I lost my mum at 18 and the journey of grief that I am still on is the greatest teacher of how to hold and love the abandoned parts.

The little girl inside me that refused to stay quiet, begging for me, my mum, anyone to hold, love and tend to her shattered heart - it is her I bow to. The courage to cry so loudly, to stomp so hard the earth beneath us crumbled. After a few years, I had to listen, she would not allow me to keep abandoning. No more numbing, no more running. Listen.

My hands and heart are guided by the loss of my mother, and they are guided by the Great Mother - that took me into her muddy, blossom filled depths - and reminded me of home.

I tend with the love of The Mother.

Gentle softness. Unwavering strength. Chaos filled devotion.

The truth is, meeting yourself with love is messy. Doing it alone hurts beyond our capacity.

And we are meant to be messy, and we are not meant to do it alone.