The Pot-Bound Author

Today I feel like a pot-bound plant.

I can feel my roots pressing against the edges of this life I’m in, needing more soil, more space, more light. I am tired of trying to grow from a place that feels too small for me now.

Living with Mum is becoming harder than I can explain. The energy feels heavy and depressive, and watching her decline is heartbreaking. I feel like I am disappearing into the atmosphere of the house — into worry, fatigue, duty, and sadness. I can’t organise myself properly here. I can’t spread out. I can’t think clearly. I’m trying to build a creative future from a space that doesn’t feel like mine.

And yet, I know something in me wants to live, not just cope.

The pressure is getting too much. Rent in Coffs Harbour feels out of reach now, and that makes the trapped feeling even worse. I want a home of my own — not a mansion, not perfection, just a place where I can breathe, write, dream, and gather myself again. A place with enough beauty and quiet to let me grow.

The book has been another pressure. Working with a formatter through Freelancer has caused more worry than I expected. I hoped collaboration would feel like support, like a doorway into the future, but instead it has felt stressful and uncertain. Maybe it is teaching me something. Maybe the lesson is that I am more capable than I realise. Maybe the next book, I will learn to do more myself. Maybe this difficult process is showing me where I need independence, boundaries, and confidence.

I cannot wait until Mr Puff and Ruby Queen is finished and published. I need this chapter completed. I need to see the book become real, not just another thing weighing on my mind.

Today I feel cramped, tired, and under pressure.

But even a pot-bound plant is still a plant. It is not dead. It is asking to be repotted.

Maybe that is what I am asking for too.

More room.
More light.
Fresh soil.
A place to grow again.