The house is still. But my mind? Racing.
I'm writing this with boots by the door and rosehip petals still under my fingernails. It's been one of those days that strips you bare and rebuilds you all at once – the kind that makes you question everything, then reminds you exactly why you started.
When Life Unravels, We Get to Choose How We Respond
Some mornings you wake up and the ground beneath your feet feels solid. Other mornings? The earth shifts, and you realize the foundation you thought was bedrock was actually just... sand.
Today was a sand day.
Without going into details that aren't mine to share, let's just say that relationships – especially the ones where you've invested years of trust, hope, and genuine care – don't always end with closure. Sometimes they end with confusion. Sometimes with passive-aggressive text messages at 6 AM. Sometimes with the hollow ache of realizing someone you loved never really saw you at all.
My chest felt tight as I made my morning tea. For a moment, I considered crawling back into bed and calling it a day before it even began.
But then I caught sight of the apple sticks drying on my kitchen dehydrator – the ones I'd foraged yesterday specifically for a new order, And something in me shifted.
What if I chose differently this time?
Moving Through, Not Around
Here's what I've learned about healing: it's not about avoiding the mess. It's about showing up anyway, muddy boots and all.
So while my heart was doing that uncomfortable dance between grief and rage, my hands kept working. Because sometimes the most radical thing you can do is keep creating when everything feels like it's falling apart.
While processing emotional whiplash and setting new boundaries I never thought I'd need to set, I somehow still managed to:
🚚 Pack orders – each one wrapped with the same care I'd want to receive. Mrs. Patterson in Yorkshire is getting her guinea pig's birthday surprise blend. The rescue in Wales is receiving their monthly bulk order. Each parcel carries a piece of my heart, even on days when that heart feels a bit bruised.
🌿 Create two completely new forage blends – one with the wild blackthorn I found growing by the old stone wall behind a cottage, paired with cleavers that practically tangle like tiny cobwebs. The other combines blackberry leaves with other plants I've recently got my hands on. Both smell like hope. Both made my attic feel sacred again.
📱 Film content that actually matters – not the glossy, perfect stuff, but the real moments. Like showing how I test each forage blend with my own piggies first (Hazel gives the most honest reviews – if she turns her nose up, back to the drawing board). Real stories about why I started this journey in the first place.
🏡 Reclaim my space – sometimes when life feels chaotic internally, the most healing thing you can do is create order externally. I rearranged my drying herbs, organized my packaging station, and lit a candle that smells like lavender and new beginnings.
The Truth About Building Something Beautiful
I'm not sharing this because I want sympathy or because I think anyone needs to hear my personal drama. I'm sharing this because I think we need more honest conversations about what it really looks like to build something meaningful while life is happening around you.
Guinea Gourmet Treats didn't start because I had my life figured out. It started because I was searching for purpose during a season when everything else felt uncertain. It grew because I discovered that nurturing small creatures – whether guinea pigs or dreams – teaches you something profound about patience, consistency, and love.
Every blend I create, every order I pack, every customer email I answer is part of a larger story about choosing to tend something beautiful even when (especially when) the world feels fragile.
For Anyone Else in the Storm
If you're reading this while going through your own difficult season, I want you to know something: you don't have to have it all together to keep moving forward. You don't have to wait until you feel strong to do something brave.
You can cry in the morning and create in the afternoon.
You can feel the weight of disappointment and still choose hope.
You can tend to others (furry friends included) while learning to tend to yourself.
The guinea pigs don't care if I've been crying. They just want their timothy hay served with love. And somehow, in serving them, I remember who I am beneath all the noise.
What's Growing from Here
Tonight, as I'm writing this by lamplight with Hazel snoozing beside me (she's my co-founder and chief quality tester), I'm thinking about resilience. Not the kind that pretends everything is fine, but the kind that says, "This is hard, and I'm doing it anyway."
Tomorrow I'll wake up and forage again. I'll blend herbs with intention. I'll pack orders with care. I'll answer emails from fellow guinea pig lovers who trust me to provide the best for their little ones.
Because that's what we do, isn't it? We keep showing up. We keep nurturing what matters. We keep believing that small acts of love – whether for a guinea pig or a stranger's pet or our own healing hearts – add up to something bigger than we can see.
Brick by brick. Blend by blend. Day by day.
With muddy boots and hope,
Tara
P.S. If your guinea pig has been a source of comfort during tough times, I'd love to hear about it. Sometimes the smallest creatures carry us through the biggest storms.
Want to try one of those new blends I mentioned? Both will be available in the shop by Friday. And if you're local to DY5, I always appreciate when customers share their own foraging spots – safely and sustainably, of course.
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