The fondest farewell

Hello mates!

Today was supposed to be a new episode of the plodcast but instead, I have an update. A big one.

Last week, Ben and I recorded what was meant to be today’s episode, all about stuff: our relationship to it, how our philosophy around it has changed, how we feel about it now. And it was a good chat — they always are.

But afterwards, we realised something. We’d been there before. Many times. We’d had virtually the same conversation, discussed the same turning points, shared the same anecdotes. And that realisation solidified something in me.

I’ve felt stuck for a while. Stuck between where I’ve been and where I’m going. What I wanted and what I’ve got. Who I was and who I’m becoming.

And all of this — the writing, the conversations, the realisations — they’ve been happening in much the same way, through much the same lens, since I started Slow Your Home back in 2012. Even this term’s writing feels like I’m treading over familiar territory.

And it turns out you can’t walk new ground while you’re treading familiar territory.

I’m in a space of transition, and looking back at my archives, I can see I’ve been doing a lot of that evolving here, with you. Just this year I’ve learnt to step into my own, to take up space, to joyfully let go of people-pleasing. And it’s been incredible. An absolute joy, a privilege, a delight.

But I’ve reached a point where I need to take a giant leap into the unknown, away from so much of what has formed my foundation, my identity, my sense of worth for the past twelve years.

And, if I’m being honest, I’m also tired of mining my own life for subject matter.

I haven’t done it in the way we might think — an influencer parading every private moment online for the world to see. In fact, I’ve always been mindful of what I share, and while I have shared parts, most of my life never made it online. Which is exactly the way I like it.

But still, I have been mining it. Those challenges, the transitions, the struggles that so many of us have in common — they’ve come from my experiences and they’ve formed the backbone of my writing, especially over the last few years. And I don’t want to dig anymore.

Ben asked me earlier today what would change about how we live if we stopped recording The Tortoise. And immediately, I knew the answer. Nothing. Nothing would change.

We live the way we live, and none of what we talk about or what I write about is performative. And in a way, that’s what makes it harder. Digging into it, discussing it, analysing it and trying to make our life fit into a certain set of expectations makes it feel performative. It makes me over-identify with every little shift and change, wondering where it will lead, whether I will write about it, how it will reflect on my overall worldview, when really, these are all just tools we use to live as well as we can.  

I think this year was always going to be transformative; I just didn’t realise in what ways. After my surgery in February and my slow recovery, I have felt well for full stretches of weeks. And it’s thrown me. I haven’t felt like this in years. And what it’s highlighting is that I am afraid. I have been holding on to something that I need to move on from. I am holding on to this version of myself and can’t fully embrace what’s next until I let go with both hands.

So, I come to you with my heart on my sleeve, to let you know this will be the final edition of The Tortoise.

I’ve always talked about trying to find ease in big decisions. How we would dance around the huge, life-altering ones for months, pushing and prodding at them, noting the resistance and knowing that it wasn’t quite the right time to act. And then, one day, we’d circle and poke at the question again and find softness where previously it had been hard. Ease where there had only been obstacles. This feels like that.

From your perspective, it might seem sudden, but I think it’s been lingering in the background for years while my focus has been on my health and getting through some of the most difficult times of my life.

And for that whole time, you were here. These words were here. This community was here. I’ve never taken it for granted. I cannot put into words how grateful I am for you. I hope I’m not letting you down because I love this corner of the internet. I love what you have shared. I love what we created. And I love you and me enough to know:

I owe us all a closed chapter.

It has been my honour to write to you, whether you’ve been here a week or a decade. That you carved out a little bit of space for slowness in a world full of distractions is incredible to me, and I hope you keep doing that every day.

Because life is worth slowing down for.

💚

Before I get into housekeeping, I also want to say a public thank you to Ben. Obviously, none of this is news to him, but he was as much a part of The Slow Home Pod and The Tortoise as anyone, and his belief kept it going when I doubted it all.

Both before and after that, through all the years of blogging and the years (and years) it took to write three books, he stood next to me, encouraging me and supporting me in countless ways. I couldn’t have done any of this without him. We are a very good team, but he is the MVP.

So Benny, thank you for everything. And I mean everything. It’s been a ride. I love you and I like you and I’m excited for whatever is next.

For anyone who has a paid subscription, firstly, can I just say thank you. You have allowed me to pour countless hours into this space, to build something beautiful, and your support has given me a sense of worth and value that I always struggled to find. That is priceless to me and I will be forever grateful.

I’m pausing all payments as of today and will eventually transfer everyone over to free subscriber status. That means you won’t be charged anything further and will maintain your access to all paid content, including retreats and workshops until then.

Funnily enough, still a lot of writing, just all offline for now.

I’m working on my first fiction manuscript — a middle-grade fantasy filled with magic and nature and a crew of misfit kids I wish I’d been friends with growing up — and I’m so excited to see where it leads.

I will still write for my other job. (Gotta pay those bills).

And this space will stay right where it is for now. I imagine I will come back to it at some point, but just for fun. I kind of miss the old days of Instagram, when we shared a snap and moved on with life. Maybe this will be that. And if my book ever gets picked up for publication, you’ll hear about that here too.

But for now, it’s goodbye.

Thank you for everything.

Until next time, take very good care.
Brooke 💚💚