Holding a crystal clear idea of what I want to share and how it feels to connect with you through this work.

Actually no, this isn’t work.

These essays are my therapy. A place and now sacred ritual where I try to heal myself openly and honestly, with you safely holding the space alongside me.

But today, I am stuck in a place that I am not familiar with. A place that I don’t quite know how to process or even if I am supposed to process at all?

I don’t feel numb and my mind certainly isn’t blank.

But I am carrying this funny, awkward and, if I’m honest, frustrating feeling within my body.

I am standing, or perhaps floating, aimlessly in a space that sits somewhere between what was and what comes next.

The pause before the next transformation, maybe?

As you may know from last week’s post, I completely froze on live television.

My mind went blank. I had no idea where I was, what I was doing or what I was supposed to do next.

Not ideal when you’re on national live television as part of your job.

But it happened.

And now, as I work to pull myself back together again, I find myself questioning things.

Not in a self-destructive way.

More in a kind, caring, “How do I support myself so this doesn’t happen again?” kind of way.

And perhaps even more importantly, “How do I use this experience to improve my life, continue growing, and build a richer but quieter wealth within myself?”

Needless to say, the experience forced me to pay attention.

To my energy.

To my capacity.

To what I want, or perhaps what I crave, for my life to feel like.

Not from the outside looking in.

But to me.

Deep inside.

Then there was Anya.

Someone whose life inspired me not because of what she owns, but because of how she lives.

When you meet Anya, she is always calm.

She feels incredibly intentional in her energy, what she says and even how she dresses (which, by the way, is effortlessly chic and timeless).

Her words are wise and grounded. Like an old soul that has seen and experienced so much, but done the inner self work and grown from the accumulation of her many past lives. Now but sitting wisely within her today, for me to admire and desire.

And whilst she is a busy working mother of three, her time and movement somehow feel spacious.

The kind of life that feels rich in ways money alone can never buy.

The kind of richness that is almost impossible to define.

Because it isn’t something she has.

It’s something she is.

Ever since spending time with her with this greater awareness, my thinking has shifted.

Not about what I want.

Not about what I need to achieve.

But about how I want to live.

And that’s where things get a little frustrating.

Because I can’t fully see it yet.

I know something needs to change.

I know I’m craving something different.

I know I’m growing.

But I don’t yet have the details.

Actually, I barely have any details at all.

Which is probably the part that annoys me the most.

As much as I hate to admit it, because I am usually a get-out-there-and-go-get-it type of person, maybe that’s okay.

Maybe that’s exactly where I need to be right now.

I saw a quote recently that said something along the lines of:

“You cannot build what you have never seen.”

It made me realise that perhaps this season isn’t about building.

Perhaps it’s about exploration.

Observation.

Collecting clues.

Seeking inspiration.

Paying attention to the things that make me feel calm, alive, grounded and connected.

Because when I look back on the most meaningful chapters of my life, they never began with a detailed plan.

They began with a feeling.

A whisper.

A curiosity.

A quiet pull towards something I couldn’t yet explain.

Perhaps that’s where I am right now.

Not lost.

Not stuck.

Not failing.

Simply gathering the vision before the blueprint arrives.

And perhaps if you’re feeling a little like this too, wondering why everything feels slightly uncomfortable and uncertain, maybe it’s worth considering that you’re not lost either.

Maybe, like me, you’ve simply outgrown something.

And whilst that can feel uncomfortable, perhaps this space isn’t something to rush through or fix.

Perhaps it is here to teach us something.

To show us what truly matters.

To help us gather the vision before the blueprint arrives.

So instead of forcing the next chapter, I am learning to create space for it.

To listen.

To observe.

To trust.

Because maybe clarity isn’t something we chase.

Maybe clarity arrives when we finally create enough space to hear it.

And the worst part is, I knew this topic inside out.

Every Sunday morning I appear on Channel Nine’s Today Show Weekend with the incredibly talented Ali Piotrowski and Michael Atkinson, talking about personal finance and what is happening inside Australian households when it comes to money, budgeting, saving and financial wellbeing.

It is a part of my work that I genuinely love and one that has taught me so much over the years. Watching both Ali and Michael handle the pressure of live television with such professionalism, calmness and quick thinking has honestly been part of my own career growth. Working with them and the Nine crew is never lost on me and I will always be grateful.

This wasn’t some random guest appearance where nerves got the better of me. This is something I am supposed to be able to handle.

Which is why what happened on Sunday shook me so deeply.

Since writing about my wealthy friend Anya last week, something inside me has shifted. Or perhaps, become impossible to ignore.

For ten years, I have admired her life. Her calmness. Her presence. Her complete disinterest in keeping up with everyone else. She has this beautiful, elegant grounded energy about her that makes you realise how noisy and chaotic the rest of the world has become. I also admire her nonchalant refusal to subscribe to anything that doesn’t align with her values.

And I think for the first time, I clearly saw the contrast between her life and mine.

Every morning I wake up at 5am, which is actually a ritual I love. But lately, before my feet even touch the floor, I am already mentally scrolling through my list of responsibilities and things to do. What needs filming. What needs recording. What needs replying to. What needs researching. What needs cleaning. What needs organising. Which child needs what. Which dog needs walking. What deadline is approaching next.

And instead of creating more space for myself recently, I have somehow done the complete opposite.

