What If This Is the Beginning of Your Healing?

Even in the fading, something new is quietly growing. – Issue #17- Saira The Poet

"There's magic lingering like spice in the air."

We don’t always realise we’re healing while it’s happening. Sometimes it looks like rest.

Sometimes it sounds like silence. Sometimes it feels like nothing at all—just survival. But healing is happening in all of those moments. We don’t have to be blooming to be growing.

So often, we want the breakthrough. The dramatic shift. But the truth is, healing is usually slow. It’s subtle. It unfolds in cycles—like seasons. And just like the seasons, we’re allowed to change. We’re allowed to shed what no longer serves us and make space for what nourishes us instead.

There was a time when I didn’t understand how important the quieter phases were—
the ones where nothing seemed to be happening. The ones filled with questions.
But over time, I’ve learned that healing isn’t loud—it’s layered. It’s happening in the letting go. It’s happening in the small wins. In the boundaries we hold. In the love we allow ourselves to receive.

I remember sitting with my notebook open, unsure what to write. Not because there was nothing inside me—but because I was learning to sit with softness instead of urgency. That moment stayed with me. It taught me that even silence has its own kind of growth.

I share today’s poem as a celebration of that kind of healing—the one that rises softly from the roots. One that reminds us that even after deep pain, there is still something beautiful waiting to bloom.

Today’s poem, Harvest of Healing, is a reminder that like seasons, we bloom, we fade, and we grow—and through it all, we rise.

If you’re in a quiet season right now, trust that the harvest is coming.

Thank you for reading.

🪶Poem of the Week

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Here is healing - “Harvest of Healing” by

Saira The Poet

“There’s magic lingering like spice in the air.
An alchemy of healing,
where pain turns to wisdom
and scars to stories.
Whispers of hope, health and happiness
swirl like leaves around me.
I changed. I let go.
I fell to find self-love like blossom in spring.
Healing is the harvest we gather
from fields of sorrow.
A reminder that like seasons,
we change,
we bloom, fade and grow.
We learn to always rise.”

This poem celebrates the quiet, unseen healing that happens within us.
The kind that doesn't announce itself, but grows steadily beneath the surface.
It’s for the days when you’re unsure—but keep going anyway.

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💚Behind The Poem

I wrote this piece during one of the most reflective phases of my life. A time when everything around me looked the same—but something in me had changed.

There wasn’t a big event that triggered it. No loud revelation. Just a gentle pull inward. I began noticing the smallest things: how the air felt in the morning, how my body softened when I chose to rest, how the pain that once roared now whispered. It felt like nature was teaching me: even in stillness, growth happens.

This poem was my way of capturing that invisible bloom. The inner transformation that happens quietly—beneath the surface of survival. I’d let go of so much. And in that letting go, I’d made space for something tender to grow: self-love, trust, softness. The kind of softness that’s strong enough to hold you when nothing else can.

Harvest of Healing reminds me (and I hope it reminds you) that you don’t need to force your way through pain. You can rise softly. Gently. Like seasons do.

What’s something soft that has quietly changed in you—without you even realising?
A mindset, a habit, a belief?

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✍🏻This Week's Writing Prompt

Share your prompt answer by Wednesday to be featured in next week's issue.

Reflect on a time when healing felt far away—but something quiet reminded you that growth was still happening.

They say hindsight is 20/20. And sometimes, it’s only when we look back that we realise how softly healing was unfolding beneath the surface.

• Can you recall a moment when you were lost in sorrow—but something small, like a gentle whisper of hope, helped you keep going?

• Did healing begin in an unexpected way—through stillness, a shift in mindset, or a season of letting go?

• Was there someone or something that reminded you to begin again—even when you didn’t feel ready?

Write a few sentences (or more) about a time when healing didn’t arrive loudly—but it lingered like spice in the air. What helped you notice it, and how has that changed the way you embrace growth today?

Challenge: Share your story in 200-300 words.

Want to be featured? Send in your story by Wednesday, and I’ll highlight a few in the next issue!

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🤩 Community Spotlight!

I’ll try to feature the best 2-3 responses each week here, with special shoutout in the newsletter! If this week’s prompt inspires you, reply to this email.

Today we have:

1️⃣

Ann Lyons

I was inspired to write this piece after reading Saira’s latest newsletter.

My reflections on hope.

