Ceri Gillett Coaching

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Heading west makes me happier. There’s something about letting the M4 run out, the moment where the road thins and the l...
02/03/2025

Heading west makes me happier. There’s something about letting the M4 run out, the moment where the road thins and the land opens, where I know I’m about to be deep in the countryside and yet so close to the sea. To me, that’s perfection.

The other kind of perfection? Being seen.

As a neurodiverse adult, I don’t mind telling you how hard I find navigating friendships. I’ve often said that one of the cruelest things life has dealt me is this constant feeling that every other adult got a rulebook—one that I somehow missed. Every day, I move through the world without it, guessing at the unwritten rules, trying to find my own way through.

I’m often quiet in company. And then, my personality overflows—bigger than the moment, bordering on too much.

I’m laid-back, but in a way that can make me seem like I’ve not considered anything—because, most of the time, I haven’t. I’m impulsive and spontaneous, which, let’s be honest, isn’t exactly the personality mix most people look for when taking their kids away for a week.

But adulthood has given me two things.

Firstly, language. Acceptance. An understanding of who I am and what I need. And I’m good with that.

Secondly, and more importantly, it’s given me people—people who don’t just tolerate me, but see me. People who get it, who give it space, who celebrate it for what it is.

I now travel with people I can sit in silence with.

I have a friend who knows I can only handle people being physically close to me for short bursts,who will expertly steer me away from too much peopling with just a glance in my direction.

I have people who just are. And in turn, I get to be me.

And now there are kids—wild and determined, just like us—learning to navigate each other in the same way. Strong personalities. Fierce independence. A shared love of a good shop.

I rejoined the M4 as the sun set on Saturday night, heart full to the brim after a week of navigating calls and kids and endless travel.

Exhausted. Overjoyed. I did it.

Roll on the next one.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve overworked a school holiday.Self-employment—the part the online gurus forget to men...
26/02/2025

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve overworked a school holiday.

Self-employment—the part the online gurus forget to mention—is the overriding urge to never turn down work. And in a two-person self-employed household, that comes with its own set of issues.

Some of it is a hangover from that time. The Covid years. I can still feel it in my body, the memory of sitting at the table, reworking our entire lives to keep money flowing in. It feels like it never happened, but I see the mark it left. I see it in our habits, in the way we make decisions, in the way I carry work like a survival instinct.

I watch other people online. They occupy school holidays. They day trip. They take long breaks.

I take Fred on catering vans. I scan my diary for meetings I know he can interrupt—another pack of crisps, another plea for Minecraft skins. I make it work. I always have. I always will. Somewhere along the way, that became a badge of honour. And I know I’ve sat across from others who wear the same one.

I love my life. I love what we’ve built. I love the freedom. But sometimes—just sometimes—I want to be like the people I watch online. The ones with their city breaks and their lazy afternoons and their time away from a desk.

I fantasise about moving to the Shetland Islands and never using the internet again. I’ve even entertained the idea of getting a job. Me. The most unemployable woman I’ve ever met.

And then I meet myself again.

I remember that the best parts of me came from this unconventional life. That freedom, pushing against the grain, walking my own path—that’s who I am.

I remind myself that this is just a slice of life, not the whole cake.

And I remember that what really matters—what always matters—is how you feel, how you make someone feel, in the smallest moments.

Maybe I needed a mini break to realise that. Maybe it’s being in my 40s. Maybe it’s the third huge burnout. But whatever it is, it feels true.

So, I thought I’d tell you. Just in case you feel it rumbling in you too.

And I’ll share a photo that makes it look like I’m one of those people—the ones I watch so intently.

May I use it on all the days I feel like I’m not.

When I was a teenager, we’d trek into town—rain, snow, didn’t matter. The destination was always the same: Evans’. An in...
25/02/2025

When I was a teenager, we’d trek into town—rain, snow, didn’t matter. The destination was always the same: Evans’. An institution.

Today, I’m standing in front of the same counter, talking to the same owner. Twenty years have passed, but in this moment, it may as well have been yesterday. And before I know it, I’m oversharing—spilling out how long it’s been since I last had a Chelsea bun.