Federal Budget season pushed everything into overdrive. Like many financial planners, accountants and economists, I have been consuming endless commentary, analysis and opinions whilst trying to stay across all the changes. At the same time, Tom has been working in Hong Kong, I have been solo parenting, trying to get Tiger out of night nappies, managing three children at three different schools and functioning on increasingly broken sleep.

Then came the insomnia.

Followed by nightmares.

The kind where you wake up anxious, sweating and unable to fall back asleep again. Like a form of torture, with your brain on fire.

Did I stop?

No.

I kept pushing through. Ticking boxes. Surviving off adrenaline and routine. Convincing myself that once I got through this week, things would calm down. Except the list never really ends, does it?

Then came Sunday morning.

I did my usual preparation. Research. Notes. Highlighted notes. Different coloured notes. Ali, Michael and myself even chatted together before going live about our own car insurance policies, which was the topic we were covering that morning.

I kicked off the segment as normal, confidently hitting the key points and opening up the discussion.

Then the second question came in.

This is where suddenly my brain simply stopped working.

Complete blackness.

Even the notes sitting directly in front of me looked like spaghetti noodles.

“I’ve gone blank,” were the only words I could get out.

Then came the panic.

The room started spinning and I could feel myself mentally disappearing further. It was horrible. Not just because it was live television, but because I couldn’t force my brain to come back online.

Michael quickly stepped in and calmly rephrased the next question in a way that gently reminded me what we were actually talking about. Honestly, it felt like my brain was receiving emergency CPR.

I came back briefly.

Then disappeared again.

Yes, again. Twice in less than sixty seconds.

And whilst the segment wrapped up quickly and everyone was incredibly kind and supportive afterwards, I spent the next two days replaying the moment over and over in my head with a deep sense of shame, anxiety and disappointment in myself.

Now I thought the insomnia was bad. This space and place of anxiety was pure torture.

Because deep down, I knew exactly what had caused it.

Not a lack of capability.

Not a lack of preparation.

But a lack of care towards myself.

The truth is, I have been trying to outrun exhaustion for a while now. Pushing harder. Functioning on adrenaline. And even thinking this was a resilience challenge for me to rise to…

I completely ignored the very obvious signs from my body and brain that something needed to change.

And perhaps that is why writing about Anya affected me so deeply.

Because what I can now clearly see in her life is what I don’t currently have enough of in my own: space, calmness, presence, rest, capacity and boundaries.

Not more luxury.
Not more things.
Not more success.

Just enough room within myself to actually experience my life whilst I am living it. And enjoy it on a deeper, more meaningful level.

Do I know exactly how to create that yet?

No.

But I do know I can no longer ignore how desperately I need to. And for me, perhaps this awareness is exactly where I need to sit and stay whilst I figure this one out

.

There is a saying, “Miss once, and that is an accident. Miss twice and that is the start of a new habit.” This was front of mind for me last Friday as I missed my weekly Substack writing. My sacred 5 am Friday morning ritual where I pour my heart out, sharing my evolution with money and life lessons, was skipped.

My reasoning for skipping was due to the budget…the federal budget that feels like it has turned every accountant, investor, small business owner and financial planner’s life upside down.

I was instantly catapulted into survival mode. Research, phone calls, deadlines, content, pressure, noise. I felt like I barely slept last week.

But of course, this was the perfect lesson for me. Why? Because it highlighted how time poor I really am. And I really missed this precious connection with myself and my writing because it soothes and reminds me.

Whilst I am working hard to slow down and build something more grounded, spacious and meaningful in my life, my ecosystem is still fragile and can’t really handle any curve balls…yet. So when the budget was released with all its proposed changes, my work schedule fell into complete chaos. The system and space that I have been working on building wasn’t quite as sturdy as I had hoped. This was humbling to realise whist sitting amongst the frantic noise within me.

But of course, with the universe working in weird and wonderful ways to gently remind me, my beautiful friend Anya asked me if I would like to join her to see Fran Lebowitz speak at the Opera House. Embarrassingly, I had no idea who Fran Lebowitz was, but my friend assured me that I would love hearing what this woman had to say and to trust her and “just come”.

I agreed to go, partly because I was desperate to catch up with my friend and secondly because this offered a very much needed break away from my desk and the Groundhog Day rhythm of dinner, bath and bedtime. And yes, Fran Lebowitz was amazing, Anya was right…again.

Now there is something very magical yet mysterious about my friend Anya.

We met through our sons at daycare 10 years ago. We had our first play date and instantly clicked over the topic of minimalism.

When we catch up we discuss politics, religion, design and fashion. Our conversations…well what she teaches me really, are rich in culture, depth and substance. I walk away feeling inspired, educated, informed and more aware. Actually I feel richer…with a big bank balance inside of me.

But here is the thing…I don’t have a single photo of us or even her. She is my only friend who I have never shared an alcoholic drink with. Not that it matters, but there is something different, unique and precious about this friendship to me and she inspires me because she is the epitome of Quiet Wealth.

You see, Anya is rich. Very rich. But not in the way that most people define wealth.

Anya has three young children. She works for herself. She doesn’t have a big flashy house with all the latest gadgets and trimmings, nor does she have a billionaire husband, in fact her husband works long hours and pretty much around the clock, whilst she juggles and manages everything else.

Yet Anya isn’t ever frantic. She is never rushing from one thing to another. She never looks exhausted or feels the need to wear her responsibilities like a badge of honour.

