It has been quite a week at this desk.
It is the culmination of several weeks of revisiting old journals, rewriting what needed more, and finally, after days of that particular kind of focused, absorbing work, I published two of them. One revised, one brand new. Both now live on my Etsy shop, Successfully Soulful, with the paperback editions making their way through Amazon’s process. That waiting, if you have ever released something into the world, has its own particular feel.
And then, in the middle of all of that, I found myself reconsidering a website.
Not glamorous, I know. But bear with me, because sometimes the small, practical, slightly unglamorous moments are exactly where something true shows up.
I was looking at a budget platform I had been considering for one of my brands. Clean, functional and affordable. And I sat there today thinking: this looks like it came out of a K-Mart cart. My Venus sensibilities were genuinely offended. Not because I need things to be expensive and beautiful – but because I could feel, immediately, that it was cold. And I cannot show up cold.
That moment opened into something I had been quietly moving toward for a while.
As I mentioned at the top of this post, I have spent recent weeks revisiting things. Websites, old journals – you name it, it got a second look. The way my words land, the atmosphere of a page, whether something I made actually carries what I meant it to carry. Creators do this all the time. We evolve. We look back at something built with care and realize it needs more of us in it now, a truer version, perhaps a deeper one. It is never too late. Change does not wait for a convenient moment.
And in the middle of this Friday afternoon, looking at that cold little webpage, I found myself knowing something very clearly that I had only half-known before.
What I want – across everything I make, is for it to feel cozy and comfy like two people on a soft couch with blankets and cushions, and a cup of tea, dreaming about possibilities together. Whether I am writing a guided meditation, a reflection journal, an encouraging word for a small business owner who is tired and doubting themselves, or a book someone might open at midnight when they need to feel less alone. The format has never been the point. The feeling something carries has always been the point. Wow! This speaks to me.
My Healing Song Meditations began and still are this way – unrehearsed, unedited, a spontaneous song reaching toward a healing heart. The vulnerability is intentional. I want people to feel the difference between something performed and something offered.
I am my mother’s daughter. Filled with unyielding empathy and an almost relentless need to share whatever I have – warmth, encouragement, a moment of steadiness so that someone might smile, or breathe a little easier, or feel for one moment that they are not navigating a moment alone.
I am not saintly – by any means. But I do care, deeply about how I am around people – especially those who may be feeling a wee bit tender. Especially those quietly looking for something real. Creating a safe space is always top of mind – even when I am pushing a cart at my favourite grocer’s.
People can feel when something is made with care. Not perfection and not performance. But simply, care.
That is what I am still learning to trust about my own work. That the care is enough. That it reaches. That it matters even when the metrics are quiet, even when the audience is small, even when seasonal allergies are keeping me away from the recording mic and the meditations are waiting, and the week has been long and full and a little unglamorous.
Even then I care.
In all of us sits a teacher and a student. I write from both.
The creator in me understands the need in you.
LUCY TOPPETTA 