As I sit down to write this, there's a hot cup of tea beside me, the steam curling into the wintery afternoon air. It's Yorkshire Tea – my favourite – strong, simple, no fuss, just like the women who passed the ritual down to me. My mum and my nan have always said, "When in doubt, put the kettle on." And I’ve found, more often than not, they’re right.
Tea has been the quiet thread woven through the fabric of my life. It doesn’t solve the world’s problems, of course. But somehow, after the first few sips, everything seems a little softer. The sharp edges of the day blur. The noise fades just enough to let you breathe again.
There’s something deeply rooted and ancestral about tea for me. I come from a long line of English women who knew that tea wasn’t just about the drink – it was a balm, a pause, a ritual of resilience. When I was younger, I'd watch Nan cradle her mug with both hands, as if drawing strength from it. My mum still does the same. And now, without even thinking, so do I.
My kitchen shelves are lined with an ever-growing collection of loose leaf teas – blends I’ve picked up from markets, gifted tins with faded labels, herbal brews for every mood and season. Chamomile with lavender for quiet evenings, a zesty lemongrass and ginger for sluggish mornings, and my beloved Yorkshire Tea for... well, everything else. It’s the kind I reach for when life feels uncertain, when I’ve had a win, or when nothing quite makes sense.
Tea has been there for all of it. The good days, when everything feels golden and I just want to stretch out the moment a little longer. The bad ones, when my heart’s too heavy to speak. The confused, the scared, the angry, the overjoyed. Always, I find myself at the kettle. Always, tea waits with quiet patience.
I even need a cup before bed – not herbal, not fancy – just my regular brew with a splash of milk. I can’t sleep without it. It’s a strange comfort, I suppose, but a familiar one. Like being wrapped in a patchwork quilt of memory and habit. It signals the end of the day, the slowing down, the promise of rest.
In a world that often feels like it’s moving too fast, where everything demands instant answers and curated perfection, there’s something beautifully grounding about the ritual of tea. Boil the water. Choose your cup. Steep the leaves. Breathe. Sip. Repeat.
So tonight, like every night, I’ll end the day as I always do – with a cuppa in hand, the house quiet around me, and a moment of stillness to be grateful for all the ways tea has held me together.
And maybe, just maybe, it’ll hold you too.
Wishing you a wonderful week, stay warm.
With love and wildflowers,
Kels x