In fact she is always beautifully and stylishly dressed. Not in the latest trends or fads, but the timeless classics that never date. Her face is natural and confidently makeup free, which I love and find both refreshing and inspiring.

She has created the space for time. The space to hear herself, think and feel. The space to calmly move from one thing to another. The space to notice beauty. The space to respond instead of react. She is graceful, elegant and has the social and emotional awareness that we should all aspire to.

She is calm in a world that kind of rewards chaos.

And honestly, being around her feels luxurious.

Not because of what she owns, but because of the way she moves through life.

What I love the most about Anya is that she didn’t arrive here through extreme wealth, status or marrying rich.

She simply refused to subscribe to the madness that so many of us, including me, unconsciously accept as normal. The overcommitting, the constant urgency, the glorification of burnout, the endless stimulation and pressure to always be available, productive and “on”.

She opted out. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t even think she ever subscribed in the first place.

And in doing so, she created space. Space for growth, space for depth, space for awareness and probably most importantly, space to actually enjoy her life whilst she is living it.

Whenever I catch up with Anya, seeing and feeling her energy always makes me realise how much time I have spent building financial wealth whilst sometimes accidentally bankrupting my own nervous system in the process.

And I know I’m not alone in that. And this for me is the foundation of my journey with Quiet Wealth.

So many of us are technically “successful” but internally stretched thin. Clock watching our lives, scheduling rest, writing “go for walk” on a to-do list as though peace and fresh air are just another task to complete before the day ends.

It’s strange really. We are surrounded by conveniences designed to save us time, yet somehow we have never felt more time poor. Everyone seems exhausted, overstimulated, behind and trying to keep up with lives that don’t even look enjoyable anymore.

Maybe real wealth isn’t just about having enough money to buy more things. Maybe it’s having enough self-awareness to protect your peace. Enough boundaries to confidently say no. Enough courage to disappoint people. Enough clarity to stop chasing lifestyles that quietly exhaust you.

Because the older I get, the more I realise that the most glamorous people I know are not actually the loudest, busiest or most impressive.

They are the calmest.

And perhaps that is the true luxury now. Not chaos disguised as success, but a life that still has room to breathe and be felt.

Every time I open my Instagram app, I keep seeing talking heads announcing…

“Time is the new luxury.”

And every time I read it, something inside me pauses, with a sense of embarrassment.

Because whilst I deeply understand the sentiment behind it… part of me also feels strangely unsettled by it. Perhaps even confrontation if I am honest.

Why has time become a luxury in the first place? And why has it taken so long for us the say this to each other?

How did something so human, so essential and so necessary for our personal growth become something we now feel we must earn or even fight for? Or now scream about it.

Obviously this shift away from materialism is healthy and dare I say, for some of us (including me), very much overdue.

We are finally waking up from the noise.

Now realising that true richness has very little to do with designer labels, overconsumption or constantly upgrading our lives and spaces.

Luxury was never the handbag or the brand.

But something so much more, so much more meaningful and deeply rich. The ability to breathe deeply.

To think clearly.

To move slowly at your own required pace and enough to hear and feel yourself again.

But if I’m honest, another part of me feels sadness around this conversation too.

Because I don’t think we are rejecting time-poverty from a place of enlightenment.

I think many of us are simply exhausted. And I say this because I feel this too.

Exhausted from rising costs.

Exhausted from pressure.

Exhausted from trying to keep up with the invisible demands of modern life.

And I also say this as someone who genuinely loves ambition.

I love creating.

I love building.

I love meaningful work. Especially helping people.

But lately, I’ve caught myself becoming so tightly scheduled that even something as simple and restorative as a walk to Bronte Beach with Pablo had to be written down on my to-do list, to make or force it to actually happen.

This realisation as to how time poor I have become, stopped me in my tracks.

The fact I had to schedule space to breathe, to enjoy sunlight, to move my body.

I had to clock-watch my list.

And yet, once I got into the ocean, something changed almost instantly.

The urgency left my body. Washed away with the fresh temperature waves, as I completely emerged myself underwater, away from absolutely everything.

The constant mental tabs open in my brain slowly quietened.

The invisible timer I constantly seem to carry around dissolved into the salt water.

Afterwards, I sat in the sun for a while, with the innocence and playfulness of Pablo and just thought.

How have we drifted so far away from something so simple, yet so important?

Time feeds the soul.

Not in a lazy or unproductive way.

But in a deeply necessary way.

Time creates reflection.

Reflection creates awareness.

Awareness builds emotional intelligence, gratitude, perspective and stronger connection — not just with others, but with ourselves.

And ironically, when we create more intentional space in our lives, we often become more organised, more grounded and more capable anyway.

Which makes me wonder whether we need to start redefining financial goals entirely.

Perhaps wealth should no longer only be measured by income, net worth or material success.

Perhaps part of building a wealthy life now needs to include intentionally creating more time.

Time to think.

Time to rest.

Time to connect.

Time to notice.

Time to simply exist without feeling guilty for it or having to justify it.

Because what is the point of building a beautiful life if we are moving too fast to actually experience it?

Maybe quiet wealth is not about escaping responsibility altogether.

Maybe it’s about learning how to protect small pockets of humanity within the middle of real life.

A slow coffee in the sun.

A walk without headphones.

An ocean swim. Time sitting under a tree.

Dinner without rushing.

An afternoon where your nervous system is not operating like an overworked machine.

Not because these things are indulgent.

But because they are essential.

