Who am I?

I'm not a therapist.

I'm not a life coach with a weekend certification and a pastel colour palette.

I'm not someone who came out the other side and now sells you the map.

I'm someone who is still walking. Loudly. Sometimes in the wrong direction. Always honestly.

Here's what I am.

I spent almost 20 years in finance. Not because I chose it but because someone I loved needed me to. I was good at it. I was miserable at it. I smiled in every meeting and cried in every car park and called that being professional.

Then one year everything collapsed at once.

The job. The friendships. The identity I had been performing for two decades. The version of myself I had built entirely around other people's needs and other people's dreams.

I hit a floor I did not know existed.

I stayed there longer than I would like to admit. I was awake at 3am with vodka and my phone and a silence that felt less loud at night when everyone else was also unavailable and it did not feel like abandonment. It just felt like night. My cats eventually gave up on sunrise and joined me. I had successfully corrupted two innocent animals with my grief spiral.

Slowly, not gracefully, not linearly, not the way anyone tells you it happens, I started to come back.

Not to who I was before. She is gone and honestly good riddance. She worked herself half to death for people who never once asked if she was okay.

To someone new. Someone I am still meeting. Someone I think I am going to like enormously when I finish building her.

This blog exists because of the silence.

When I was at my lowest nobody checked on me. Not one message. Not one call. Not one are you okay.

And I realised that somewhere out there right now there is a woman lying on her floor who also has nobody checking on her. Who is also performing strength for a world that never once asked what it cost her.

This is for her.

Not advice. Not a roadmap. Not toxic positivity in a pretty font.

Just honest words from someone sitting on the same floor, slightly further along, saying: I see you. You are not alone. And the mess you are in right now is not the end of the story.

What you will find here: honest writing about healing, the real kind not the Instagram kind. Starting over. Grief. Identity. Toxic patterns. Financial fear. And the specific dark humour that only comes from surviving things that were genuinely not funny at the time.

Occasionally: cats. Always: the truth.

No fixing. No preaching. No everything happens for a reason.

Just one woman writing letters back to the version of herself who needed them most.

Welcome. I am glad you found this. 🪶

rise · believe · fly