A Map Back to Myself

If I am completely honest, fun and I broke up years ago. Really speaking, I didn’t even notice when it “actually” happened, it just did. One day I was out there living something like a human firecracker and the next I was changing Jude’s nappies, pumping out invoices, and pretending that “being a grown up” was a personality trait. Motherhood swallowed whole pieces of me, business ownership chewed what was left, and somewhere in between it all I convinced myself that I had enough fun in my twenties to last a lifetime. “Been there, done that,” and frankly, the T-shirt was faded - though don’t get me wrong. Motherhood has been the most positively transformative journey I have had in my life and my career… 100% was my passion!

Nonetheless, I wore the sensible version of myself for more than twenty years. The responsible woman. The provider. The one who gets things done because other people count on her. I don’t resent her, she has held the line for the longest time (and continues to do so), and she did it well. But eventually… even she got tired of carrying the full weight of my life.

Something shifted within me. Not gradually, nope lol, more like being shoved sideways off a cliff by a PE teacher who had enough of my excuses and fake exemption slips. I woke up and found myself longing for soil under my nails instead of a calendar full of meetings. I wanted tomatoes and basil and jars that made that perfect little pop when you seal them. I wanted flour under my nails, dough on my kitchen counter, and the satisfaction of feeding a neighbourhood rather than feeding a bottom line.

But the biggest change wasn’t in how I earned my living, it was in how I earned MYSELF back. Between heartbreaks, business battles, and the slow erosion that comes from always being the “capable one,” my life stopped matching my soul. And once you notice that misalignment, you can’t unsee it. It’s like trying to ignore a pair of shoes that look fine but blister your heels with every step. Eventually, you take them off, or you bleed.

This last year? If I had to summarise it without swearing, I couldn’t. It was a demolition. A rebirth. A storm that didn’t ask permission before rearranging absolutely everything. I found myself crying in places where no one should cry and I shouted into pillows on most nights of the week. I screamed and cried in the shower so long I took credit for watering my garden. And each time I thought I had reached the climax of the chaos, life said, “Ag shame, my girl, you think that was the plot twist?” It wasn’t.

But something strange (and equally beautiful) happened within all that chaos and wreckage. When everything around me cracked and tore wide open, something inside me broke open too. A voice I never knew existed. Firm, raw and clear. She began speaking. She had very obviously been rehearsing for years, because when she arrived, she didn’t come quietly nor politely and listening to her, changed everything about where I stand today.

Life has this (sometimes) irritating habit of giving you what you need instead of what you requested. You imagine these “picture perfect unfoldings”, maybe a soft transition, but instead suddenly you are staring at the sky asking, “Who ordered this chaos? Because it definitely wasn’t me.”

But when you stop long enough, you start noticing tiny signals scattered throughout the mess. Little nudges. Coincidences that aren’t really coincidences. People who show up at the exact moment your strength runs out. Conversations you didn’t know you needed. Glimmers that remind you that even when life feels like a washing machine stuck on spin, everything is actually busy rearranging itself into a perfectly imperfect new shape.

In the middle of all this rebuilding, I started rediscovering things I thought were lost. Laughter that was not forced. Affection that didn’t come with small print. Moments that felt unarmoured. I remembered what it felt like to be loved in a way that didn’t require shrinking myself. I remembered that fun isn’t irresponsible, it’s nourishment. And, surprisingly, I remembered that fear isn’t always a red flag, sometimes it’s just the sensation of growing again.

I am learning to know myself all over again. Slowly but wholeheartedly, to feel more and think less. To loosen the grip. To let my own joy matter without apologising for it. To rediscover the parts of me that once danced barefoot on impulse. The youthful facets yes, but with the wisdom of a woman who has lived enough lives to know what is actually real and what is not.

Some moments still scare the living daylights out of me. But for the first time in a very, very long time, I’m not avoiding the fear. I am meeting it. Because stepping out of the cage I built for myself feels exactly like it should. Terrifying… and astonishingly alive.

Let that land where it needs to.