And perhaps the greatest irony of all is that the moments which nourish us most often cost the least. And right now, I really needed to be reminded of that.

Not impulsively, but intentionally.

I love how a beautifully made bag can instantly elevate an outfit — making it feel complete. I’ve always admired the craftsmanship behind them… the time, the detail, the quiet precision in how they are brought to life. Even the story behind their creation.

If you were to open my wardrobe doors, you would be met with a soft rainbow of straps.

Each bag carefully stored in its protective dust bag, with just a hint of the strap peeking out — enough for me to know exactly which one is which as I rush out the door, usually in a mad hurry, running late.

And each one holds a story.

When it came into my life.
Why.
What it represented at that point in time.

They were never impulsive purchases. Always saved for. Always intentional. Always paid in full — never credit. That has always been a non-negotiable for me and always will.

But something has shifted.

At first, I thought it was sudden. A recent change.

But as I’ve slowed down… and given myself the space to sit with it and permission to safely explore it… I’m starting to realise this has been quietly stirring within me for a while.

It just needed stillness to surface and flourish with my attention and curiosity.

I still reach for my bags.
I still wear them.

But I’m wearing them differently now.

More softly. More subtlety.
More quietly.

I no longer feel drawn to anything that screams or demands to be seen.

And that’s been an interesting shift to witness within myself.

Because for a long time, these pieces weren’t just beautiful… they were symbolic.

Of progress.
Of discipline.
Of achieving something I had worked hard towards.

And in many ways, they still are.

But what’s changing… is my need for that symbolism to be visible.

Lately, I’ve noticed something else too.

It’s no longer about the bag being the centrepiece.

It’s about the whole picture.

The way everything comes together, including the underwear that no one can see…

And if I’m honest… there was a time where a beautiful bag could almost act as a shortcut.

A way to quickly elevate everything else — especially on the days where I hadn’t had the time, or energy, to care for the other details.

But now, my focus feels different.

Slower.
More intentional.

I find myself taking quiet pride in the process of getting ready.

Not in a performative way…
But in a grounded, almost ritualistic way.

Caring for my hair so it feels clean and healthy.
Keeping my makeup simple and natural.
Making sure my nails are neat and well looked after.
Choosing clothes that feel comfortable, timeless, and considered.

There’s a softness to it.

A sense of ease and element of self-love and gentle nurturing within me, for me.

Nothing is trying too hard.

Nothing is competing for attention.

Everything just… works together. Harmoniously.

And in that process, I’ve realised something important.

I’m no longer relying on one item to pull everything together.

Because I am what pulls it together.

When I leave the house now, dressed and ready, the feeling is different.

It’s not a sharp, fleeting confidence that comes from wearing something that stands out.

It’s something more stable.

More grounded.

A quiet confidence that sits underneath everything.

Because what I’m wearing no longer feels like something I’m hiding behind…

It feels like something that gently reflects who I already am and growing towards.

And maybe that’s why I’m leaning into simplicity.

Because when nothing is loud…

There’s more space.

More space for presence.
More space for ease.
More space for what exists within me to actually be seen and most importantly heard.

The outfit doesn’t lead anymore.

It supports.

It softens.

It allows.

And maybe this is another layer of redefining what luxury really means to me.

Because perhaps true luxury isn’t something you carry.

It’s the time.
The space.
The energy.

To care for yourself in a way that feels calm, grounded and whole.

A quiet kind of effort that doesn’t need to be noticed — but can be felt.

I don’t think I want less.

I just want less noise and distraction around it.

I’ll always love a beautiful handbag.

But these days…
I’m more interested in how I feel carrying it
than what it says about me.

xox Canna

The type of connection, where the chat goes so deep and meaningful, like time completely stops to a stand still.

The topic of discussion takes on a life of it’s own - like water running down a steep rocky hill, intuitively finding it’s own path through and around it’s surroundings, with no sign of stopping.

This is the point where the conversation takes you so deep, you can’t turn back and don’t know how you got to where you are.

And at times, creating its own space, where those inside jokes and humorous connections are born between whoever is lucky enough to be wholly present in this moment.

I am currently in Hong Kong, not for work, not exactly leisure, but for connection.

My partner, Tom, who is also the father to our two girls, (Apple and Tiger), and step father to my son, Rocco lives and works between Hong Kong is Sydney. He does a week working in Hong Kong, flies home to do another working week in Sydney.

Being away so much quietly takes its toll on Tom. All the red eye flights, weekend shifts and time away from us compound. So when I can, I try and meet him in Hong Kong to break the monotony.

This time, we agreed to bring Rocco with me. For a while, Tom sensed that Rocco needed some time with just us. Just the three of us, where we could reconnect, without distractions or demands (AKA: Apple and Tiger). Go back to what it was like when it was…just the three of us.

As Rocco and I jumped into the cab, to head to the airport, his arms were crossed and he impulsively continued to check his phone whilst giving me grumpy toned one word answers.

The sensation of concern started rising up inside me, questioning this decision to bring him with me.

Sitting in the cab, feeling uncomfortable my worry shifted. Shifted to intuition.

My wise inner voice, stepped in giving me that pep talk that this self doubting didn’t serve me or the connection that i was trying to rebuild.

I took a slow and deep breath and I agreed to surrender.

Completely.

Let this moment be, and let the water flow and find’s own path. Release. Relinquish. My wise inner voice quietly slipped away with a sense of “mission completed”.

