Change is afoot on the winding path of 'winterspring'.

endings and beginnings with the tipping of the light, and a choice to make.

Hello, I am so glad you have found your way here… I’m Lyndsay — mother, creative and storyteller with a background in interiors PR.

Step inside Story & Thread., a cosy, layered home where the threads of creativity, interiors and mothering meet. Here, we unearth the stories from the seasons of our lives, with a house & a garden at the heart, and everyday beauty as our guide…

Daffodils on a winterspring walk in the woods.

“I am rooted, but I flow”.

—Virginia Woolf.

Dearest reader…

How are you finding this time of quiet unfolding?

For me, spring landed potently with our Siren Songs collection of writing making ripples throughout International Women’s Day and in the days following (there is no deadline, and you are always welcome to join the chorus of voices sharing their stories). I am still reading through the posts but so far, it has been so moving to read the words of women — from tender tales of womanhood, to rousing calls for change. My contribution is a spell of elemental treasure to remind us of the power of our inner knowing and true nature…

A shell, a petal and a feather — a magic spell to remember your true nature on International Women's Day 2025.

Today I am exploring this time of transitions — as we moved through the portal of the full lunar eclipse, and towards the spring equinox this week, there is a thread of endings and beginnings on a canvas of the unknown — it mirrors the concealment of light during the lunar eclipse, and a gradual revelation, as the sunlight tips towards fullness in the northern hemisphere.

I also wanted to remind you that tomorrow is the first edition of Gather & Tend. — an opportunity to spend time together within this backdrop of slow transitions in a cosy online co-working space. Within the session, we will take creative cues from the season around us and making precious time to tend to ourselves and our projects with care.

The details,

When: 10-11.15am (GMT), Wednesday 19th March 2025.

Where: from the comfort of your own home (or anywhere!) via Zoom.

This first session will be open to all subscribers — you would be very welcome to join us.

Finding my way (again) in winterspring.

I wrote about my experience of winterspring this time last year, and am sharing it again today as so much still rings true for me…

I didn’t realise at the time that winterspring would become much more than a way of describing the season unfolding outside, and instead a way to express how I feel, somewhere between tentative emergence and hasty retreat, within this continually evolving season of life. This winterspring however, the balance seems to be tipping, and there is a choice to be made…

The feeling of winterspring.

The days are lengthening, with the light reaching us earlier and earlier in the mornings (unfortunately my children’s wake up times appear to be following suit…!).

Much longed-for light floods the earth whilst the trees remain mostly leafless — though on closer inspection, each branch is studded with growth and outlined in an aura of green; the light is coaxing closed buds to open, urging soft blossom to lace the trees, and for brave shoots to reach skyward. And yet the moments of glorious sunshine exist side by side with lead grey clouds heavy with iced droplets that fall determinedly from the sky.

Although we are spanning the unsettled in-between of the seasons, we can be sure that we are firmly in the container of winterspring — I find there to be reassurance in knowing that this is the way it will be for a while, the to and fro, back and forth, emergence and retreat.

We can feel the soft earth beneath our feet, the cold wind whip through our hair, and the cool moisture soak our skin.

It can feel precarious at times, we are uncertain of what each day might bring, it is neither winter nor full spring, but perhaps it is both, existing at once — a reminder that so often things are not black and white, and that two truths can exist at the same time. When I immerse myself entirely in this shapeshifting time, I notice that as the changes materialise around me, they are often unfolding within me too.

A light dusting of blossom on the trees in the woods.

Gathering myself in winterspring.

As I gather, sort and make an inventory of the seeds I have had stored away before I make space and create the right conditions to sow them — I realise that winterspring is also the time to gather ourselves before emergence, to make space and find the conditions we need to thrive, a moment to steady ourselves before we bloom. It is the ebb before the flow, the solidifying of foundations and the grounding of roots, before stretching outwards and upwards towards the light.

There is a certainty in the sun and a sureness in the earth, we have been here before — there is a deep knowing of what is required, that all will unfold in time, and that there is no rush.

