The other evening my son proudly made himself a bowl of cornflakes for supper. “Just like the country mouse,” he said, which made me smile.  He had obviously been read The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse at school, and something about the little country mouse tucked up in his cosy hole, with the fire flickering and a simple supper waiting, had clearly spoken to his hunkering-down senses. He is already very committed to a nice space, which, as a Taurus, I fully approve of. Wherever he decides to settle, he brings his treasured crystals with him, and his baby blanket of course, because apparently ambience matters when you are seven. No wonder the warm glow of the country mouse’s house got him thinking.

Anyway, I was all for it. I am a sucker for the change in seasons, especially as the nights start drawing in for autumn. Predictable, probably, but there is something in it that feels intuitive: this pull to go inwards, get cosy, slow down a little. Of course, that instinct is also being sold straight back to us at every turn. My mind immediately goes to an autumn wardrobe. I’m already imagining the boots and coat I’ll need for crisp days wandering through golden leaves, drinking something spiced and smugly seasonal. In reality, I’ll be running late, battling torrential rain on the school run, and counting down the hours until I can get home and put on something comfortable. Tights itch.

Perhaps the autumn I’m really looking forward to has less to do with what I’m wearing, and more to do with what is waiting when I get home.

And I see this in the playroom too. A child might spend most of a session building a den: shifting the cushions, finding the softest blanket, deciding where I should sit. Sometimes, once it’s finished, they simply want to be in it for a while. Not doing anything spectacular. Just being there, in the space they have made. I notice it in the sand tray as well. There may be themes of power and control playing out across the sand, battles, storms, wild animals, whole tiny worlds at war, and then, tucked somewhere within it all, a little space for nurture and protection. A hole for a turtle to escape to. A small cave placed right in the middle of a warzone. Somewhere safe.

Children will often show us, long before they can tell us, what they need more of. In play, a den or a tiny, protected corner can be a way of saying, “I need somewhere I can feel held.” It might not look obviously therapeutic from the outside, sometimes it looks like rearranging cushions for forty minutes while I try not to accidentally sit in the wrong place, but there is often something important happening. The child is experimenting with safety, control, closeness and distance. They are working out what feels too much, what feels manageable, and where they can go when the world feels a bit big.

Watching them, I wonder how often we rush past this part ourselves: the making of a comfortable place, the pleasure of knowing where everything goes, the settling that can happen before any talking begins. My son arranging his crystals around him, or asking for cornflakes like the country mouse, seems to understand that a little better than I do.

I suppose what I am asking is what little changes we can make at home, while we have the autumn equinox on our side.  that seasonal nudge towards change, newness and turning inwards, that might add a little more grounding to our homes. Because if I am honest, I know my phone often steals the very moments I am intuitively longing for. I will light a candle, make a hot drink, pick up my book, and then somehow my phone creeps into my hand. An hour later I have been emptily scrolling, and I do not feel any better for it.

I had also started to notice it in the morning. When my alarm went off, I would scroll, check the news, look at anything really, just to delay the mad rush of the day beginning. And it is a mad rush I am so grateful for, truly, but it is still a rush. One small change I have made is charging my phone downstairs. It has made such a difference relaxing in the evening and my own time management in the mornings which means I am a less stressed mum. Winner!

Bedtimes had become rushed too. My children are 10 and 7, and between work, after-school clubs, picking up, dropping off and making tea, 8pm rolls around and I am done.

But one of the things I most looked forward to about becoming a mum was story time before bed. Somewhere along the way, after my younger son learnt to read, we’d let that little ritual go. So, we’ve started a series together: The Wild Robot books by Peter Brown. They’re full of nature and adventure, but there’s also this lovely relationship between Roz and the young gosling she cares for. Mostly, I’m enjoying having that time together again. Bonnier Books

I’ve been thinking about other small things we can bring into our homes at this time of year:

• Bring home a few conkers. They’re everywhere at the minute, and children seem unable to walk past one. They could become part of a little autumn display, or something to paint or make with.
• Collect and roast sweet chestnuts. There’s something about gathering food and then eating it together. I have found sticking them on bake in the air fryer works fine. FYI Sweet chestnuts are the edible ones; conkers are horse chestnuts and mustn’t be eaten.
• Ask yourself what you actually need. We’re often told to walk in nature, go to the gym, do this, do that. But when life feels a bit chaotic, perhaps a little choice over our own time is what we need most. If you have an hour to yourself and all you want to do is faceplant the sofa, that’s fine. Maybe the small change is simply noticing it and saying: I choose to spend this hour resting.

But I know the change in seasons doesn’t feel comforting to everyone. For some of us, the end of summer brings a little anxiety with it. The evenings get darker, the easy chances to be outside or see people begin to shrink, and we can miss the energy that comes with longer, lighter days. For parents, it can also mean fewer hours outside with the children. If you have a child who needs to run, climb and use every bit of their body, that shift can feel stressful before autumn has even properly begun.

I wonder if this is a good time to pay attention to how the season actually feels to us, rather than how we think it shouldfeel. What do you remember finding safe or comforting when you were little? Is there a small ritual you could make space for now, something that lets you slow down and check in with yourself, without turning autumn into another thing to get right?

© Megan Barber | Innerworlds Therapy & Consultation