🌿 From boundless energy to burnout — and finding my way back.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been determined to make the most of whatever life throws at me — and I’ve always loved to be busy.
I fell in love with music and dance at the age of six, and by twelve, I was already assisting as a dance teacher, working on reception, and occasionally teaching classes. Performing, choreographing, and teaching gave me a sense of purpose — a space where I thrived creatively and began collecting records.
Even after breaking my leg, I only spent three days in the hospital before getting bored of sitting and waiting. I was back at work within two weeks — riding my new moped with crutches in tow, helping organise music for annual shows and exams, and supporting behind the scenes at the dance school.
I’ve never known a time when I couldn’t just pick myself up and dust myself off.
Looking back, I can see where my passion for teamwork began — being part of the magic behind the scenes.
I used to think I had boundless energy—I never knew where my endless stash of energy or resilience came from.
I was even called a 🐰 Duracell Bunny more than once.
Back then, I wore it like a badge of honour.
Now I see it differently.
I just seemed to pick myself up and keep going—
after Mum passed, after leaving my family behind,
after giving up my life at sea. ⚓
I returned as a 📚 published author.
I got married. 💍
I became mortgage-free. 🏡
The business was thriving. 📈
Then, on 17th February 2020—just a week before the world changed—
I had to do the unthinkable.
💔 Pause everything, and shatter the dreams of 20 learners,
when I realised in-person training could no longer continue.
🎧 The pinnacle of my DJ career—
the experience I had lovingly built for others—
had quietly become my lifeline.
A structure that anchored me.
A rhythm I could rely on. 🕰️
And just like that, it was gone.
Everything I’d created had to shift—because the world had shifted. 🌍
Then came the 🏗️ self-build project.
A practical joint decision—
but a costly personal one.
That loss hit differently.
We had to demolish the studio — the place that held my playlists, my voice, my rhythm — just to get the caravan in.
🎙️ The one space I’d built for freedom and expression—gone.
Sacrificed for what we thought we needed.
And with it, my creative space, my rhythm, my autonomy—my anchor.
On the surface, I was holding it together—
🧩 unconsciously unaware of what I was putting my body through,
or what was even keeping me alive.
Then the temporary teaching space I’d been using was taken back—
and my new studio still wasn’t ready.
The unraveling didn’t come all at once.
It crept in slowly, over years of pushing through—
💥 crash after crash,
🌀 more frequent episodes of dysregulation and dissociation.
🛋️ That’s when I admitted myself back into counselling—
just months before I received my diagnosis.
🧠 A late autism and ADHD diagnosis followed in May/June 2023—
but by then, I’d already lost far more than clarity.
While it gave language to parts of me I hadn’t understood,
it didn’t bring me—or my husband—any peace.
If anything, it cracked open everything I’d been holding together with a mask of perfection.
And it unleashed everything that came before—
unresolved, unseen, unspoken, and unhealed.
🧍♀️ Years of masking.
🏛️ Surviving in systems that praised my resilience but ignored my needs.
💪 Being capable—but never okay.
Eventually, my body said no.
Not gently—loudly. Unmistakably.
It pulled the plug on my ability to keep going,
and I had no choice but to listen. 🔌
What followed wasn’t a comeback.
It was a quiet collapse —and the even quieter restarting of my life,
from within the dissociative spells that pulled me away
from everyone and everything I knew and loved. 🫥
Business, employment, marriage, identity—all of it was threaded together.
🪢 And all of it had to be gently, painfully untangled.
COVID had pulled me into a high-pressure, reactive role—
still presenting as calm, competent, adaptable. 🧍♂️💼
But what I’ve found—beneath the striving and the silence—is something real:
💗 A desire to rebuild — not just for myself, but for others left behind by blurry diagnoses,
silent struggles, and systems that never saw them.
I’m not here to fix people.
I’m here to make space—
🪞 for reflection
🛠️ for recovery
🌈 for real change.
To help people upgrade the operating system they didn’t even realise they’d been running—
the one built on performance, pressure, and pushing through. ⚙️⏩
I offer the kind of support I wish I’d had when everything stopped making sense.
🔥 This isn’t just a story of rising again and again from the ashes.
🌫️ It’s a story of finally stepping out from behind the smoke.
💬 If any part of this resonates with you — you’re not alone. I’m Michelle, and I’m here for the moment it shifts.