I’ve been drawn to the spiral for as long as I can remember. Even as a little girl, long before I knew its name, I’d play and engage with this form.
I drew it in the sand with my fingers. I sketched it absentmindedly in notebooks, over and over. I look back now and I see it as a kind of divine doodling that felt more instinct than intention.
I saw it everywhere:
The curve of a shell I picked up as a child.
The spiralled tendril of a vine I once stared at for far too long.
The way the ocean curls into itself in a perfect, hypnotic arc.
There was something in that shape that felt ancient, familiar, and alive. I couldn’t explain it – only that I kept being drawn to it. Way before I understood its mathematical name – the Fibonacci spiral – I recognised it in my bones.
Taking you deeper
There is a beautiful rhythm to the spiral. It’s not a straight line, rushing from point A to B. It’s not a harsh angle or a rigid formula. It is a slow, graceful unfolding; a return and a progression at the same time.
I’ve often thought: this is how healing works. This is how self-growth happens. We revisit things. We come back to old patterns, old questions. And somehow, if we’re paying attention, we move a little deeper each time. A little closer to ourselves.
The spiral, for me, has become more than a shape. It’s a reminder. Of nature. Of rhythm. Of sacred timing.
A pattern that lives in us
When I trained as a behavioural strategist, I became even more aware of how physical environments affect our inner worlds. The spaces we occupy either nourish or deplete us. We might not consciously realise it, but our bodies always know.
The Fibonacci spiral exists everywhere in nature: in sunflowers, pinecones, hurricanes, galaxies. I believe it exists in us too. It’s the rhythm of our breath. The soft swirl of a fingerprint. The way we circle a thought before we speak it.
When I started using it intentionally in my design work, something clicked. An arch in a doorway. A spiral in a staircase. A curve in a passage that softly turns rather than cuts. These decisions, though often subtle, create spaces that feel alive – they hold us rather than direct us. They calm the nervous system and they allow beauty to unfold slowly, rather than shout its presence.
Intentional geometry
When we find ourselves in a beautiful space that moves us internally – it’s not the tiles or the wallpaper or the lighting that’s stirring this emotional reaction.
It’s a recognition. Our souls recognise something. A harmony. A holding. A homecoming.
The Fibonacci spiral feels spiritual to me. Not in a dogmatic way, but in a way that speaks to the hidden intelligence of the world. It’s sacred geometry – a reminder that there’s an order beyond the visible; a grace behind the mess.
Design can be deeply spiritual if we let it be. It’s not just how something looks, but how it feels. What it awakens in us. What it quiets. What it gives permission for, if we tune in.
Returning to ourselves
There are seasons in life where we feel linear – busy, forward-charging, ticking things off. But when I look back on my life, I see that my growth has happened in the spirals. I revisit old lessons with a new lens. I circle back to a truth I once ignored. I hold something again, and this time it penetrates differently.
This is the spiral’s gift – not just in form, but in process. We don’t have to move quickly. We don’t have to move perfectly. We just have to move with awareness.
And perhaps, we need to allow ourselves to be drawn by what we can’t quite explain. The shapes that show up again and again in our lives. The conversations that won’t leave us alone. They are clues.
A reminder
Today, the spiral is a ring on my finger. It lives in the scroll of my logo. It dances in the layout of a room or the gesture of a staircase. But more than that, it lives in how I try to show up – softer, slower, more aware.
So if, like me, you’ve ever been drawn to something – a shape, a colour, a word – without knowing why, I encourage you to stay curious. There is often meaning there. Not the kind that shouts, but the kind that waits earnestly for you to turn your mindful gaze toward it.
Not everything we love needs to be rationalised. Some things just need to be recognised.