Exhale.

Within an hour or two into the flight, I found Rocco unexpectedly resting his head on my shoulder. Something he hasn’t done for so long, that I can’t remember when we last sat like this.

Then in the busy streets of Hong Kong, he started to hold my hand to cross the roads. My almost 13 year old boy was holding my hand again…initiated by him. My heart cracked open in this moment.

These moments continued to flow and build momentum with each hour and day. Then came the jokes, the giggles, the inside humour…the types of moments that you never forget and can recall and reuse for further connection at a later time. The timeless inside comedy.

The team was back.

Tom, Rocco and I, sitting in a local restaurant laughing so hard, so deep but in our own private language. People looking at us weirdly, wondering what was so funny, but really it was only hysterical to us.

For me, what I have realised is that for connection to be born or re-birthed it needs awareness.

Awareness of when it is required, awareness as to how to faithfully surrender to it and awareness, followed by gratitude for when it comes and deepens your connection.

Without the awareness, these rich moments and reconnections may have never have happened. Nor the awareness and gratitude as to how priceless these bonds really are.

So perhaps…just maybe…we need to prioritise the intuitive “tuning in” to this foundation of awareness first, if we want to build the type of truely luxurious wealth, that money can’t ever buy.

xox Canna and Rocco

Standing in the shower, questioning myself, my life, my efforts and my goals — almost on the verge of giving up — I had a powerful inner conversation.

As the “a little too hot” water hit my face, leaving me scrunching up, I made a decision.

I decided to quit. Yes…quit.

Quit trying.
Quit pushing.
Quit hustling.

Just… stop.

And the moment I did, something unexpected happened.

My face softened. The tension eased. The discomfort didn’t feel so intense anymore. Actually it felt nice, protected and refreshing.

Then I felt a reminder rise up within me, like an alarm clock I had set long ago and forgotten about.

And it was simple.

I don’t need to force.

I don’t need to chase or hold on so tightly to everything I think I want or need.

I can let go. Safely.

And trust that what stays will stay.
What goes may return - if it’s meant to.
And what leaves may actually be for the best.

There was a strange sense of freedom in that moment. A kind of exposed safety that moved through my body as I sat with it.

And then, almost on cue, my inner critic stepped in.

“Quitter.”
“Drifter.”
“What if everything unravels?” - listing in order everything that would go down the toilet that I had worked so hard for.

Catastrophising everything, painting a picture of my life spiralling out of control, with each drama creating another bigger, badder drama.

So… I let it.

I gave it space to run wild and be erratic.

And then, when I felt it had said enough airtime, I stopped it.

Not aggressively. Just firmly.

Creating a quiet space for something steadier within me to rise.

Because this isn’t quitting.

This is allowing.

Allowing flow.
Allowing faith.

Still showing up. Still being present.
But without gripping so tightly to the outcome.

Stepping back - not away, but to the side. Away from the pressure, the expectations, the need to control.

Not taking things so personally, but instead seeing them as opportunities to become wiser, more resilient and more intuitive.

The real richness - the real wealth - is in the awareness, the growth and the lesson that we absorb and nourish.

Not the outcome. Not the results. Not the dollar figures.

Since that moment, I’ve noticed a different rhythm within me.

Slower. Softer. Safer.

I’m still showing up. Still honouring my habits. Still moving forward and taking each day as it comes.

But with less attachment. Less urgency.

And more trust that what I’m building is already in motion - unfolding at the right pace, at the right time.

Just as it’s meant to be.

xox Cann

a

However, this week has left me feeling somewhat protective and defensive. Like I am being tested to see how truly dedicated I am to this new path of exploration.

Have you ever felt this too?

Every time you intentionally slow down, disconnect or try to build something different for yourself, an external force seems to pull, distract or challenge you.

Or in my case, test me.

I would love to say it was one particular event this week.

But the truth is, it felt like a bombardment of many tests — big and small.

From banks changing the terms and conditions of our loans, to Pablo chewing a third pair of shoes that my kids left sitting around.

From clients pressing pause on big projects due to the uncertainty of the world, to a parking ticket, actually two parking tickets.

In the big scheme of things, these are privileged problems to have. Because we have a roof over our heads, jobs, and healthy children — even if their shoes are now “open toe” shoes.

As each test came, I felt my old habits start to rise.

And just as I was about to react, something different happened.

The new, quieter version of me pulled me back — back into that calm, steady space I’ve been building.

A pause.

A moment to reconnect before responding.

As soon as that awareness kicked in, something shifted.

Each test didn’t hit me the way it used to.

It almost felt like an out-of-body experience — like I was watching myself respond differently.

More calm.

More considered.

More intentional.

Instead of reacting, I found myself looking for solutions. Communicating more clearly. Returning back to that quiet wealth space, grounded in my goals, with a steady sense of faith in myself.

And it made me wonder…

Perhaps these moments of testing aren’t there to break us.

Perhaps they’re there to show us what we’re now ready to hold.

To grow into something steadier, wiser…

And quite possibly, wealthier. Let me know your thoughts too and if you are finding yourself being tested right now?

xox Canna

Away from the noise, the distractions and even the pull of materialism. Into a space where I can sit quietly and really feel what wealth is beyond the numbers.

Not just what it looks like. But what it feels like deep inside.

Leaning into that curiosity, I’ve started to understand that Quiet Wealth isn’t about having more.

It’s about feeling steady and even silently proud of what you’re building, regardless of the pace around you.