It waits there patiently in the shadows

Just slightly out of view

To carry you through the darkness

Toward a life made just for you

It doesn’t ask for recognition

It just asks that you believe

That you are worthy of its presence

And all the gifts it brings

It catches all your teardrops

And weaves a path of light

To lead you onto contentment

And a different way of life

It colours your dreams with spectacular hews

And whispers through your soul

Assuring you of its existence

As you journey to your goal

I am hope, my little darling

I am always by your side

I know how hard you’ve struggled

I feel how hard you’ve tried

Take my hand and I will lead you

To where you need to be

I am the hope you looked for

I am you, and you are me.

🦋

My thoughts:
Ann’s poem is a stunning embodiment of the message at the heart of The Hope That Carries Us. She gives hope a voice—gentle, loving, and ever-present.
Her words feel like a hand reaching out in the dark, reminding us that hope isn’t loud or demanding; it walks beside us quietly, faithfully. Thank you, Ann, for this soul-stirring response.

2️⃣

Kassi Wilson

I have an affection for this one too! 💜 wonderful reflection and story. Thank you for this heartfelt post and reminder that hope is here and close! Without us needing to do the heavy lifting. The message I need to hear today!

My thoughts:
Kassi’s words are a reminder that sometimes the most powerful kind of hope is the one that doesn’t demand anything from us—it simply shows up and stays.
I was especially moved by her line: “without us needing to do the heavy lifting.”
It speaks so beautifully to the softness this issue was meant to carry—the idea that healing doesn’t always come through force, but through presence.

Thank you, Kassi.

3️⃣

D.L. Heather

This moved me so deeply Saira. Emily Dickinson’s poem of hope has sat quietly in my soul too—especially in the moments I felt most lost. I love how you said hope doesn’t ask us to be strong—it simply stays. What a tender, necessary reminder. Thank you for this beautiful tribute to a poem that’s helped carry so many of us through the storm. 🪶💛

My thoughts:
Debra’s reflection is a tender echo of this issue’s heart.
Her words, “hope doesn’t ask us to be strong—it simply stays,” encapsulate the gentle truth we sometimes forget: that hope isn’t a demand, but a companion.
Thank you, Debra, for reminding us that we’re not alone in the stillness.

4️⃣

Rachel Schiller

Saira Anwar

has a great way with words and offers hope.

MY response is this:

Hope Holds half a smile half a heart-

Heavy hailing emotions hoarded-

A humming and harrowing haze-

A haven of hope. Hallelujah-

Hope is home.

My thoughts:
Rachel’s reflection reads like a poem of its own—each line pulsing with emotion and quiet strength. Her final words, “Hope is home,” lingered with me long after reading. Thank you, Rachel, for capturing the heart of this issue in such a profound way.

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🆕 Updates & Requests

• The Death of a Beautiful Dream: Have you read my debut book yet? If you haven’t yet, get a copy today! If you have, is there a poem that particularly resonated with you? Share your favourite quote or moment from the book by commenting below or replying to this email.

• The eBook reviews: Those of you that have downloaded and read the eBook, it would be amazing if you would share your thoughts and reviews with me by leaving a comment below or replying to the newsletter.

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📚Recommendations

1. Book: The Strength In Our Scars by Bianca Sparacino- A powerful collection exploring what it means to heal, to love ourselves, and to move on—with tenderness and truth.

2. Poem: The Healing Time by Persha Gertler–A beautiful reminder that healing can’t be rushed—but it always arrives.

3. Tool: Smiling Mind: Mental Wellbeing – A mindfulness and meditation app with free, psychologist-developed content for all ages. Gentle, grounding, and ideal for quiet healing moments. Available on both Android and iOS.

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✨ Thank you for continuing this journey with me. Whether you’re taking your first steps toward healing or revisiting familiar paths, know that your words matter. Every time you express your truth—whether through writing, speaking, or reflecting—you’re creating something unique and powerful.

Whether you’re just beginning your healing or finding your way through another chapter—your words matter. Your heart matters.

👉 Know this: You are healing—even when it doesn’t feel like it. Even when it’s quiet. Even when it’s slow. You are still blooming. And one day—perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow—you’ll look back and see how far you came. You kept going. You softened. You grew. Not in spite of the pain, but because you dared to keep loving through it.

👇 Remember to share your story of resilience in the comments below - I'll feature my favourite responses in next week's issue. And if this resonated with you, sharing this newsletter with a friend helps our community grow.

With love and gratitude,
Saira