Letters From The Quiet Corner: Entry One — “I’m Not Okay, and That’s Okay”

There are days I wake up and feel the weight of it all. The truth is, I’m not okay — and I’ve come to learn that’s okay. My heart will always carry the fracture of losing my brother Nicki. That crack doesn't close; it simply becomes part of who I am.

I know I’m not alone in this kind of pain, though it can feel like it. Many of us are walking around with invisible wounds. But I want to remind you — it’s not selfish to take time to heal. It's vital. It’s necessary. And your mental health deserves that time and space.

For me, that healing shows up in the quiet corners of my day. In the hum of the oven, the rhythm of kneading bread, the soft stillness of watching something grow in my garden. Lately, I’ve been leaning into a slower pace — growing my own food, making butter, baking fresh loaves — and somehow, in that simplicity, I find calm. Not a cure, but calm.

There's a quiet kind of pride in putting a homemade meal on the table and knowing it came from your hands, your soil, your love. I know that lifestyle isn’t for everyone, but if you’re looking for something to help still the noise — try planting a seed. Bake something from scratch. Learn a new recipe. Even something small can soothe a heavy soul.

This week, we celebrated my daughter’s 18th birthday. A beautiful milestone, filled with joy and fairy-themed cake — but also a quiet ache. Because Nicki should’ve been there. He would’ve laughed the loudest, helped carry the balloons, stolen icing from the cake when no one was looking. He would’ve celebrated right alongside us.

So we did it for him. We celebrated as he would’ve wanted us to. And then, when the guests had gone, I took five minutes to write him a letter — just as I do every time I need to feel close to him. I told him about the party, the cake, the candles, the bittersweet joy of it all.

It’s not a cure. But it helps.

And maybe, by sharing these small truths — these soft pages of my grief and healing — I can help someone else feel less alone in theirs.

Until next week,
From the quiet corner,
Jamie x