#09: Lately...

Real luxury is a regulated nervous system.

Apr 04, 2026

I was recently asked ‘who would be at your dream dinner table’ and I smiled and said that’s easy: my husband and three children.

Other women at the event were mentioning Cleopatra, Picasso… My family was genuinely the first thing that came to mind when asked this question, over a glass of Non.

For a little context, our shipping container from Paris hadn’t yet arrived. It was due in exactly one week. We had been living out of suitcases since we packed up our apartment in July 2025. A travel cot for Velvet for almost nine months. No dining table until March 2026. It honestly didn’t faze us, living with less. But there is something so special about gathering at a table together.

With three kids, dinner is all over the place. Too many snacks after school. No one wants broccoli. Trying to cook something the boys will like, whilst Velzy stands up in her high chair throwing strawberries. Sammy and I making toast for dinner after the bedtime marathon. Endless dishes, always.

Sitting at a dining table at dinner time, eating together as a family, is real luxury. No screens, no takeaway. Cutlery. Talking about our day.

Recently, I shared some thoughts on Substack Notes, and it seems you feel the same way. It’s absolutely a privilege to eat together as a family, and something I don’t take for granted.

This newsletter has been in my drafts for a little while. I last opened it, on February 7. The first few paragraphs (below), I wrote back in January.

I’ve always loved sharing Lately… updates, especially in real time, and I value the honest conversations they start with you — mostly in private, over DM or even email. To my core, I am a private person. I value authenticity and integrity. I love being at home, with my family for the bedtime routine. I would rather go to a beautiful restaurant with my husband, and have a wine, than drink endless cocktails at a work event.

my mama uniform — I wear these straight leg jeans on repeat in either this dark indigo or the blue indigo. My bag, my blazer (from a few seasons ago, but it’s this one in black), and the best oversized tee that I have in black, white and navy.

Atlas had a wobbly tooth and I was joking with another mother about the stress of the tooth fairy. She mentioned the tooth fairy once brought her son a twenty dollar note — out of desperation. And it’s so true! A tooth falls out, and bam, you feel so unprepared, anxiously searching at the bottom of every handbag for a coin. Sometimes Atlas gets a two euro coin. Sometimes 50 cents. We accidentally forgot one morning and Sammy sprinted out of bed and ran to his room ‘we have to do the tooth fairy!!!’ just before 6am.

We are all trying to do our best.

Yesterday morning before heading to school drop-off, I opened the front door and realised I had left the key in overnight. I had forgotten to take it inside.

Later that afternoon, I was getting groceries after picking Ocean up from kindergarten. Walking our little neighbourhood loop, of course. I was pushing Velzy in the pram, carrying Ocean’s scooter (he was eating a mini packet of Shapes as he walked). I had my handbag and Ocean’s kinder backpack over my shoulder. And a basket for the groceries.

We were walking down the street, on our way home when I realised I had left all the groceries on the counter after paying.

So that’s where my head is at the moment with three little ones! Full of life logistics, and snacks, and drop-offs and pick ups. And trying to find Atlas’ socks.

I don’t have the headspace for work politics. And it’s ok to outgrow people.

I don’t have to change who I am, to fit in with the crowd.

Surround yourself with people who lift you up.

Who let you be completely, quietly yourself.

One thing I’ve noticed, living in different parts of the world, is that we are all so different. And have such distinct style and taste. We do not dress the same, despite what your algorithm shows you.

Just catch the metro, and observe.

I read a quote recently, I can no longer find the source (please share if you know), but it really resonated with me:

Chic shows up in small unremarkable ways. It’s ordering in the local language at a restaurant, knowing the name of the barrister at your coffee shop, understanding how a place works before announcing yourself in it. It’s being attentive without being performative, curious without being careless. It’s cultural awareness, social fluency, and respect for context.
What’s reassuring is that chic hasn’t lost its value. It can’t. Because it isn’t a trend. It’s a standard. It exists outside algorithms, outside trend cycles, outside vitality. It belongs to women who care about how they live, not just how they appear, who think long term, who cultivate taste before cultivating an audience.

CBK didn’t dress to be seen. She dressed as an extension of how she lived.

Australia feels so peaceful. In the best possible way.

I was trying to explain to an Australian friend living OS the feeling of being back in Melbourne, and couldn’t quite articulate it. Wandering back from the post office, I realised, my nervous system just feels calm. Regulated.

No burnout. No fight or flight.

I don’t have decision fatigue.

I feel safe.

We had a few maintenance tasks for our rental. A quick email to our agent, and a handy man arrives at our door the next morning at 7.45am. He takes some measurements, ducks out to Bunnings and comes back two hours later to install some roller blinds in the kitchen and new frosted windows in the downstairs bathroom. A plumber comes to stop a leaking air conditioning unit. And jumps up on a ladder to clear out the gutters on our roof. Et voila!

In Paris, it was our responsibility as tenants to take out boiler insurance. Because if we suddenly had no hot water in the apartment, it was on us. And there were always issues with the boiler. Always.

I’d find myself asking my Parisian friends do you know a good electrician? Do you know a good painter? Someone who can measure curtains? Someone to help lift furniture up four flights of stairs?

