I don't usually write about personal things. But this one feels worth sharing.
Last year was the hardest of my adult life. My mum passed away in the spring after a long illness. I spent months driving back and forth to her house, sitting in hospital waiting rooms, managing paperwork I didn't understand, and holding myself together for everyone around me. When it was finally over, I didn't know what to do with myself. The busyness stopped and the grief rushed in to fill the space.
A few months later, a friend said something that stayed with me. She said: “You've spent a year giving everything to everyone else. Buy yourself something. Something just for you.”
I didn't know what that looked like. But I knew where to start looking.
Why a Bag
My mum loved bags. Proper ones — leather, well-made, things that lasted. She had a tan leather handbag she'd owned since before I was born. I used to watch her polish it at the kitchen table on Sunday evenings. When she died, I kept it. It sits on my dressing table now.
So when I decided to buy myself something, it was always going to be a bag. Something she would have approved of. Something made properly, made to last, made with the kind of care she put into everything she owned.
I found the Zatchels Olympia in Chestnut on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The colour stopped me immediately — that deep, warm chestnut, so close to the tan of my mum's old bag that it felt, in a way I can't entirely explain, like a sign. I read that it's handmade to order in a small UK workshop, using premium leather from a Scottish tannery. That it's a unique creation — no two exactly alike.
I ordered it that afternoon. And I added an engraving inside: her initials, in a font that felt right. Up to 15 characters, five fonts to choose from — a detail I hadn't expected and that meant more than I can say.
When It Arrived
I opened the parcel at the kitchen table — the same table where I used to watch my mum polish her bag. The chestnut leather was rich and warm, with a depth that photographs don't fully capture. The silver push-lock closure clicked open with a quiet precision. The interior was clean and spacious, with a slip pocket at the rear for my phone and keys.
And there, on the leather tab inside the lid, were her initials. Exactly as I'd asked. I sat with it for a long time before I put anything inside it.
Carrying It
The Olympia is 22.5cm wide, 16cm tall, 10cm deep — compact but genuinely practical. It holds my purse, phone, keys, a small notebook and my lip balm without complaint. The detachable crossbody strap adjusts from 120 to 130cm, so I can wear it crossbody on busy days or carry it by the grab handle when I want to feel more composed.
I've been carrying it every day since it arrived. It goes everywhere with me — to work, to the supermarket, to Sunday lunches with family, to the cemetery on quiet Tuesday mornings when I need to feel close to her.
The leather is developing a beautiful patina — warming and deepening with every week of use. It looks more itself with every passing month. I think my mum would have loved it. I think she would have polished it on Sunday evenings.
What It's Given Me
Grief is strange. It doesn't go away — it just changes shape. Some days the Olympia is just a bag I carry. Other days, when I open it and see her initials on the leather tab inside, it's a small, quiet comfort. A reminder that the things we choose to keep close to us can carry meaning far beyond their function.
My friend was right. Buying something just for me — something beautiful, something made with care, something that connected me to my mum in a way I hadn't anticipated — was exactly what I needed.
The Olympia in Chestnut is £95, handmade to order in Britain, with optional engraving up to 15 characters. If you're looking for something to mark a moment — a milestone, a memory, a person — I can't think of a more fitting choice.
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