to line dancing like a duck to water and be dazzlingly good straight away

• Do so many saunas and cold plunges that I become one of those people who sits in ice like it’s a warm bath

• Enjoy going to the gym again and casually bang out a few unassisted pull-ups

• Figure out how to launch my solo business next year (while also definitely not thinking about work)

• Wander into nature and accidentally start writing a bestselling novel (see my last newsletter for how that went)

• Read, I dunno, like 50 books

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Stop rolling those eyes for a second, will you?

Obviously, I haven’t done most of those things.

But I have done some things I’m genuinely proud of.

I’ve gone to the gym a fair few times.

I’ve sauna’d semi-regularly (and cold plunged, including in the actual sea in November).

I wrote four poems and all of them came to me naturally.

I went to multiple line dancing classes.

I posted on Instagram once a week without overthinking it.

I’ve written my morning pages most days.

I’ve also binged all of Stranger Things (seasons 1-4, and I'm about to start 5), doom-scrolled until my thumb hurt, eaten exclusively beige food for 48 hours straight, and had days where my entire personality was “I CANNOT BE ARSED.”

I’ve wondered whether I’m wasting my time.

I’ve wondered whether I’m lazy.

I’ve wondered whether my brain has quietly slipped out the back door in the night.

So, with all of that in mind, here are my five sabbatical learnings so far:

1. Creativity doesn’t respond to pressure, it responds to space.

I’d never written a poem in my life, and now I’ve written four. I’ve started imagining and writing tiny passages for a novel which a year ago would have felt insane. I’ve doodled lots. I’ve made handmade birthday cards. I’ve had content ideas pop into my brain like unsolicited (but welcome) guests.

Not because I tried harder or suddenly became disciplined, but because I stopped forcing it. When there’s no pressure to produce, ideas start to surface quietly. Gently. Almost shyly.

The learning: if you’re feeling “blocked”, it’s rarely a lack of talent or discipline. It’s usually a lack of breathing room. Creativity shows up when you stop demanding it perform on cue.

2. A good day doesn’t have to be legible to be satisfying.

My days often feel full, but I can’t always explain how. A walk. A paragraph. A long stare into space. Some movement. Some thinking. Some nothing.

If you asked me what I’d done, I’d struggle to give you a neat answer. Nothing impressive. Nothing headline-worthy. And yet, I have often gone to bed feeling quietly satisfied.

The learning: when you stop rushing and start moving more intuitively, your days won’t always look productive from the outside. But they’ll feel good on the inside. You don’t need a ticked-off to-do list to justify your time.

3. Productivity guilt doesn’t disappear, you have to actively challenge it.

Even on a sabbatical. Even when I chose this time. Even when my brain is begging me to chill out. Even when my oracle cards literally tell me to take a nap. I catch myself thinking: Have I done enough? Am I wasting time? Should I be more… useful/creative/impressive/zen?

The voice doesn’t magically go away just because you’ve chosen rest. It needs to be actively challenged, again and again.

The learning: rest isn’t indulgent. It’s maintenance. If you don’t practise defending it, guilt will take over. Learning to rest well is a practice, not a switch you flick.

4. We wildly underestimate how much energy “normal life” takes.

It is unhinged how much we expect our brains to do in a typical week. My current week looks something like this: gym, sauna, yoga class, read a few chapters, write a few words, post something, line dancing class, maybe a run, stare into the void, eat 3 meals a day, walk the dog, catch up on a series, socialise… And you’re telling me I used to do all that and run a business? Prison.

Stepping away has made it obvious how much we ask of ourselves on a daily basis.

The learning: if you’re exhausted all the time, you’re not broken. You’re overloaded. Fatigue is often feedback, and it deserves to be listened to.

5. Deep rest changes your standards, and there’s no unseeing that.

Not holiday-rested. Not “I slept well” rested. The kind of rest that settles into your body and shows you how much tension you’ve been carrying for years. A deeper, cellular, nervous-system-unclenched rest. Once you feel that, it’s hard to ignore.

The learning: deep rest quietly rewires what you’re willing to tolerate. You start making different choices, not because you should, but because your body now knows what ease feels like.

I’m incredibly grateful for this time, and these learnings.

And I want to be honest with you: I can only do it because I saved money in my business specifically for this, I’m living with family rent-free, and I’ve taken on the odd small project to give myself a modest income. It’s certainly not perfect but it’s been incredibly important for me.

And with that, this is my last newsletter of the year.

Thank you for reading, replying, lurking, sharing, laughing, crying, and letting me show up here as my full self.

This year has been one of the biggest years of my life - endings, beginnings, softness, grief, growth, and everything in between.

If you take anything with you into the new year, let it be this:

You’re allowed to slow down.
You’re allowed to not have a plan.
You’re allowed to rest without proving anything.
You’re allowed to rebuild gently.

I’m taking the a short break from writing for Christmas and then heading to Sri Lanka for two weeks to find myself, lose myself, and come back changed (TBC what that actually means). Normal service resumes mid-January.

With love,
Nat x