What On Earth Am I Doing? (A One Year Update)

Written one year on from my very first official blog post, with considerably less sand in my shoes but roughly the same amount of "what on earth am I doing?" and a great deal more coffee and biscuits!

A year ago, I wrote that I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.

I wasn’t joking.

My first proper All Is Well blog was called New Starts and Not Having a Clue What You’re Doing (Yet). I wrote it from Llandudno whilst Lola was probably eating something she shouldn’t have been eating. Some things haven’t changed much.

Back then, I was starting something new. I’d been doing this work for years, but All Is Well was a new name, a new identity, and a completely new chapter. I was excited, nervous, and (if we’re being brutally honest) quietly wondering how on earth I was going to make any of this work without accidentally setting something on fire.

Fast forward twelve months…

I’ve trained, qualified, written, had things published, created and delivered training and talks for schools and practitioners, worked with children and schools, worked with children’s residential homes, met brilliant people, built connections, and started building a team…I even built an App for practitioners this week…as you do!

I’ve certainly learned an enormous amount, chopped and changed my mind about things a million times, and discovered things I didn’t even know existed, let alone needed to know.

I’ve said yes to things that scared me, said no to things that weren’t right, made mistakes, and probably overthought approximately 17004 decisions. Some of those decisions were apparently very minor…it didn’t matter. I still treated them like they were international peace treaties.

So you’d probably expect that a year on, I’d feel completely confident and in control.

I’d love to tell you that’s what happened.

It didn’t.

I’m still nervous before a new session. I’m still nervous before a talk, or when I try something I’ve never done before, or when I put something I’ve created out into the world. Sometimes I’m even nervous about opening my inbox, because apparently my brain has decided that every unread email could be the one that requires a carefully drafted response, three revisions and possibly a lie down.

But I’m beginning to realise that maybe the nerves aren’t actually the problem. Maybe they’re just part of doing something that matters, a sort of internal alarm system that says, “Hello, this is important, please don’t do it half asleep.”

Real growth isn’t dramatic.

We imagine growth as a huge breakthrough, music blasting, lights flashing, fireworks even, a moment where everything clicks and we emerge as calm, confident, fully formed humans who never overthink an email or phone call again.

I’m still waiting for that bit. She’s clearly stuck in traffic.

Real growth, for me at least, seems to be quieter than that. It’s the small things that happen almost without noticing:

• One conversation

• One new idea

• One brave email

• One child who feels safe enough to join in

• One teacher who pauses before reacting

• One moment where we choose curiosity instead of judgement

One tiny thing. Then another. Then another.

So as a new school year begins, children don’t need to walk through the school gates completely fearless. Teachers don’t need every answer. Parents don’t need to know exactly how everything will work out.

We can all be excited and nervous at the same time. We can wobble, take a breath, ask for help, and have another go.

Being nervous doesn’t mean you’re not ready. Sometimes it simply means you’re standing at the edge of something that matters.

A year ago, I finished that first blog with the words:

“Just be a bit Lola brave.”

I’m still trying. I suspect I always will be.

Because Lola has never needed to know exactly what she’s doing before getting on with it. She just follows her nose, takes things as they come, occasionally shakes herself all over everyone, and carries on.

She has never overthought an email. She has also never read one, but still, inspirational.

So here I am, twelve months later. Still excited. Still nervous. Still learning. Still occasionally wondering what on earth I’m doing.

But definitely further than I was. And maybe that’s the point. You don’t have to become fearless. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to take the next step.

One percent braver. One moment at a time. Just a little bit Lola brave.

Still winging it. Just getting better at it.

All Is Well. 💙