Show Notes
When I look around online all I ever see is the traditional depiction of a homestead. People living in the countryside, surrounded by fields, with their own land, maybe some chickens and ample space to grow and live. But let’s be honest, that isn’t the reality for most of us, and the thing is I used to think that was my dream too. Until I actually refocused my vision and focused on where I am at right now. It was then that I realised I have everything I want, that the other influences weren’t actually what I was desiring, and I found so much love and joy in what I already have. When I scroll through my feed or browse the internet, it feels like everywhere I look, I see the same picture-perfect vision of homesteading: people living in the countryside, surrounded by acres of land, fields stretching out as far as the eye can see, chickens clucking happily in the yard, and rows upon rows of produce growing in neat little garden beds. The dream is often painted in soft, idyllic tones, filled with the promise of self-sufficiency, rustic charm, and an idyllic, peaceful life. For a long time, I thought that was my dream too. I imagined the quiet mornings on the porch, the scent of fresh bread, the satisfaction of growing everything I need, and a life deeply rooted in nature. It felt right, like the life I was supposed to live. But here’s the thing: that dream wasn’t my dream at all. Let me explain. The Reality of "Homesteading" I’ve spent a lot of time romanticising the life of a traditional homesteader, imagining myself surrounded by wide open spaces. But in reality, I live in a small, 650 sq. ft. home in a city, with limited space. I don’t have acres of land to grow fruit and veggies. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Actually, more than okay,I’m thriving. You see, there’s something about being constantly exposed to these “ideal” depictions that makes you think they’re the only way. You start believing that unless you have a sprawling farm, you’re somehow missing out, that your life isn’t complete. But what I realised is that the traditional homesteading life isn’t the only path to living simply and intentionally. Refocusing My Vision I had to take a step back. I stopped comparing myself to the “ideal homesteading” narrative and took a good hard look at my own life. And when I did, I saw something different: I have everything I need right where I am. It wasn’t the land or the chickens that I was truly longing (definitely not the chickens, they definitely aren’t for me) for. It was the connection to nature, the rhythm of the seasons, and the joy of slowing down and living intentionally. I wanted a life that was simple, but I realised that simple doesn't have to mean “country living” or a traditional homestead. A Radical Realisation: I Didn’t Want Land (or Chickens) And here’s the part that might raise a few eyebrows in the homesteading world: I didn't want land. I didn’t want a huge garden to tend to, and I definitely didn’t want chickens. Yes, I know. Radical, right? In a world where homesteading is often synonymous with raising animals and owning large property, saying that you don’t want these things can feel like an unpopular opinion. But the truth is, I’ve found that you can live a homesteading inspired life, rooted in simplicity, even if your reality doesn’t match the traditional vision. Finding Joy in What I Have Living in a small space, with a modest balcony garden, and a focus on creating a slower, more intentional life has brought me so much joy. I still have my own little corner to grow herbs and vegetables, I make things from scratch, and I’ve learned to embrace the natural rhythms of the seasons, even within my limited space. This is the homesteading lifestyle I’ve come to love: one that’s flexible and real, where it’s not about achieving some perfect image, but about finding joy in the here and now. In truth, I’ve found that the slow, simple, and seasonal life is much more about the mindset and choices we make than
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I think one of the most uncomfortable parts of living intentionally is realising that your life might stop making sense to other people and that’s not because you’re doing anything wrong and it’s not because they are doing anything wrong either, but because difference, when it is lived honestly, has a way of unsettling the stories people carry about what a good life is supposed to look like. There is an unspoken expectation in modern life that our choices should be broadly recognisable. Ideally, they should also be explainable. If we choose something different around work, family, home, ambition, money, education or pace, we are often expected to justify it in a way that reassures other people we haven’t made a terrible mistake, it’s as though our lives need to pass some kind of public approval test before we are allowed to feel settled inside them. But life doesn’t need to be universally appealing to be deeply right for you, in fact, it only needs to be coherent to the person living it snd this is something I have had to learn slowly, and sometimes uncomfortably, over the years. I live a life that many people wouldn’t choose; I home educate my children, I live in a small, 650sq ft home by choice, I centre my days around home, rhythm, presence and ordinary life rather than constant expansion, I identify as a homemaker and I have opted out, where I can, from certain forms of pace, productivity and visibility. Not as a rejection of modern life entirely and certainly not because I think everyone should live like me, but because this is how I stay well inside the life I am actually living. And those choices are not meant to be persuasive (a very common assumption) they are simply mine and I speak to those who either associate with this way of living too, or desire to live in a similar way. I think that is where so much unnecessary tension begins. We assume that when someone makes a different choice, they must be making a statement about ours. * If someone home educates, it can be read as a criticism of school. * If someone stays in a small home, it can be read as a rejection of ambition. * If someone chooses a slower pace, it can be read as laziness. * If someone centres home, family or care, it can be read as regressive, especially for women, whose choices are so often treated as public property and moral declarations rather than personal decisions. But someone else’s inability to imagine themselves in your life is not a verdict on yours; it just means they wouldn’t choose it, it is that simple. And it’s also fine, they don’t have to. I wouldn’t choose lots of other people’s lives either. I can scroll through Instagram and see all sorts of lifestyles that make me think, “Absolutely not for me, thank you kindly”, but I don’t need to announce that in the comments section like a woman holding a clipboard at the gates of acceptable living, because it isn’t my life. And this is the bit we seem to forget… not everything needs our approval or agreement and not everything needs to be filtered through the lens of whether we personally would choose it. Sometimes another person’s life can simply exist. When I first started home educating, I noticed this very quickly. I had made the decision before my first child was even born, so it wasn’t sudden or impulsive. It was something we had thought about deeply. It was a long standing choice rooted in our values, our family rhythm and what we wanted for our children and yet even saying that can make people uncomfortable. Because if I say home education is the best choice for my children, some people hear, “School is the wrong choice for yours” and that’s not an assumption, I have literally had this accusation levied at me more than once. But that is of course not what I am saying… I don’t think every child should be home educated and I don’t think every parent has the capacity, desire or circumstances to home educate. I don’t think school is wrong for every child but I do think home education is
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