It’s about creating financial security, but also emotional calm and clarity. About knowing where you’re going, without needing to rush or prove it to anyone.

This shift didn’t happen overnight.

It came from realising that the louder things became, the faster everything felt and the more disconnected I felt from myself. Like a toxic dizziness, where I couldn’t focus, nothing felt stable or reliable under or around me, and a sickness in the pit of my stomach.

So I started to slow things down. Right down.

To listen more.

To reflect more.

To simplify what I was focusing on.

And in doing that, something changed.

I felt steadier. Clearer. More grounded in what actually matters. The dizziness passed. The world stopped spinning, and a different kind of stability resurfaced within me.

This space is an extension of that.

It’s not about bigger portfolios or financial strategies.

It’s about building something deeper and more meaningful - quietly, consistently, and in a way that feels aligned with you and feeds your soul.

Nothing here is rushed or forced.

It’s allowed to grow at the pace that’s right for you, wherever you are.

Every Friday morning, I get up early to write and share this with you. While sipping my espresso with hot cream, my three dogs - Peppi, Pablo and Tulip. Snuggled up by my side, before my children stir and the normal family chaos begins.

A moment to pause.

To breathe.

To recalibrate.

To connect with you.

To step away from the fast-paced, high-pressure world and reconnect with yourself before moving forward again.

If you feel this too…if you’re craving something calmer, quieter, more intentional - then you’re in the right place.

And I’m really glad you’re here.

How small daily actions help me stay steady when everything else feels uncertain.

After last week, I found myself slowly returning to a sense of stability. A quiet calm within me, almost organically taking over on autopilot, redirecting my focus back to me. To my values, my energy, my goals.

The areas in my life where I can choose and control, with intention.

My usual morning routine is sacred. I get up at 5am, when the world is silent and still. The only noise is one of my dogs gently snoring whilst snuggled up to me. I slowly sip my espresso with hot cream. The darkness of the sky surrounds me like a warm blanket, knowing that it will gently be peeled away to reveal the new opportunities and business of the day.

Before it does, I hold this peace and start to plant.

Starting with my goals. Reading them — handwritten in my paper diary, on the first page so that I can never lose them or lose focus.

I read each one. Then I pause and ask myself why.

What is it about this goal that is important to me to achieve, or try to achieve?

That question re-anchors me. It allows me to reconnect to my why — the part of me that drives me, fills me with purpose, and keeps me focused on what I can do and what I can control.

Then I give myself permission to dream.

Not a vague dream, but a real one. I picture myself achieving my goals successfully, with growth and ease. Visualising the work, the decisions, the progress, the wins — even overcoming challenges.

This simple investment of time, so early in the morning before the day has begun, is what moves me into action.

As the visualisation fills me with faith in myself, I feel drawn forward.

But not with wild, erratic action. With small, simple steps and habits that keep me moving.

And as I sit with this, the next steps come to me. New ideas, small insights, different approaches.

This is the magic. ✨

Something new to add to my game plan.

Almost like an inner guidance — or perhaps even something higher — quietly signalling the way forward through the noise.

As the sun starts to rise, with my dogs and children beginning to stir, I feel the natural closure of this precious time.

The noise, the pressure and the distractions will return as the day begins.

But I feel steady.

I feel protected.

Because I have reconnected to myself. I am clear on what I can control and what I can do.

And I am ready to take the next step forward in building my version of quiet wealth.

One step at a time.

Recalibrating myself when the world feels uncertain

The suitcases are unpacked, the laundry is finally done. But my normal return-home feeling of being refreshed and reinvigorated got lost in transit

I wasn’t expecting this and I don’t like this feeling as it isn’t my normal vibe.

I flew out of Sydney airport, en route to Hong Kong, filled with a sense of expansion and openness to opportunity. Letting this feeling simmer within me while enjoying five days with Tom and the girls. With the intention of capitalising on this feeling, the moment I returned home.

But I have now returned only to discover the energy has changed.

The world feels like it is falling apart. War, fuel shortage, inflation, interest rate rise, another expected interest rate rise and constant warnings from my media subscriptions flashing up on my phone throughout the day. Each one carrying a deeper sense of concern than the last.

My motivation has changed to worry. Which is something that doesn’t usually sit within my body, or occupy it beyond a certain volume. I feel powerless as I see the war torn cities impacting families and young children. I feel frustrated that we can’t do anything fast enough to make a meaningful change.

As I sit with this feeling, let it be, observe it, and a new steadiness within me arises.

I ask myself, “How can I help others during this time, using my skills and experience?”.

I turn to my three children. Their innocence, their normality, their safety. I am reminded how fortunate we are. We have safety, we have protection. We have access to everything that we need to run our lives.

And we have our goals and dreams still.

That is a privilege in this world right now. We can still keep them, believe in them and best of all, we can still work on them. The road may be longer and slower, but they are still ours to walk.

So I choose to stay informed, but not consumed. To hold space for others who may feel uncertain, scared, or overwhelmed.

And to keep building, quietly.

Because even when the ground feels unstable, we can still find our footing.

Despite the hustle of people pushing and pulling luggage, moving in different directions and speaking in different languages, I always feel deeply inspired.

It usually begins the moment my luggage is checked in.

As I watch our suitcases disappear along the conveyor belt, something inside me softens. My guard drops. I breathe more deeply and suddenly feel lighter.

The rushing stops.

