The One Powerful Secret to Finding Comfort

Or... Put the kettle on.

Did you know that you and thousands of other midlife women read this publication every week? I want to pause and say thank you for that. You’re a true heroine, and I love to imagine you busting out your journal and responding to the "Unsticking" prompts.

Here's the thing, though... you're so quiet. I know, I know, you're busy writing. But there are thousands of women here reading and writing, so I think we should all chat and get to know each other. Today's journal prompt is one I'd love for you to answer in the comments.

Also...I’m changing things up for this publication.

Around the end of this month, I’m adding two things:

• A wee personal update in the hopes that you’ll respond with your own in the comments and we can all get to know you better.

• I will feature and highlight the work of one of Call for Heroines paid subscribers. Some kick-ass women are dropping into the monthly group coaching calls (for paid subscribers), and I think you should meet them, too!

I will place these new additions at the bottom of the page so you don't have to scroll further than the journal prompt if that's all you want.

Why wait? Next week, I leave for a few weeks for a trip to Marrakesh, where we will be venturing into the Sahara desert, staying in a Bedouin camp, and riding camels. This adventure will be followed by a week with friends in Lanzarote. I am frantically writing, so there will be no interruptions to your journal prompts or the 52 Narrative Shifts to Power Your Midlife Reinvention (paid subscribers)

Don’t forget!

An author spends tons of time loading up the Ordinary World with the keys to the main character’s transformational growth. Did you know your real-life Ordinary World holds the same secrets if you know where to look? Join the Heroine’s Quarterly Quest and unlock your Ordinary World. It runs live every day this week at noon (starting today). You can sign up here!

Saturday was a complete disaster.

In the UK, Saturdays can be the grand-finale of a fabulous week (complete with flares and confetti), or bring the week crashing to the ground.

In Scotland and all over the UK, Saturdays are for football (soccer for the Americans reading). My husband is a passionate football fan and never misses a home game. Even in the midst of a horrible cold (his nose was running faster than the players), he dragged himself to the stadium to support the "Dark Blues." And, although I'm not as passionate a football fan, I am a good wife, so I went too.

Saturday? We lost in a demoralizing 0-6 defeat.

I know you think I'm dramatic when I use the word "disaster," but I promise you, I'm not. There is a famous quote from a coach named Bill Shankly that explains how my husband and his friends feel about football,

“Football is not a matter of life and death. It's much more important than that."

So there we were, shivering in our three layers of clothing, the familiar football-watching numbness creeping into our toes. The old man behind me was screaming his head off at the players, spittle flying, "Ya doing nowt ya pricks!" and the visiting crowd were singing, "You make it so f**cking easy."

We were sad, demoralized, and ready to vanish into the seats when my husband turned to me and said,

"They just want to go home and have a cup of tea."

So you can relax now, this story isn't about football, it's about tea.

Because what Mark said meant more than “the players are thirsty.” It meant they were tired, fed up, and wanted a moment of relief, comfort, and connection.

They wanted a cup of tea.

Have I told you I’m English? We emigrated to the United States when I was 12, but my parents brought and maintained all their British traditions and culture. Collectively, Brits drink approximately 100 million cups of tea a day, and my family of 6 probably contributed a few thousand of those from America (okay, that's hyperbole, or what Mark and our daughter call a "Lisa-ism," but you get where I'm coming from).

At its most basic, a cup of tea is simply dried leaves and boiling water. But realistically, it is so, so much more.

"I'll put the kettle on" must be the most frequently uttered phrase in British households. (I'm pleased to say that "Ya doing nowt ya pricks!" is reserved for the football stadium.)

Tea is a calming ritual. When my Mum used to watch my infant daughter while I was at work, she would make three cups of tea every morning: one for her, a milky, sugary one for the baby's bottle, and one that she poured into the dog's bowl (yes, Buddy got one, too). Every time we arrive home from the airport, from a long walk or grocery shopping, the first thing we do is have a cup of tea.

Tea is connection. When I was nineteen, I made my first trip back to England after a seven-year absence. I hadn't seen my East London-based Aunt Maureen in even longer, but she welcomed me at the door with, "'Ello, Dahlin! Get in 'ere and have a cuppa tea." As kids, we loved my Nan's tea the best because she made it with sweet evaporated milk instead of regular. This was a legacy of the war when rationing meant they had no regular milk on hand.

Tea is comfort. As we sat around my brother-in-law’s bed and he took his last breath, the nurse stuck her head in and said, "I'll get everyone a cup of tea." When we moved my mother-in-law into her care home, a cup of tea was the first thing the carers brought us, along with a plate of chocolate biscuits for Sundie's sweet tooth.

I read somewhere that the polite way of stirring your tea is a short back-and-forth swing in the center of the cup so you don't clink the spoon against the sides. What!? The spoon clinking against the sides of the cup is as glorious a sound as the pop of opening a bottle of prosecco. Please, people, clink away!

We now have a boiling water tap and no longer put the kettle on, but we still have the constant refrain of "Cup of tea?" in our home. Because tea is more than dried leaves and boiling water, it's a daily anchor. A life raft (a quick rescue from the madness). A consistent ritual that gives us a sense of normalcy and control, especially when life feels uncertain.

Offering someone a cup of tea is about more than tea. It's about offering belonging, love, and security. It's about handing over a steaming mug and silently promising, "I've got you. Everything's gonna be okay."

So I'm curious. Do you have a similar ritual in your life? Do you have a small daily moment of joy and connection you can turn to? These small rituals, the elixirs we bring home to brighten the kingdom, can serve as a grounding force. They remind us of our roots and connections and can provide a moment of self-nurturing even in the most challenging times. Like when your team loses 0-6 on what was promising to be the perfect Saturday.

JOURNAL PROMPT

This one is for the comments, not your journal. Reflect on a small ritual that has been a consistent source of comfort in your life. How does it ground you, and how might you share that comfort with someone else? If you don't have your own version of a cup of tea, what small ritual could you start today that you could bring with you on your future journeys?