Monday 17th November 2025
Today feels like the right day to begin.
Not because everything is perfect or lined up or neatly planned, but because my heart has been nudging me to start, and something in me finally whispered, go on then… begin.
Over on Threads earlier, I shared a few things that I normally keep tucked away:
– how I realised I didn’t have anyone outside of my home to talk to when something big happened last month.
– how surprisingly lonely that felt.
– how odd and heavy (and embarrassing!) it is to reach almost fifty and recognise that I don’t actually have friends.
I also shared another post, talking about something far smaller but just as real.
That I had set up my sewing machine after a 5 year break and felt stupidly scared to use it.
Scared to begin again.
Scared to fail, to ruin the fabric, to not be “good enough” anymore.
I was just being honest, and was surprised at just how many other women quietly said, me too.
So many felt the same loneliness, the same hesitation, the same longing to create but fear of starting, the same lack of connection and belonging.
There are others just like me.
And suddenly I don’t feel so alone or weird anymore.
So today, I am beginning.
A diary of days.
A maker’s nook.
A quiet place to notice the simple, often forgotten things.
And a soft community corner for women who feel the world a little more deeply.
I have always written things down: half-thoughts, scraps of feeling, plans for the one day, and the tiny joys that make me smile.
And I’ve always stitched slowly, mended what’s worn, bought secondhand and turned old fabrics into something new.
But until now, those pieces of me lived scattered – in notebooks, pockets, photographs, and scraps of paper waiting to be rediscovered and put together one day.
Lanefolk is where I finally gather and unite – not just those thoughts, those plans, those creative memories – but kindreds. The beautiful souls that can resonate and say “that’s me too!”
Not for business. Not for money. Not for algorithms or search engine pleasing.
Just for me. And for anyone else that feels they need or want to read it.
If you have found your way here, I hope something in this feels familiar.
I hope that it feels like a gentle welcome.
I hope that you read these words and think, ah… I’m not the only one.
Today I am beginning – not perfectly, not bravely, just honestly.