What’s Your Cottage?

I spent the last few weeks in North Wales, one of my absolute favourite places on earth!

I’ve been exploring these wild mountains, lakes and rivers for over 20 years - eventually buying a beautiful old, Welsh cottage here so I could visit more.

So this recent trip was bittersweet, as I switched my cottage into a long-term rental. My escape hatch has closed!

On paper, it’s madness. I love this cottage, the village, the land - the special sense of ‘wild ruggedness’ my heart-body system adores! And as an Airbnb, it’s been pretty much booked the whole time I’m not there, so a good income too.

So why switch?

Staying in a beautiful cottage, and running an Airbnb are two VERY different things.

Being mentally available seven days a week meant uncertainty, emergency phone calls, cleaner issues, roof repairs, guest messages at 10pm. Creating peaceful weekends for other people while quietly craving more peace myself felt (oh the irony!)

When you live 5 hours away, it brings a lot of complexity.

And complexity is something I’m intentionally letting go of in this season - whatever the cost may be.

I promised myself I’d make room for more spacious weekends, do more things that light me up and nurture meaningful connections: a time for ALIVENESS.

And that has meant simplifying, because my life always feels best when my engine runs on a low, contented hum rather than the rocket fuel of adrenaline.

This cottage has meant a lot to me. As someone who grew up without any consistent sense of safety at home, creating my own has always carried a lot of meaning.

It wasn't just bricks and beams. It was a sense of “I did it. I’m safe now. I’ve built something no one can take away.” It represented freedom, security, possibility, and if I'm honest, a bit of an identity too (I go a little feral here, in the best possible way.)

And maybe that’s why letting go feels tender. Because I’m not rejecting the version of me who created this. Honestly, I’m bloody proud of her. She built something beautiful and something she really needed.

But I am gently asking whether the things that once made me feel safe are still the things that help me feel alive.

And yes, my sensible brain knows the cottage is still mine. I can visit the area and I can take it back one day if I want to. (Honestly, my brain has presented this argument approximately 473 times 😄)

But knowing something rationally doesn't remove the very real sadness and fear of letting go.

And maybe you know this too. The part of you that says “but technically I’d be fine if I left the job, changed direction, had the conversation or made the decision to let this go.”

And you undoubtedly would. But that doesn't mean it isn't tender.

I think this is one of the hardest, bravest parts of midlife. Learning to deeply honour the woman who built these things, while also being honest enough to ask, “Do I still need them? Do they still fit the woman I’m becoming?”

It doesn't have to go. I could keep it, but I’m choosing differently. Like with so many other things in this season.

I’ve been through the gammet of feelings - grief, resistance, fear, negotiation (I’m sure I can make this work). I’ve honoured all of that and acted anyway.

Because the questions I’m asking myself have changed. Not only, “What’s the sensible thing to do? What keeps me safe? What protects everything I’ve worked so hard to build?”

It’s "What kind of life do I want, NOW?" The answer that was right for one season, isn’t always right for this one.

So when I say “I want a more simple, more space + joy”, Life smiles and replies “Oh really? Then show me!” (she’s annoying like that!)

What’s surprises me most about this whole season of ‘shedding’ is not letting go of things - jobs, commitments or even relationships, but the identities I’ve attached to them. Turns out I’m not just simplifying my schedule, but simplifying my sense of self.

Who am I if I don’t have this place? If I’m not the Airbnb owner, or the adventurous woman with a Welsh cottage?

Maybe your version of this is, who am I if I'm not needed? married? successful? the fixer? the one who copes?

And my love, before you start mentally listing children, ageing parents, mortgages, dogs who need expensive dental work and approximately 47 people who rely on you, I know. I really do.

This isn't about throwing your life in the air and moving to Bali (although lord knows we've all had the fantasy).

It's about honestly noticing what still fits, and what you're carrying because a previous version of you chose it.

The question that helped me navigate the messy middle, the question I keep coming back to (for myself and the women I coach) is : what am I actually devoted to in this season?

Is it security? Adventure? Peace? Deeper relationships? Your health? Freedom? Creating something meaningful? Finally feeling like yourself again?

Because once you know that, every choice becomes clearer (note: I didn't say easier!)

Every job offer, every invitation and every “quick favour” that somehow becomes your responsibility for the next decade - does this create more of what I'm longing for, or more of what I'm trying to leave behind?

And let’s be real, it will mean letting some things go - even things you LOVE. There’s no getting away from this.

But when we practicing rather than profess our longings. - when our thoughts, words, choices and actions are aligned - only then do we truly feel whole.

Staying devoted is a way of honouring all parts of ourselves - the younger parts who worked so hard to create safety, stability and belonging so she could feel free. And the wiser parts of us now asking, "What else is possible? What would make me feel fully alive in this next chapter?"

It is entirely possible to do this and still love others well, I promise.

So my question for you this week is, what's your cottage?

What's something you once loved, needed or chose that might not fit the woman you're becoming?

It might the career you’ve worked 25 years for but now sucks the life out of you, or the marriage you fought for but cant remember why. The role of being needed by everyone which you secretly resent but have no idea how to not it do any more.

It’s scary and it’s ok. We can do scary things and we can do them scared.

Because what you might not know it yet my love, is there is often more life waiting on the other side of the things we're terrified to release.

Sitting right beside you as you sit and ponder.

And in the meantime, I’ve already booked my next trip, enjoying someone else’s Airbnb!

Go gently and always with love,

Deborah