We made it.

The journey has begun.

After immigration and security, I love to wander slowly through Duty Free. Not to shop, but simply to absorb. The beautiful displays of perfume and cosmetics, their shiny packaging and soft lighting.

And the people.

I find myself wondering where they are from, where they are going, and what stories they are carrying with them.

Moments like this remind me how small we are in the world, yet how much possibility exists when we choose to live intentionally.

The airport becomes a bubble — a space between the life I have just left and the one waiting at the other end of the flight.

And within that space, inspiration quietly begins to build.

Then comes the second shift.

Once we are seated on the plane, seatbelts fastened and my young family settled, inspiration slowly transforms into motivation.

As the plane gathers speed on the runway and lifts into the sky, perspective arrives.

The distance from everyday life creates space to think clearly. Emails, laundry, errands and responsibilities fade into the background.

In their place comes reflection.

It is during the quiet middle of the flight — when you are no longer where you started but not yet where you are going — that clarity appears.

I revisit my goals.

I reflect on my direction.

Sometimes nothing changes at all.

Other times small adjustments emerge — not dramatic shifts, but thoughtful refinements to how I want to show up in my life.

By the time the plane begins its descent, my motivation cup feels full.

Not with pressure or urgency, but with quiet clarity.

I feel connected again to my “why”, confident in the direction I am building and grateful for the space that allowed me to see it clearly.

And as the plane touches down, there is a calm excitement within me.

A quiet reminder to carry this perspective forward as I step into the next destination.

Listing all my tips and hacks on social media, inviting everyone to join the challenge as we “open ourselves up to the flow of money”.

But this year, something has shifted. Actually, it hasn’t shifted. It’s evolved - and I prefer this version.

You see this year, right now, I am doing Manifesting March quietly. I am preserving my energy, refining my focus, to honour the deep internal work. I feel a calling to go within, go deep, go silent. So that I can hear, learn and continue growing.

My body feels stable and secure in following this inner guidance. My inner stance is filled with faith and confidence about what lies ahead of me in doing this quiet manifestation practice.

The frantic energy to convince others to try this work has passed. I don’t need to do this anymore. If you are open to this, you will join when you are ready, not because I have won you over.

The usual manifestation chatter that once rushed through me has gone quiet. I now sit quietly with this. But now feel a stronger more personal and private progress as I work on my manifestation work.

Less broadcasting. More embodying.

Whilst reviewing my goals for 2026, I felt something I didn’t expect and to be honest, wasn’t ready for.

On paper, everything looked balanced. Health. Relationships. Personal growth. Finance. Tick. Tick. Tick.

But when I sat with my financial goals, there was tension.

Not doubt about achieving them.

Not fear of the numbers.

Something else. Something that I hadn’t ever felt before and initially couldn’t find the words to explain.

A quiet discomfort with allowing them to stand as they were. Proud and worthy of being worked on.

I noticed the instinct to soften them. To add context. To justify why they made sense. To even down play last years wins, so to not intimidate myself with anything that was potentially “overambitious”.

And that’s when the real question surfaced:

How much capacity do I actually have to hold more wealth?

Not earn it.

Not build it.

Hold it.

Because building wealth is one thing.

Being able to expand without shrinking yourself is another.

I realised that in subtle ways, I had been qualifying my growth. Adding disclaimers. Rushing past milestones. Moving the goalpost forward before I had even allowed myself to stand still and occupy the space I had already created.

It wasn’t about the money.

It was about visibility.

Could I allow the goal to exist, without explaining it?

Could I expand, without apologising for it?

Could I stop negotiating with myself about whether it was “reasonable”?

That was the real edge.

When I sat with that…without reacting, without reducing the target, something shifted.

My body softened.

The urgency dissolved.

The need to rehearse reasons faded.

There was space. A space that I had never felt before or sat with.

Not adrenaline.

Not hype.

Just steadiness.

Capacity, I’m learning, isn’t about how much money you can manage.

It’s about how much expansion you can tolerate without shrinking.

It’s about holding growth without minimising it. To yourself, to others.

Owning the progress without rushing to the next thing.

Letting success sit in the room without needing to justify why it belongs there.

Wealth doesn’t only grow in spreadsheets.

It grows in identity, quietly.

And perhaps holding the space for wealth isn’t about attracting more.

Perhaps it’s about no longer downplaying what you’re already capable of holding.

And as I opened the boot, she experienced all of it at once. My two other Labradors, Giuseppe and Peppi - chocolate and red. My three loud, excited children. My home. Her home. Her new forever home… after we navigated one more unknown - the staircase.

It was so much for her to take in.

But something shifted.

I watched it happen. The tension in her body softened. Her head cautiously lifted. Her nose reached forward. And then her tail, hesitant at first - began to swish.

Twenty months later, Tulip has flourished. She bounds up the staircase without thinking. She greets dogs of every shape and size at the park with joyful confidence. She curls into my children, plays endlessly with the other Labradors, and sleeps deeply on the sofa. Sometimes wagging her tail as she dreams.

She knows she is home. She knows she is safe.

From watching her journey, I’ve come to understand something I hadn’t fully grasped before.

Safety holds the space for abundance to build.

Tulip didn’t flourish because she was pushed to be braver. She flourished because she no longer had to brace.

And when I look at my own life, I can see moments where I have been bracing too. Checking accounts late at night. Adding one more task to an already full list. Moving quickly, not from inspiration, but from a quiet fear of falling behind.

