This chicken nugget is a little different.
It was such a beautiful day that I let all the girls out for a long free range. I sat with Sapphy on the grass as she’s not well, but I left the run door open so that the girls could get back in for fresh water and food.
All was good. The girls love to forage and Sapphy thoroughly enjoyed getting some sun on her back. There’s something very peaceful about watching them scratch about with absolutely no sense of urgency, as if the world can wait while they investigate a particularly interesting bit of grass.
After a couple of hours, they all start to head home, where they are safe and secure. When they’ve been out for a while they don’t require any coaxing back, they happily flock to the run to stock up on treats and fresh clean water. Their safe place. Their routine. Their version of comfort.
But when I got back, I saw we had a tiny little visitor.
A robin redbreast had found its way into the run, but was struggling to get out. What is a safe place for the hens had very quickly become a prison for the poor robin, who fluttered from side to side trying to find a way through something that simply wasn’t designed for it.
Same space. Completely different experience.
And there it is, the lesson, quietly flapping about in the corner.
We often assume that because something feels safe, normal, or even comforting to us, it must feel the same to everyone else. But comfort isn’t universal. It’s shaped by experience, by perspective, by what you’re used to, and sometimes by what you’ve had to endure.
The hens see food, shelter, routine.
The robin sees barriers, confusion, and no obvious way out.
Neither is wrong. They’re just seeing the same thing through completely different lenses.
And if you’re not the robin, it’s very easy to miss that entirely.
In the coming days we celebrate St George’s Day in England, our patron saint (born and raised in Greece, who never set foot in the UK, which is its own little irony).
The St George’s Cross will be everywhere. For many, it’s a symbol of pride, heritage, and identity. Something familiar. Something positive.
But for others, that same symbol has, over time, been pulled into spaces that feel far less welcoming. It has been used in ways that make some people feel excluded rather than included, uneasy rather than proud.
Same symbol. Completely different experience.
And this is where it matters.
Because the lesson isn’t “don’t celebrate” or “don’t feel proud.” That would be missing the point entirely. The lesson is awareness. It’s recognising that your version of “home” might feel very different to someone else standing in the same space.
It’s choosing to notice the robin.
It’s taking a moment to ask whether the space you’re in, the words you use, the symbols you carry, are opening doors or quietly closing them for someone else.
The hens didn’t do anything wrong. The run is exactly what they need it to be.
But the robin still needed a way out.
And maybe, as humans who like to think we’re a bit more evolved than a flock of chickens (jury’s out some days), our job is simply to pay attention to that. To hold our own sense of comfort, while still making room for someone else’s discomfort to be seen and understood.
Because in a world that feels increasingly divided, we don’t need to agree on everything.
But we do need to recognise that we’re not all standing in the same run.
Chicken Nuggets 