We have been here before…

Weaving imperfection and dancing in-between.

I have been tiptoeing somewhere between the inward-looking wintry cocoon that I needed, and that was required of me within early motherhood, and the pull towards the shimmers of creative projects, conversation, collaboration and self-expression. A dance I feel like I have been dancing for some time now — an existence somewhere between an inherent need and desire to create and connect, alongside my experience of an overwhelming need and desire to hold my children close to me in their early years.

A time to write.

It is not a harmonious co-existence, instead it is the weaving of a tapestry made up of imperfect moments — of creating in the edges, of navigating constant interruptions, starting things and leaving them unfinished, squeezing words into margins of the day, writing in the dark — amid my frustration at the half-done and unfulfilled, the flaws and the fraying, I have found there to be so much beauty, fullness and joy sewn into the seams.

After a period of striving and being ‘of the world’ until my early 30s, I have needed this shift inwards — to tending and caring, of softening and cocooning, of learning layers of patience, and the truth that not everything is for ‘now’, that there is a season for everything.

In very many ways it has felt like a homecoming.

And whilst my wintry existence and the innate call to retreat from the world, has provided me, and hopefully my children, with so much of what we have needed in these first tender years together; my winter’s nest has possibly become a place for me to hide away and be unseen, to stay a little safer, to not put myself out there or take up space, to not ask for too much.

A glorious blossom find.

Tipping the balance.

Now, I have reached a time of transition where I have the fortunate option of increased childcare at my son’s nursery from the end of April, but I am currently living the quandary of whether it is the time to take this opportunity…

Whilst I am grateful for the short mornings I currently have whilst my son is at nursery, they feel like a mere handful of moments before I have to leave my thoughts, words and work suspended in mid-air, as pick up time comes round again. Much of the work I do and crave requires time — for thought, for rumination, and on a good day, for finding that elusive state of flow. Time is required to imagine, wonder, dream and plan, before even beginning the physical act of writing, communicating and reaching outwards. Yet, the option is for more hours than I had intended, with little flexibility, which in some ways feels like a reversal of my mothering approach in the early years so far.

Perhaps a new phase of more childcare is not an abandonment of my mothering approach, but a reorientation and realignment with myself at the centre, as a consistent and potentially more vibrant presence, over a constant one, a place to come home to — and of a woman that intends to eschew the traditional boxes of ‘mother’ or ‘career’, to craft a creative life around her children…

Five years on from becoming a mother, it feels as though my identity and daily experience are shifting, and with that comes grief for the ideal I was upholding, and for the mosaic of moments that have made up our days. It feels as though there is a choice to be made between a cosy winter of nurture and deep, demanding care, or an uplifting spring (for myself and my children) of stepping out into the light, and maybe even taking flight…

Just as this season of transition suggests, change is afoot. Perhaps now is the time to venture out from the magical, mystical yet arduous winter in the undergrowth of mothering, and to pursue opportunities growing along my path like spring flowers — to look outwards despite being strongly tethered to family life, to find this new version of myself, melding everything that has come before, with new layers embedded.

I am choosing now to hold the gifts and learnings of winter in my hands, to trust in the unseen growth that has been happening all along, to root down into the support of the earth, and to make space on ground level — to adjust my eyes as the light strengthens, to see what might grow…

Thank you so much for reading — as always, I would love to chat more in the comments and to hear your thoughts, what has been shifting in you? Of course, feel free to send me an email if you prefer, I always love to hear from you.

P.S. Don’t forget to register for Gather & Tend. online co-working space taking place tomorrow at 10-11.15am (GMT), Wednesday 19th March 2025 via Zoom.

This first session will be open to all subscribers.

The Beauty Thread., is a new paid membership within Story & Thread. Through a series of seasonal offerings, The Beauty Thread. is an invitation to notice, hold and create beauty in our own worlds, woven together by the ever-changing seasons, both around us and within us. When we come to know beauty, it transforms us, the onlooker, into an exquisite piece of life’s tapestry. Subscriptions to The Beauty Thread. currently cost £5 per month or £45 per year.