
More Milk, More Messages (Apparently I’m the Drop-Off Point Now)…
Earlier today, I wrote about the milk I didn’t expect to carry, handed to me by a woman at the petrol station who poured out her heart like it had been bottled up for years. I walked away holding more than a story. I was carrying grief. Loneliness. Milk.
I thought it was a moment. A cosmic flicker. But then today, in another town, at Tesco, another woman, same thing. Different face. Different pain. Same sudden unburdening. Two days in a row. Two strangers, spilling quietly into my space like I’d been pre-selected. And maybe I had.
I am driving home, and all I can think is, What in God’s Green Earth is going on here? My head was spinning!
So… why? What’s the universe trying to tell me?
I don’t believe in random anymore. Not really. These aren’t “coincidences”, they’re echoes. Small confirmations that something about me is open now.
Maybe more open than I realized. There’s a certain shift that happens when you’ve been cracked open yourself, grief, loss, awakening, whatever it is that stretches your soul until it squeaks. People can feel it. Not always consciously, but on that deeper frequency where pain recognizes pain… and safety recognizes safety.
I used to brace against these moments. Now I just stand still and let them happen.
So maybe the truth is, I used to be too busy trying to hold myself together to hold anything else. But now? Now I’ve made peace with the mess.
And the mess makes space.
We’re not meant to fix everything.
But we are meant to witness. To nod gently while someone says the thing they haven’t been able to say out loud. To carry a pint of emotional milk for a little while, even if we set it down again after.
And maybe, just maybe, they’ll leave a little lighter.
So if I’ve become the emotional Tesco Express, the drop-off point for souls carrying too much… Fine by me.
Just give me a minute to clear the trolley.
Mae 🧡

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