The Nest: Where Wildflowers Grow follows a former psychologist who builds an off-the-grid community for women seeking healing and helps them rediscover joy in life. What first inspired the idea of the Nest as a physical and emotional sanctuary?

The idea of the Nest began with looking at the world we live in, my own experiences and those of others, and questioning what safety really is, not just in a physical sense, but emotionally and psychologically as well. When I’m not writing, I work in a healing role, so I’ve always been interested in how people rebuild themselves after experiences that disrupt their sense of stability.

Despite my training in psychological interventions, I’ve come to understand that much of this process depends on being treated with care rather than judgment. We are often wounded in relationships, and it makes sense that healing, too, happens in relationships.

In The Nest, that idea expands into connection with the self, with others, and with the natural world—the physical reality of being held in a space, as well as the emotional experience of being listened to, supported, and allowed to slowly become whole again.

I wanted it to feel idealised and beautiful, but more importantly, I also wanted to convey it as real, attainable, and possible—something we, as humans, are capable of building together.

The novel treats acts of self-care, like eating proper food, resting, and listening, as radical. Why was it important to center those small acts?

Because this was how we began, and we’ve drifted away from this way of living. It was important to centre these small acts because deep emotional healing doesn’t require a degree, a master’s, or a doctorate; it often begins with the simple things that can be forgotten. Acts like connection, sharing a meal or a cup of tea, resting, and really listening to one another. By placing these at the heart of the novel, I wanted to show that what we often overlook as “small” is actually foundational.

I wanted to centre those acts because they are often where repair actually starts. The human psyche is something beautiful, but it can become overcomplicated in society, where we sometimes pathologise very human responses to difficult or abnormal circumstances. We are not broken. More often, what we need is a sense of belonging, of being cared for and loved, and, in turn, extending that care to others.

How important was it to show healing as something communal rather than individual?

I wanted to really emphasise that sense of connectedness, not just to each other, but to nature, the universe, and the vast unknown. Feeling unwell is often intertwined with disconnection, isolation, and loneliness, and those experiences can be deeply debilitating.

So I wanted to shine a light on healing as something relational and communal, rather than something that happens in isolation. When we feel held—by people, by environment, by something larger than ourselves—it becomes possible to begin to repair what feels fractured within us. I also wanted to convey the message that nobody is in this alone; connection to someone or something can always be found, because in many ways we are all connected in ways we can’t always see.

The novel suggests survival is only the beginning. What does “true healing” mean to you?

For me, “true healing” is about finding meaning through the challenges we face, and slowly discovering a sense of purpose in what follows. In retrospect, it often involves having something to do that feels of value to others, or to the world we live in. Alongside that, I believe love is central. Whether it’s love for another person, for many, or for the wider world around us, it becomes a kind of sustaining force, an energy that carries us forward and makes the journey feel more worthwhile, even when it’s difficult.

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