Charting My Own Course: A Journey from Pain to Purpose
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been determined to make the most of whatever life throws at me, and I love to be busy. I fell in love with music and dance at the age of 6, and by 12, I was already assisting as a dance teacher, working on reception, and occasionally teaching classes. Performing, teaching, and choreographing gave me a sense of purpose—a space where I thrived creatively and began collecting records.
Even after breaking my leg, I spent three days in the hospital and gotten so bored of sitting and waiting, I needed to be back at work and did within two weeks—riding my new moped with crutches in tow, getting involved behind the scenes at the dance school, and helping organise music for annual shows and exams. I never knew a time when I couldn’t just pick myself up and dust myself off.
Looking back, I can see where my passion for being part of a team comes from—being part of the magic behind the scenes. It’s a perfect fit for my Autistic heart!
Life in Mum’s bubble was a joy—time spent together was something I always looked forward to. Whether it was going to the cash and carry, grabbing coffee at Morrisons, meeting up with her Doggie friends, or helping out at her Dog Club, we shared so many hours together. She made life easy for me and even helped me set up for my DJ gigs. I loved playing some of her favourite songs during soundcheck, and we always had the best chats. There wasn’t a single moment we spent together where I didn’t feel unconditionally loved, understood, and accepted. I felt respected and valued with every minute we shared.
Family life was never the same after Mum died. Her passing catapulted me into the deepest void I had ever known. On the day of her funeral, Dad told me it would be ‘work as usual tomorrow,’ and that we had to ‘just get on with things.’ I didn’t fully understand what that meant at the time and brushed it off, as I was still holding on to the feeling of us all working together as a team. But everything changed after the funeral.
Despite my efforts to connect with my family the way I had with Mum, I found myself attracting more drama and conflict. I lacked the tools to understand my reality and assumed I could get along with everyone as I had with her, believing I could explore, express, or process my grief. But I hadn’t even begun to process what I had truly lost. The harder I tried to build connections with everyone, the more painful, awkward, confusing, and deeply conflicting it became. Nothing made sense. I began to feel foolish for even having thoughts and feelings, let alone sharing them.
By the age of 37, I still didn’t have a clear understanding of my situation. I even called Childline for help, but they refused to support me because, in their eyes, I was an adult. My family needed me to ‘grow up,’ and I needed to stand up for myself, but I was outnumbered, overruled, and constantly compared to my younger sister, who just wanted a ‘normal sister.’ Years of prolonged emotional isolation, dysregulation, and a deep psychological abyss left me feeling like I was never good enough as a daughter, sister, or later, an aunt. I grew up believing this was normal in family life.
Being born in the seventies and coming of age in the noughties, some might see this as a disadvantage. But I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, and I’ve maintained a strong philosophical perspective, gaining immense clarity through writing out my thoughts and feelings. Watching how other families interacted and supported each other emotionally and psychologically reaffirmed what I already knew—the deep, meaningful connection I had with my mother was real. Every positive interaction I observed in other families validated that bond and became like my favourite kind of movie. I learned so much by listening to their conversations and observing how they responded to one another in the moment. I couldn’t get enough of watching their interactions, yet all the while, my own ‘movie’ felt stuck on a loop and shaped my worldview.
I didn’t have the tools to fully recognise what was happening as I wasn’t in full view of the facts or reality of my situation and had no authorised access to the truth. I was undiagnosed and not self-aware or educated about boundaries unlike now—but imagine if I had been back then? It wouldn’t have been possible for me to tolerate or accept everything, nor would I have waited until my Dad became so overwhelmed and angered to say, ‘If you are still here in ten years’ time, I will resent you.’ That moment jolted me into action. Living without self-awareness, boundaries and authority over my own life led to that pivotal moment, sparking an introspective journey that would reshape the course of my life. Within two weeks, I had given notice to my tenants and was back in my own home, waking up on my 40th birthday in my own space.
Project ME became my sole focus—who I wanted to become, who I wanted to work for, and how to transform my entire life. This chapter was the most exciting and empowering I’d ever known. Reclaiming control and gaining clarity about what I truly wanted for my future became my most important project, and I never felt bored again. Each day was filled with optimism and hope, bursting with new ideas, thoughts, and feelings. Every minute became an opportunity to reflect or take action on improving my life, relationships, and work. I embraced every part of the process, setting out to create a life that aligned with how I truly wanted to feel. In January 2008, while on sick leave from work, I made the bold decision to leave everything and everyone behind to live life on my own terms, at sea.
I’m eternally grateful for the cards I’ve been dealt, even the ones that hurt to hold. They shaped me into someone who sees what others miss — the quiet struggles, the unspoken needs, the invisible gaps in support. My journey has given me a perspective few fully understand, but it’s also given me purpose. I’ve lived what it feels like to have no map, no guide, no handrail — and that is exactly why I now create them for others. I wouldn’t trade my path for anything, because it led me here: charting not just my own course, but helping others find theirs too.






