What I Wish I Had Read a Few Years Ago

If you’re reading this, it might be because you feel — like I once did — that something inside you isn’t quite right anymore. Not a big collapse, not a dramatic moment… just a tension that settles in without a clear reason. You wake up and your heart is already beating a little too fast, your jaw already tight, as if your body started the day without you. You go through the motions, do what’s expected, even smile, but beneath it all, you feel slightly out of step with yourself. As if your mind and your body are no longer fully aligned.

Running on Autopilot

I remember a very specific period when I always felt like I was chasing something. I was never really there. I would come home in the evening, sit down, and instead of feeling relieved, all I wanted was to lie down without thinking. My mind kept spinning on its own, like an engine that refuses to shut off. I slept, but never felt rested. I breathed, but my breath stayed stuck high in my chest. Everything required a little more energy than before — setting the table, answering a message, remembering why I’d opened the fridge.

“Nothing serious”… and yet

Nothing had blown up in my life, and maybe that was the most confusing part. People told me I looked in control. And yes, I was in control… just enough that no one noticed how much I was wearing down inside. I kept telling myself it would pass, but it didn’t. It stretched. It compressed. I felt ordinary during the day, exhausted at night, and yet unable to truly stop.

The hardest part

The hardest part wasn’t the fatigue. It was the feeling of being alone inside something I couldn’t explain. Not because no one loved me — just because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have the words. I thought, “Everyone seems to manage… why not me?” So I kept going. Until I no longer had the strength to keep going “like before.”

When the body speaks

It was only then that I began noticing what my body had been trying to tell me for a long time. That I was living too tight. Breathing too fast. Speaking to myself like a boss pushing an employee. Nothing dramatic, nothing extraordinary. Just… too much. Too tight. For too long.

The very first tiny steps

I didn’t change anything big. I just started walking. Not to meditate, not to perform. Just walking, without a goal, to let my mind settle a bit. It’s strange to say, but feeling my feet touch the ground helped me come back into my body. I also learned to leave things unfinished, to accept that not everything would be resolved in a single day. It took time. A lot. But little by little, I began to feel present again. Not all the time. Not perfectly. Just… more often.

What I wish I had heard

I don’t have a recipe. No five-step method. I can only tell you what I wish I had heard at the time: you’re not fragile. You’re not making things up. You’re not alone. It may simply be that your body is asking for space. Not big solutions. Not retreats on the other side of the world. Just… a little more softness. A little less pressure. If you recognize something of yourself here, that’s already a beginning.

Little by little, learning to be here again

Ordinary gestures

I realized that what helped me the most was nothing extraordinary. It was often ordinary gestures, almost too simple to seem important. But at that time, I didn’t have the capacity to do more. So I accepted what I could manage. Some evenings, it was simply lying in the bath and letting the warm water loosen something inside me that I couldn’t name. Not to “heal.” Just to finally feel a little less tight on the inside.

Making space

I also found myself paying attention to what I allowed into my life. Not consciously at first. More instinctively. I started turning off the TV earlier, leaving my phone in another room, stepping away from anything that made me feel more tense than before I’d been exposed to it. It wasn’t a rule — just a way of saying “not now” to what took up too much room in my head.

Returning to what feels good

With time, I began following what felt good without trying to explain why. One day, it was walking around the neighborhood with no particular goal. Another, it was making something simple to eat, just because it helped me feel a little more centered. Nothing spectacular, but those kinds of gestures gradually brought me back into my body, into my breath, into my life. I didn’t have a plan. I tinkered. I tried. I made mistakes. I tried again.

How plants came into my life

Nothing magical — just real

Out of curiosity, I began to look into certain natural practices. It didn’t come from a spiritual quest or a need to transform everything. It was more intuitive: I started noticing that certain scents calmed me, that certain plants helped me disconnect, that warm water eased something tight in my chest. Nothing miraculous. Just small markers that helped slow down what was spinning too fast.

Exploring without trying to understand

Little by little, I wanted to understand what made me feel better — not to put fancy words on it, but so I could return to it when things became too much again. I discovered aromatherapy the way you discover a refuge: a blend of memories, sensations, something that brings you back to yourself without needing to explain it. I explored plants in the same way, guided more by what I felt than by what I read. And I realized that water — a bath, a shower, even a simple bowl for the hands — could be one of the easiest ways to release what was tight inside.

Not a method — a collection of small gestures

It wasn’t a “protocol.” It wasn’t a method. It was simply a collection of small things that, together, helped me find a bit more room inside. And when something helped, I kept it. When it didn’t, I moved on, without judging myself.

Coming back to myself

Not becoming better — just finding myself again

With time — and truly, it took time — I started to understand that there was a common thread running through it all: coming back to myself. Not toward a better or more optimized version. Just… back to me. And that made me want to share this path, because I know how lonely those moments can feel.

Why I created this space

Creating this site was never a branding project or a strategy. It was simply a way to open a door and say: here is what helped me — in case it might help you too.

How botanical baths were born

Little by little, I began creating my own blends. Nothing scientific at first. Just experiments, sensations, adjustments. I needed it to be simple, honest, without embellishment. So I would pick a handful of plants, a few essential oils, some salt, and see what shifted in me. Sometimes nothing. Sometimes a slight easing — and that alone was enough to keep me going.

That’s how, slowly, my “botanical baths” took shape. Not as a product — but as a personal response. A way to create a space where my system could settle, where I could breathe a little easier, sleep a little deeper, feel a little less pulled in every direction.

And one day, I thought: maybe I didn’t go through all this for nothing. Maybe what I’ve searched for — and sometimes found — could accompany someone else on their own path. Not as a truth. Not as a one-size-fits-all answer. Just as one possibility among others.

Sharing without promises

That’s where the desire to share was born. To gather these discoveries, these trials, these small things that helped me, and turn them into an open, simple, welcoming space. A place where nothing is promised — but where a hand is offered.