by Katie Stacey, founder of The Wild Shift
It had just started to rain. We were outside and, without thinking, I sighed, “Oh no. Rain.” My eldest son, who was seven at the time, looked at me, completely confused. “What do you mean? This means there’s going to be a rainbow.”
He was right. Almost as quickly as the words had left my mouth, I wished I could take them back. He probably forgot it minutes later, but I didn’t. In that moment I realised he wasn’t just hearing my words, he was learning how I met the world.
We spend so much of parenthood thinking about what we’re teaching our children: to be kind, to work hard, to keep trying. But I wonder whether the lessons they absorb most deeply are the ones we never consciously set out to teach.
The sigh that turns rain into an inconvenience. Whether we rush through a walk without looking up or stop to watch a snail crossing the path. Whether we meet the world with curiosity or simply move through it trying to get to the next thing.
Children arrive in the world already knowing how to notice. Somewhere along the way, many of us forget. Perhaps that’s one of the hidden costs of becoming busy adults. And yet curiosity, awe and wonder aren’t simply lovely parts of childhood. They’re conditions in which we flourish.
For years, I thought it was my job to create those moments for my children. Now I realise they don’t really need my help. If anything, I need theirs.
Parenting asks an extraordinary amount of us, yet so often we believe the answer is simply to try harder. After more than a decade as a wildlife journalist, I learnt that behaviour reflects conditions. Give an animal what it needs and different behaviours emerge. Looking back, I realised the same was true of people.
The version of ourselves our children need most isn’t created through effort alone. It’s supported by the conditions that help us flourish.
For almost all of human history, our brains and bodies developed in close relationship with the natural world. It’s hardly surprising that so many of us feel more like ourselves when we spend time there. Of course nature isn’t the only place we find those conditions, but it may be one of the oldest, and one our bodies still recognise.
These days, I’ve realised that whenever I stop noticing what my boys are pointing out, I’ve usually stopped noticing myself too. I’m rushing, thinking about tomorrow, trying to keep all the plates spinning. Meanwhile, they’re still looking for rainbows. But the truth is the world hasn’t become less beautiful. I’ve simply become less available to notice it, and when that happens, I become less available to meet my children too.
That realisation led me to ask a different question: What helps me become more like myself?
Because when I feel most like myself, I have more capacity to be the parent I want to be. For me, the answer almost always begins outside. Winter can make it tempting to retreat indoors, yet it may be when we need those small moments outside most.
Here are five simple ways to begin this season
1. Pause before you go inside
Before everyone rushes through the front door after school, stop for one minute.
Take a slow breath. Look up. Notice the colour of the sky. Feel the cold air on your face. Say it out loud.
It won’t change the day so far but if you let it, it can change how you arrive from there on out. I often tell my boys it’s never too late to start the day again, and this tiny pause gives us the space to do exactly that.
2. Let your child lead
If they want to stop to examine frost, a feather or a puddle, follow them.
Children have a remarkable ability for noticing what adults often overlook. In following their curiosity, we often rediscover the moments that restore our attention and help us become more available to ourselves and the people we love.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is borrow their curiosity instead of directing it.
3. Let winter become part of the adventure
Rain isn’t the thing that ruined the walk.
It’s the reason you’ll notice worms, reflections, mist and, if you’re lucky, rainbows. Winter strips the landscape back. Birds, bare branches and changing skies suddenly become easier to notice. Nature changes every day, winter simply asks us to notice different things.
4. Find your track
For me, it’s a daily five-minute walk to see what birds I can find. I find it pulls me out of my head and into the present moment.
For someone else it might be walking beneath the trees, tending a garden or watching the sunset.
We don’t all replenish ourselves in exactly the same way. Notice what helps you return to yourself, and make space for it as often as you can.
5. Build capacity before you need it
Most of us wait until we’re overwhelmed before we stop. But the best time to replenish ourselves isn’t after we’ve run out, it’s before.
The real power isn’t in doing these things once. It’s in returning to them often. Because capacity isn’t something we suddenly have when life gets hard. It’s something we build beforehand.
Over time, those small moments help me return to the version of myself I most want my children to know: a mother who notices, wonders and still believes rain might mean rainbows.
The rain carried on that afternoon and, just as my son predicted, a rainbow appeared.
Katie Stacey is a writer, former wildlife journalist and founder of The Wild Shift, a community helping mothers reconnect with themselves, their children and the natural world.
Find out more at www.thewildshift.com



