Earlier in the year I described being back in Australia to Sammy and a feeling of swimming with the current, instead of against it. Hell, not even swimming. It’s like we are floating softly in a giant tire downstream, without even needing to swim.

I’m sure lots of expats would agree, it’s a nice feeling, returning to your home country. Things feel simple, comforting even.

Almost daily, when I’m at the playground I hear Saaaasha, and a mama smiles at me and takes off her sunglasses, and we start catching up with all our bubbas of similar ages. It’s been incredible reconnecting with so many women from past lives — school days, modelling days, PR’s, stylists… all at our local playgrounds.

Velzyyyy being a honey bun. Wearing this sweet dress and bloomer set.

I was recently with the boys at a six-year-old’s birthday party (outside, under the gum trees with a BBQ sizzling away) and a mother of three with cubs all the same ages as ours, said, how wonderful it must be to feel so held being back in Melbourne.

Held. Safe. Regulated. Present.

Hanging washing on the line. Afternoons walking around the footy oval. Ocean collecting fallen branches from gum trees every chance he gets. Pushing Velzy on the swing. Playground dates with school friends and their children.

Ocean and Rabbit. Wearing these cute shorts and t-shirt.

I recently read that rest is a business strategy.

And I am fully embracing this slower season of life. I know how quickly time passes with little ones. How quickly they grow up.

Expat life is so rewarding. We feel like we have lived a thousand lives. And we are so much stronger from swimming against the current. Together, as a team. Raising our three cubs in a foreign country, where we don’t speak the language.

Endless learning. Pivoting. Building resilience. Trust. Taking risks. Living life to the full.

But there comes a point, where you also need a season of rest. Not just a moment to yourself in the shower with someone toddling in after 90 seconds asking for more cereal.

We realised, that rest was Australia.

I play white noise every night. In our room, in Velzy’s room and the boys room. I love falling asleep to the gentle rain. It’s made such a difference to my sleep, especially as someone that has regular insomnia or trouble falling asleep, as I have so many racing thoughts.

Being an early bird is good for my mental health. No alarms necessary with the boys. Velzy loves her beauty sleep, and is the last to wake up.

We are living with less. Genuinely. Less choice. Fewer decisions. Like, cooking toast in the frypan (while we wait for our toaster to arrive) kind of less. We don’t have drawers full of clutter or wardrobe closets we can’t close. I’m not even worried that our shipping container doesn’t arrive until next month.

We wake up to the birds, not garbage trucks and street noise. Something I am really appreciating, especially after living in the heart of Paris.

Not too long ago, a friend mentioned she found herself unable to write, despite having so much to say. She would open her laptop, and try typing into a blank screen.

Oh no! You need to write on your phone! I write all my little thoughts in notes on my phone, and then copy and paste, I told her.

Because I always feel most inspired when I’m not on my laptop. I absolutely cannot work (or think) at a desk. I even read all my drafts on my phone, because that’s how I consume most media.

I often feel inspired when reading. That’s when insights start to reveal themselves. That lead to ideas. Even reading other Substacks, especially good writing. It encourages me to write better too.

I took a little break sharing Lately… updates. Last year, there were so many raw moments, and I was finding it hard to process all my thoughts. Writing was therapy. Connecting with like-minded people, was healing. I didn’t feel so alone in my journey.

But since being back in Australia, and feeling settled again quite quickly, I’ve been enjoying sharing less.

I do miss the momentum, maybe that chaos brings sometimes. Maybe it’s addictive even. A sort of dopamine for my ADHD. I like taking risks, pivoting, and problem solving. I don’t thrive with routine. I can’t think more than a day in advance. I love living in the moment.

Atlas was skipping to school on his first and second day. On the third morning, he said he didn’t want to go. When we asked why, he said, because I went yesterday, and the day before.

I couldn’t agree more.

A 2.30pm school pick-up is the middle of the day. We can’t go too far. I feel like a kid again, looking forward to school holidays, counting down the weeks until the end of term.

I came across a Substack post, that reframed sharing, especially when sharing your life, into think of it as, writing a column. And I liked that. Little updates, maybe, but also random thoughts, and connections, and things that have happened maybe that week or month. And it didn’t feel so scary, to keep sharing.

Write, because you simply love to write.

Because it’s a creative skill that you want to develop. Especially, in the world of AI.

Write, because you have stories to tell.

Because, it connects us, and brings us closer.

Because it encourages you to read more too.

To learn, to grow, to see how far you’ve come.

The writer mentioned, how writing a column, helps you to see things differently. To move through life with heightened awareness. How it helps to romanticise your life. And why shouldn't we? That’s exactly how life feels, especially at the moment having returned to Aus. Everything feels new again. And deeply nostalgic at the same time. Even nine years can do that. Not because it’s that long, but because we’ve changed so much.

The little things that make a daily routine here so special, or different to other parts of the world. I walk under a flowering gum every day full of noisy Rosellas. I have to be careful at one of the playgrounds we love, because there’s a swooping magpie. Some nights, we will have party pies for dinner…because why not. We are in Aus.

The boys play tennis in the backyard. The lawn is slowly turning into a dust pit (velzyyy still loves it) because the summer in this part of Australia is so dry.

Home.

It’s always a feeling, never a place.

Bisous, Saasha xx

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