Reflections on small wins, glimmers, and the gentle pace of healing
A Simple Game, A Deep Metaphor
Lately, I’ve been thinking about Snakes and Ladders. Such a simple game — a board, a few dice, a snake here, a ladder there. But the more I sit with it, the more I realise how much it mirrors the biggest lessons of life.
The snakes feel familiar: the dips in mood, the negative thoughts, the setbacks, the moments where recovery feels like it’s slipping through our fingers. The ladders feel familiar too: the small bursts of hope, the wins we didn’t expect, the days where something inside us lifts.
And the board? That’s life — steady, square by square, waiting for us to take the next step.
The Joy We Once Knew
When we were children, we didn’t analyse the game. We giggled our way through it. We laughed when we slid down a snake. We cheered when we climbed a ladder. We waited eagerly to reach 100 — but the joy wasn’t really in the finish line. It was in the connection, the silly jokes, the shared glances, the tiny triumphs.
Somewhere along the way, in a fast-paced world, we stopped noticing those tiny squares. The small silly steps. The moments that don’t look like much but quietly carry us forward.
Celebrating the Simple Wins
We talk so much about goals, milestones, and “getting to 100.” But do we celebrate the simple wins anymore?
A simple win might be:
- drinking 2 litres of water
- sending the email you’ve been avoiding
- choosing rest instead of pushing through
- finding the courage to say no
- stepping outside for fresh air
- noticing a moment of calm in your body
- catching a glimmer — that tiny spark of goodness that reminds you you’re still here, still moving, still capable of feeling something soft
These are ladders too. Small, steady, meaningful.
And the snakes — the dips, the lapses, the hard days — they don’t erase your progress. They’re part of the board. Part of the game. Part of being human.
A Gentle Invitation
Maybe this year isn’t about racing to 100. Maybe it’s about noticing the square you’re on. Honouring the small wins. Pausing long enough to feel the glimmers. And remembering that even when you slide down a snake, you’re still in the game.
If you’re navigating a season of snakes or ladders, or simply pausing on a quiet square… I offer a space to reflect, reconnect, and move at your own pace.