Finding Joy in Small Acts of Care

How Tending to the World Around Us Fills Us Up

I’m Nahid, “the nervous system whisperer” an Author and somatic movement educator. I help clients move out of burnout, anxiety, stress and trauma-related issues with The Soothe Programme.

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Hello, how are you doing? I’ve been thinking about choosing to care for the world in small, daily ways as a quiet revolutionary act. I've think about it as I watch the bees work through the wildflower patch I planted last spring, and as I drop off another bag of books at the local charity shop. These moments of tending - to creatures, to community, to the gentle art of letting go - have become some of my most reliable sources of joy.

The Magic of Making Space for Wild Things

You don't need acres of land to create a haven for insects and birds. Some of my greatest gardening victories have happened in the smallest spaces. My herb box has become a rest stop for tired pollinators. The shallow dish of water I keep topped up in outside of my studio has turned into a surprisingly busy bird bath.

What strikes me most is how quickly nature responds to even our smallest invitations. Plant a few flowers, and within days you'll notice the first visitors. Leave a pile of twigs and leaves in a corner (what the fancy gardening books call "habitat piles"), and you're creating winter shelter for beneficial insects.

There's something deeply satisfying about this kind of partnership. I provide a little food, water, and shelter, and in return, I get to witness the quiet drama of the natural world up close. The first time I saw a goldfinch pull seeds from the sunflowers I'd grown specifically for them, I felt like I'd been let in on a secret world.

The Unexpected Lightness of Letting Go

Then there's the other kind of tending - the tending that involves loosening our grip on things. It’s turned out to be one of the most unexpectedly joyful practices I've stumbled into.

Last month, I spent an afternoon going through my bookshelves, pulling out titles that had served their purpose in my life. Books that had taught me what they had to teach, novels that had given me what I needed, when I needed it. As I packed them into boxes, I found myself imagining their next readers. Someone else discovering that poetry collection that changed how I saw Winter. A teenager finding the novel that would become their gateway into a new world.

The same thing happens with clothes that no longer fit my life.

A Vivienne Westwood coat and dress, sent to a friend’s daughter who is crazy about the designer, she’d been saving up to buy her first piece.

A ME & EM lilac suit that I thought would look good on when being interviewed but felt a bit “straight” for me. But looks great on my friend’s eldest daughter who wears it with sass.

My dog daughter (named because I love dogs and had to pretend to be a Christian when I am an Animist, I believe that everything has a spirit) gets given some seriously lovely things because I think she’ll look good in them.

Each item I pass along feels like sending a small gift into the world.

Joy as a Practice, Not a Feeling

What I'm learning is that joy isn't something we stumble upon accidentally. It's something we cultivate through our choices, choosing to notice the small miracles happening around us, choosing to participate in the larger web of life rather than just passing through it.

The beauty of this approach is how accessible joy is. You can start today, right where you are, with whatever you have. Put out a saucer of water for thirsty creatures. Plant something edible in a windowsill pot - herbs that you can harvest and also that will feed insects. Look around your home for one thing you could pass along to someone who would appreciate it more than you do.

The magic isn't in the scale of these actions but in their consistency. Day after day of small kindnesses - to the environment, to our communities, to our own sense of purpose - adds up to something larger than the sum of its parts.

The Ripple Effect

What surprises me most is how these practices feed each other. The more I pay attention to the needs of the birds and bees, the more attuned I become to the needs of my human neighbours. The more I practice letting go of things I don't need, the more space I create, literally and figuratively, for what matters most.

And somewhere in this cycle of giving and tending and noticing, joy stops being something I'm searching for and becomes something I'm living in. It's there in the morning ritual of checking on the plants, in the satisfaction of dropping off donations, in the quiet moment of watching a butterfly work its way through the flowers.

Joy, it turns out, isn't something we find. It's something we grow, one small act of care at a time.

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The Soothe Weekend Retreat, Kent

10th - 12th October

Venue: The Quaives, a dedicated retreat space in Kent surrounded by countryside, 51 minutes from St Pancras. The cottages and the rooms in the main house are sold. Rooms still available:

• Dorm: 3 beds in the scandi-style women only dorm @ £650 pp

3 minutes drive up the road staying at The Tor Spa

• 2 x ensuite rooms 5 minutes car drive away @ £1150 pp

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Lefkada Retreat, I’m taking bookings for 2026 now. and - all details here.

Stay human,

Nahid x