The (evolving) story of a home.

inviting you in for a cup of coffee and a meaningful chat — part one.

I’m Lyndsay, mother, creative and storyteller with a background in interiors PR. Story & Thread. is a weekly letter exploring the intersection of creativity, mothering and the living world, with a home and a garden at the heart...

Please feel free to share parts of this newsletter that connect with you — here on Substack, on social media or I would love you to send it on to someone special to you.

“Your house is your larger body.
 It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night; and it is not dreamless”.

—Kahlil Gibran, On Houses, The Prophet, 1923.

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Hello everyone

How is everyone feeling this week?

Thank you so much for reading last week’s post welcoming winter, there seems to be a need for cosiness and cocooning and I loved hearing how many of you are also aiming to tend to the gentle inwardness of this season. With all of the wintry festivities unfolding (carrying much wonderment), it feels important to keep drawing ourselves back in too, to find the meaning it holds for each of us.

In the spirit of inwardness this season and my intention for introspection, reflection and visioning with deep roots in connection and community, I wanted to invite you in for a catch up over a cup of coffee (or indeed tea!) at home with me…

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Inspired in part by the generous descriptions of Story & Thread. by

Allegra Chapman

and

Claudia Wilde

in their beautiful advent offerings here and here, I decided to delve into my intention to allow the threads of my thoughts and a weaving of words to evoke a feeling of welcome warmth when you are spending time reading here…

This letter is loosely based on the INSIDER interview series which explores the inside stories of our homes as a foundation for nurture, creativity and as an anchor to our surroundings. Unsurprisingly (!), I managed to find too many words and so this will be the first part of a short series — today is an introduction with thoughts about creating meaning, with more to come on the nourishing, creative, seasonal aspects of home, followed by my aspirations and sources of inspiration.

I hope this allows you to get to know me a bit better through the (very slowly evolving) story of a home…

A (re-)introduction.

I’m Lyndsay, I am 38, living in North London with my husband and our young children who are approaching four and two-years-old next month. I was born in a leafy part of North London and haven’t moved very far at all — it is safe to say these streets hold both everyday familiarity and nostalgia, that North London permeates my skin and lives in my bones. 

My background is in Public Relations, in the interwoven sectors of interiors, design, art and architecture. Telling stories and having conversations about spaces and the people who make them nurtured my interest in the details of making a home and the influence that our surroundings play in the way that we feel.

Becoming a mother at the beginning of 2020 prompted a huge transition in almost every aspect of my being that continues to shapeshift and grow every day. I am only just beginning to get my head around the all-consuming nature of the last few years and starting to gradually unpick the layers and enormity of the task physically and emotionally, and in the way I perceive myself and the world.

As a new mother (in the midst of the pandemic), I became aware of the power that the mother archetype holds in moulding the energy of the home and how this ripples out to wider society. Now I realise that home, which was once a welcome retreat from a busy world, is now the foundation and ground from which everything starts to grow.

Those hazy early days of mothering also gifted me a reimagined relationship with the seasonal shifts and rhythms both within and around me as a way to orient myself.

When trying to pinpoint a memory, I cannot grasp a date in my mind but instead an image of the colour of the sky, the feeling in the air and the way the light fell, unfurls in my mind.

Apricity in our living room in winter.

The meaning behind Story & Thread.

The name Story & Thread expresses my love of interiors and storytelling.

Textiles hold an important place in cultural consciousness, bringing both a visual and tactile element to many expressions in the English language. ‘Thread’ can mean so many things — from a yarn to create a textile; a continued theme or idea; an exchange of messages; mindful movement around obstacles; the filament of a flower and even the very fibre of our being.

Fabrics and their processes ground us and can evolve into a tapestry of comfort, connecting us to a person or a place. The sense of touch is the first we develop in the womb and we all need to be cushioned with a sense of softness throughout our lives.

Creating a soft cocoon with textiles.

Stories play a significant role in all of our lives. I remember my favourite stories as a child and love reading them again to my children, especially when they are told from the original copies my sister and I shared thirty five years ago.

Words and the way they are told, hold a feeling. They seep into our sense of self and our experience of life.

I have always loved reading and writing and went on to study History at university. The Greek word ‘historia’ means ‘to inquire’, or a written account of narratives — a gathering of evidence and stories pertaining to the same event. Stories hold power in the way they shape our reality, and listening is as important as telling — it is when stories different to our own are not welcomed, or when quieter voices go unheard, that understanding and compassion can be lost.

From university I moved straight into a career in PR, within the interiors division of an agency where I learnt another facet of storytelling. Learning how to get to know people and the deepest essence of their companies, drawing out the newsworthy, engaging and authentic stories to tell the press, in order for them to recount the tales to their readers on the pages of their publications.

Books and sunlight.

And of course there are always the stories we tell ourselves…

Story & Thread. is an invitation to tell the stories woven into the fabric of our lives, to take up a little more space, and to reclaim a connection to ourselves and our place in the world.

The story of a home.

I live in an Edwardian house in North London. We first viewed the house in January 2021 (socially distanced and wearing masks) on the weekend of our daughter’s first birthday — it held a certain warmth of being a much-loved family home (despite the very draughty windows, crumbly bricks, inefficient heating system and damp basement that was susceptible to flooding!).

We were aware that a house over 100 years old was bound to need some attention and were won over by its character — in the wildflowers depicted in stained glass in the front door, the original tiles in the entrance, high ceilings and coving in most rooms and the (chilly) sash windows which allow an abundance of light.

Our front door.

The garden has a number of trees and shrubs which we were very lucky to inherit from the previous owners. Visiting in the depths of winter, we were unaware that the balcony would become woven with wisteria come May and that one side of the garden fence would be laced in climbing roses from June-September.

We moved in in October 2021, a couple of months before my son was born. At that time there were the fading fragments of late summer in the garden and a nip in the air as we became immersed in bronze autumn days, before moving into our first winter here.

The garden at the beginning of autumn.

The first year was a slow unfolding to discover how the house functions and feels over the months — how the light falls through the seasons, the cosiest spots, the draughtiest corners (!) and how we live in it as a family.

The garden and my love for it has been a continuing surprise — from the joy of seeing clumps of snowdrops emerge in January to the burgeoning of bluebells in May, the spilling over of roses in the summer, the antiqued tones of hydrangeas in autumn, before it all becomes stripped back and bare again as winter falls.

I left the garden very much to its own devices (apart from some weeding) in the first year, letting it unfold and tell me its story, of what was there and what was needed. I have since been slowly planting bulbs in winter, marvelling over shoots and experimentally planting into the ground and pots on the patio. 

Golden grasses as we move from autumn to winter.

A meaningful home.

Since becoming a mother, I experience the role of my home as more than a place to return to, and instead a place of comfort and safety where everything begins.

I bring meaning to our home by leaning into things that feel like natural rituals, by aiming to create a warm and loving place for my children that tells the stories of our lives together, that nourishes us creatively and is an interior that is deeply anchored to its surroundings, its era in history and reflects the shape-shifting feeling of the season.

Sunlight and snowflake shadows.

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I hope you enjoyed reading more about the thoughts and meanings behind Story & Thread. and the beginnings of making a home.

I would love to hear what brings meaning to your home?

Thank you as always for reading, and I really look forward to your thoughts, hope we can chat more in the comments.

Lyndsay xx