I used to crave structure. I loved the idea of the perfect morning routine - the kind you read about in books or see on Instagram reels. Wake up early, journal, move my body, drink tea from a favourite cup. But then came motherhood, and with it, the daily demands and unpredictable rhythm of life with a baby.

What I’ve realised is that babies don’t follow routines; they follow rhythms. Some mornings we’re up at sunrise, other mornings we’re greeting the day before the sun does. But once I’ve gotten my son and myself ready, we lace up with my husband and our dog for our first family walk of the day.

Picking Flowers as a Daily Ritual

The walk itself used to feel ordinary - a loop around our neighbourhood. But at some point along the way, I started picking a flower or two. A rose, a sprig of jasmine, a bright pink camellia, a white daisy. I show each one to my son: the colour, the shape, the name if I know it. We count them together. One, two, three.

When we get home, I arrange them into little vases scattered around the house. A small posy on the kitchen table. A single bloom by my bedside. These tiny bursts of life have transformed our home. They’ve also transformed me.

From Survival to Mindfulness

This ritual began after one of the hardest chapters of my life. In those early postpartum months, I was admitted with my son to a perinatal mental health unit for two weeks after experiencing extreme maternal exhaustion and crippling anxiety and depression. When we came home, I continued seeing a perinatal psychiatrist who helped me begin to rebuild. And it was during this fragile season that the walks and flowers began. What started as something so small became a lifeline. A thread of normalcy. A reason to delight in the day and an opportunity to connect with my son.

The flowers taught me to slow down. To become perceptive in a way I hadn’t been before. Suddenly I noticed how many colours lined our streets, how many textures live in the leaves, how many delicate blooms had always been there, quietly existing, waiting to be seen. I even began to delight in my son’s reactions, seeing his tiny fingers reach out to touch and discover the various textures and colours of the flowers.

Rhythm Over Routine

There’s no “perfect” morning routine anymore. Instead, I lean into rhythm. The walk doesn’t happen at the same time every day but it always marks the start of our day together - the first outing, the first time we breathe fresh air, the first chance to find something beautiful growing at our feet.

This rhythm anchors me in a way that rigid routines never could. It’s flexible, forgiving, and responsive to the reality of life with a baby. And perhaps that’s why it feels so healing: it reminds me that progress doesn’t need to be perfect, and presence doesn’t need to be planned.

The Healing Power of Small Things

Now, when I look around my home and see the little vases filled with flowers, I see more than just decoration. I see proof that healing often comes in the smallest of gestures. That presence is something you practice, not something you achieve.

Each flower is a reminder: of a walk taken, a breath noticed, a moment shared with my son. And over time, those moments have stitched themselves into something whole; a rhythm, a practice, a quiet path back to myself.

Sometimes healing doesn’t look like breakthroughs or grand routines. Sometimes it looks like a handful of flowers, a walk with your baby, and the courage to notice what’s been there all along.