Choosing Calm Over Chaos

Since Bridget Jones Diary was published in 1996, I have been likened to Bridget - even more so after the first film starring Renée Zellweger, who at the time was rather more voluptuous than the streamlined version we see today.

Me on the left in 2015... the resemblance is uncanny!

I get it.  I remember howling with laughter when I first read it because I so identified with the mild emotional chaos that follows her around.

Wrong men. Dramas in Cuba rather than Thailand. Too much wine.  Being left up a mountain when skiing with my “Action Jackson” boyfriend ((that one may have veered into Emily in Paris territory although I was rescued by the Snow Patrol rather than a Marcello). Internal monologues that should remain internal but are blurted out.

There is something endearing about Bridget. But there is also something exhausting about living like her.

At some point, you realise you don’t actually want to be the comedic character.  You want to be the woman who has learned from it.

Still funny. Still passionate.  Just… regulated.

Calm is not boring.  Calm is safe.  Calm is strength.

The Nervous System Knows

When we invest deeply — in love, in friendship, in loyalty — we unconsciously create a contract:

If I show up like this, you will show up like this.

When that reciprocity doesn’t arrive, it doesn’t just disappoint us. It unsettles the nervous system. It feels like chaos.

I am wired for deep loyalty. That is one of my strengths. But not everyone operates with the same loyalty code that I do.

Recognising that distinction has been quietly revolutionary. I’ve realised I have a tendency to over-invest when people share.  I go into rescuer mode. I hold. I fix. I absorb.

But I am learning that I am not compelled to walk through every open door — especially if there is chaos on the other side.

If you are interested in Mindfulness, there is a brilliant course on Setting Boundaries by Adi Kaur on the Insight Timer App. 

Why My Paintings Invite Calm

My paintings are layered slowly — alcohol ink flowing, gold leaf catching light, resin sealing everything beneath a glossy surface.

There is movement inside them.Energy. Texture. Depth.

But what they bring into a room is stillness.

The resin holds everything in place.The light reflects softly.The horizon line grounds you.

The horizon line is particularly important to me.   

For a short time — when I clawed my way back onto the housing ladder — I lived in Shadwell in East London. Not trendy Wapping. Not Spitalfields. Shadwell.

It was the first time in my life that I had lived somewhere so built up that I couldn’t see the horizon. And I was deeply unhappy there.

I hadn’t realised how much I needed open sky.

Perhaps that is why I am drawn to coastal inspiration — the meeting point between sea and sky. Nature knows how to be powerful without being frantic. The sea can rage, yes — but most of the time it simply breathes.

That feeling is the inspiration behind one of my recent cyanotypes, She Stands Where Peace Begins.

That’s the energy I want in my home AND the energy I want in my life.

Choosing Calm

Choosing calm doesn’t mean becoming dull. It means keeping the humour, the warmth, the loyalty — but losing the unnecessary turbulence.

My work is an invitation to pause.To breathe.To soften.

To choose calm over chaos.