I didn’t plant this sunflower outside my office. It simply appeared one day in spring, moved into a patch of earth without invitation, permission, or planning consent and quietly got on with the business of growing.
Yet by summer, that one little seed had become something quite magnificent with multiple flower heads reaching in different directions, and an almost constant stream of birds arriving to feed.
From my office window, I could hear them chirping and watch them fluttering around, sometimes with considerably more enthusiasm than manners! The sunflower had become an unexpected pleasure for me, a beautiful little pocket of abundance created entirely without my intervention.
Then a summer storm blew through and the sunflower fell over. The birds disappeared and something bright suddenly vanished from my view. On that very same day, something in my personal life knocked me sideways too a betrayal by someone I had known for decades had left me angry, confused and completely blindsided. The timing felt almost symbolic – two very different storms arriving at once. Sometimes life really doesn’t make any bloody sense.
We can talk about trusting the process, divine timing, lessons, growth and the universe having a plan, but occasionally something happens that you don’t immediately understand. You just want to know what on earth happened and why, and that was exactly where I found myself.
In the anger, shock and frustration of being blindsided, and now with the sunflower flattened too, I decided to take action and put it upright. It wasn’t easy! It had grown in a particularly awkward spot and apparently hadn’t given much consideration to future access when choosing where to set up home.
As I pushed the earth firmly back into place, doing my best to give the sunflower enough support to find its ground again, I came back to the one thing I know I can always rely on — my breath. Breathwork works brilliantly when you actually use it, especially when frustration needs somewhere to go. I realised I was giving myself the same support I was giving the sunflower, using conscious breath to steady myself while the emotions began to move through me. Standing there with my hands in the soil, helping the sunflower find its ground while my breath helped me find mine, the symbolism wasn’t exactly subtle.
Once the sunflower was anchored, I could see the situation more clearly. I couldn’t change what had happened, but I could decide what I was willing to do with it. For me, that meant drawing a very firm boundary and accepting that some things couldn’t return to how they had been before.
And perhaps that was where the sunflower had something else to show me. It couldn’t go back to how it stood before the storm either. What mattered was what happened next. And that’s the bit I’m most interested in. The plant didn’t need to return to its old shape to continue growing. It simply found a new way to stand and got on with it.
The next day, the birds came back. They didn’t seem remotely bothered that their abundant feeding station was now slightly wonky. The flowers were still open, the seeds still providing food, and what looked for a moment like destruction was still full of life. Maybe that’s what being knocked sideways can teach us. We don’t always need to understand the storm nor do we have to straighten everything immediately, and we certainly don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen. Sometimes all we need is enough support, enough ground beneath us and a conscious return to the breath, allowing the nervous system to settle before deciding what comes next.
The sunflower is still leaning off centre outside my window. And actually, I rather like it that way.
Breathwork becomes most valuable when it moves beyond the class and into everyday life – when you know how to use your own breath in the moments you actually need it.
If you’d like to begin building that relationship for yourself, my final Breathe Deeper, Feel Lighter — Introduction to Breathwork course of 2026 begins in November.
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