He pats my shoulder, a little amused, as I pull myself together over the sheer, unexpected weight of it all.

It’s never lost on me that I could be standing in the exact same spot, with the exact same people.

And then—I am.

How long are you home for?

He’s not a lad from school anymore. He sits down with his coffee like we do this every other week, like no time has passed at all.

I love tradition, sentiment, loyalty—held in tension against my own wild, impatient instinct to tear it all down and start again.

And yet, here we sat.

Here, I was home.

And the same man, behind the same counter, delivered his order….. A chelsea bun. ❤️

Home 🏠 I’ve lived away longer than I ever lived in Mid Wales, and yet, still, I catch myself saying— I’m going home for ...
24/02/2025

Home 🏠

I’ve lived away longer than I ever lived in Mid Wales, and yet, still, I catch myself saying— I’m going home for a few days.

My parents sold their house years ago and moved south to join me and my brother, but my siblings are still here. My family dotted across the same small towns and villages, banked by fields so green they look like they belong in a painting, red kites circling in numbers too high to count.

I’ve become my parents now, walking Fred through market towns where we once stood, shivering in the streets, never wearing coats on nights out that deserved them.

We visit graveyards, tracing the names etched into stone, recognising them as our own. Generations of my mother’s family, gathered in these same villages and farms, hundreds of years collected in one place. There’s comfort in that. In knowing I carry a thread of it—of them—with me.

The wildness.
The quiet.
The kind of place where you can quite literally watch the weather shift before your eyes.

Not yet at the pace of other places.

I hope it never is.

Thursday - This morning, in the middle of the usual school-run chaos, I grabbed a quick shower. Outside, the frost was t...
06/02/2025

Thursday - This morning, in the middle of the usual school-run chaos, I grabbed a quick shower. Outside, the frost was thick, the air sharp. But inside, the sunlight streamed through the shower door, warm and golden, cutting through the streaks of water and smudges on the glass. It was heavenly.

And then, there it was—a sudden, unexpected swell of happiness.

It’s been lurking for a while now. Not all the time, not in every moment (because let’s be honest, the world is an absolute mess), but it’s there. And that’s not something I could have said a year ago.

Someone messaged me on TikTok the other day and asked if I was talking about burnout because I was about to sell a burnout product. 😂 And listen, no. Have you met me?

But I do want to talk about this, because some of us don’t just hit a rough patch and bounce back after a good weekend. Some of us hit the kind of burnout that makes you disappear. That forces you to clear a year from your calendar, whether you like it or not.

And the thing about burnout—the real, deep kind—is that it doesn’t just pass. You have to change. You have to look in the corners you’ve been avoiding, face the things you’ve been running from.

But it also gets better.

And then, one day, you find yourself standing in the shower, sunlight on your face, and you realise—you’re okay.

A little update as we descend into Winter. ❄️No one asked for it but hell, you get to do your own thing out here on soci...
26/11/2024

A little update as we descend into Winter. ❄️

No one asked for it but hell, you get to do your own thing out here on social don’t you?!

My coaching is about to winter and this filled me with all kinds of topsy, turvey feelings. The truth is. Well, there are two truths.

1️⃣ I’m at capacity. Being a gal that’s never done just one thing, by the time I take into account my clients, group coaching and consulting. I’m living a full and varied work life.

2️⃣ I want to intentionally winter. I was never a ‘black Friday’ gal. I hate the hustle that comes with new year, new programmes and launch launch launch.

I’m reminded that the reason so many of us do this self employed life thing is so we have choice. I realised my choice is to not be a part of it. My choice can be to winter.

If you are working with me… you are all good.
If you’ve enquired about working with me in January, the same applies.
And if you are one of the lovely few who take ad-hoc calls or supervision, I have accounted for this too.

But as far as anything new goes, it will grow in spring 🌱

Changing the messaging on my website felt almost criminal. But it is done….✔️

I’m hoping that honouring this may reinvigorate the things I talk about in this space, but we shall wait and see on that one.

In the mean time you can expect photos of winter, lots of nature, the dog 🐶 and anything else that crops up.

If you are feeling a pull to turn either way, inward or outward - I hope you find the push to do what’s best for you. No rules 💓🥂

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