Not searching for more, but searching for reassurance.

The shift for me wasn’t about doing more. It was about building safety first.

Safety that says: you will be okay.

You are okay.

And if something shifts, you will still be okay.

Safety that allows you to sleep deeply through the night. To spend without guilt. To check your investments, superannuation, and savings with steadiness instead of tension.

Tulip doesn’t scan the room anymore. She stretches out in the sun at Tamarama Beach, completely at ease. Her roots are down. Her body is soft.

She didn’t grow upward first.

She grew downward.

And the rest followed.

Lately, I’ve been feeling the cost of being “on” all the time.

Not just the exhaustion, but the emotional, mental, and even financial cost of it.

To the point where I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to sit still and breathe. To hear myself think. To feel my heart slow down and my body, even for a moment, melt safely into the sofa - knowing there is nowhere I need to be and nothing I need to solve.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a full life. I love momentum. I love the passion that comes from building something meaningful, the pride of caring for my family, the discipline of pursuing growth.

But recently, I’ve started noticing the quiet tax of constant readiness.

For me, it shows up in subtle ways.

My nervous system craving a slower pace.

My brain quietly asking for more space and even silence to operate clearly.

The low hum of overwhelm that I keep brushing aside with another list.

If I’m honest, what I need is actually very simple.

I need to stop and sit.

No - I need to learn to stop and sit.

Why is something so basic, so free, and so necessary so difficult for us to do for ourselves? Why do we create new tasks, new distractions, new justifications — anything to avoid the stillness that would actually restore us?

And when we do pause, even briefly, guilt often follows. As though rest is indulgent. As though stillness requires permission.

So we turn ourselves back on again.

As a financial planner, I’ve seen the financial cost of this state for years. But only recently have I felt it personally.

When we’re constantly “on”, decisions become reactive.

We throw money at problems just to reduce friction.

We postpone thoughtful planning because we don’t have the clarity to look beyond the next few days or weeks.

Everything becomes short-term survival.

And long-term wealth — the calm, intentional kind — requires something very different.

It requires space.

After going around in circles trying to “fix” this cycle, I stopped focusing on doing less and instead asked myself a different question:

What would being “on” less actually look like for me?

Not quitting. Not withdrawing.

Just softening the constant vigilance.

For me, the answer keeps returning to one word: boundaries.

Boundaries around my yes.

Boundaries around the length of my to-do list.

Boundaries around bedtime.

Boundaries around my time.

Boundaries around how much of myself I offer before I refill.

Not as restriction.

But as protection.

Because wealth is not just built through effort.

It’s sustained through regulation. Deep soulful regulation.

And perhaps the most powerful financial move we can make is not earning more — but learning when to turn ourselves off. Properly off.

Just for a while.

Just long enough to hear ourselves again, feel ourselves again, and see ourselves again.

Love Canna

If this resonated with you, you’re welcome to subscribe. I will be here each Friday.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about permission lately.

It started at bedtime — while trying to gently guide my two young girls, Apple and Tiger, back into their evening routine now that school is underway again. Like so many children, they suddenly find new questions, stories, and even perfectly timed fears just as the day is meant to soften into rest.

So instead of rushing them, I began talking to them about permission.

Permission to let their bodies relax.
Permission to feel safe.
Permission to rest, restore, and grow while they sleep.

Permission to trust that tomorrow will come, and they will be ready for it.

They were curious about this idea. And slowly, sweetly, they surrendered to it — drifting off peacefully, as though their bodies had been waiting to be told it was okay.

And it made me wonder.

When was the last time I gave myself that kind of permission?

Not permission from someone else — but the quiet kind.
The kind we give ourselves when no one is watching.
Inside our own head and heart.

Permission to be competent with money.
Permission to feel calm around my finances.
Permission to build security without guilt.
Permission to want more without shame.
Permission to receive abundance without apology.

As I sat with this, I realised something gently confronting: for a long time, I had been trying to build financial security and independence without ever actually allowing myself to have it.

And in the moment I did — truly did — something shifted.

There was a new sense of calm.
A quiet confidence.
A feeling of safety that settled in my body, not just my thoughts.

It felt faithful.
It felt fulfilling.
It felt like coming home to myself.

So I want to ask you — have you ever given yourself permission to build financial independence?

If not, this is the quiet conversation I had with myself.

I sat alone. No noise. No distractions.
I noticed where I had been seeking permission from others — and gently reclaimed it.
I allowed the uncomfortable feelings to be there, without rushing them away.
And I stayed long enough for them to soften into something steadier: a sense of safety, and a belief that financial harmony was something I was allowed to hold.

I keep this permission close now.
And when old habits try to pull me back, I return to it.

Quietly.
Intentionally.
Without apology.

SugarMamma: Quiet Wealth is a calm space to pause, reflect, and gently reshape your relationship with money — away from the noise, urgency, and pressure that surrounds it.

This isn’t a place for hustle, hot tips, or doing more.

It’s a space for:

• softening money anxiety

• releasing old scarcity stories

• reconnecting with self-worth and self-trust

• exploring manifestation in a grounded, realistic way

• remembering that wealth is meant to support your life, not consume it

You don’t need to read everything.
You don’t need to keep up.

Come here when you want perspective, reassurance, or a quiet reframe.

New reflections will be shared weekly — slowly, intentionally, and with care.

Thank you for being here 🤍
This space is yours too.

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