About the messy human that I am

My journey back to myself

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a tendency to live in my head.

I experienced anxiety from a young age, and as I got older this developed into periods of depression, dissociation and feeling deeply disconnected from myself. I learnt to push through, keep going and be the person I thought I needed to be — often without really noticing what was happening inside my body.

After university, I went into the world of events management. I loved the energy, the creativity and the people, and for many years I thrived in the fast-paced world of concerts and festivals.

But the pace came at a cost.

Long hours, constant pressure, little sleep and very little space to slow down became normal. I was good at pushing through, so I did. Until eventually, my body made it impossible to continue.

In 2017, I experienced my first major crash. Over the following years I had recurring periods of extreme fatigue and other debilitating symptoms, until eventually, in 2021, I became house-bound and was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue/ME.

At the time, this completely changed my life.

I spent a year largely confined to my home and was told by doctors that I would likely have to manage the condition for the rest of my life. I felt frightened, isolated and completely disconnected from the person I had been.

But that period also became the beginning of something I couldn’t have imagined at the time.

I became deeply curious about myself.

I started exploring the relationship between the mind, body and nervous system, and began learning practices that helped me understand my patterns in a completely different way. Breathwork, somatic practices and nervous system education slowly became part of my life.

I learnt tools to regulate my nervous system. I learnt how to notice what was happening inside me, work with my stress responses and create more safety and capacity in my body.

And these tools changed my life.

But as I recovered, I realised that knowing how to regulate my nervous system wasn’t enough.

I didn’t just need more tools.

I needed to learn how to actually listen to my body.

For so many years I had been disconnected from my own needs and wants. I knew how to push through. I knew how to be productive. I knew how to override discomfort. But I didn’t really know how to recognise what my body was asking for — or even what it wanted.

So my recovery became less about finding the right technique and more about developing a relationship with my body.

I began to learn, somatically, what felt like a yes and what felt like a no. When I needed rest and when I wanted movement. What brought me pleasure. What felt nourishing. What felt overwhelming. Where I was pushing myself from fear, and where I was genuinely ready to expand.

I was learning my body’s language.

And eventually, I realised something else.

I didn’t want my whole life to become about regulating my nervous system.

I wanted to live.

I wanted joy, connection, curiosity, pleasure, movement, spontaneity, adventure and all of the messy, unpredictable parts of being human.

That realisation changed the way I understood recovery.

Recovery wasn’t about reaching some perfectly regulated state where nothing difficult ever happened again. It was about having enough connection with myself to meet whatever life brought.

It was learning to listen to my body after years of overriding it. Learning to trust its signals. Learning that my body wasn't something I needed to control or fix, but something I could begin to have a relationship with.

And slowly, my life began to expand again.

I started with tiny things — going for short walks, spending more time outside, reconnecting with people and gradually finding my confidence again. Over time, I was able to do more and more without the fear that had become such a huge part of my life.

Today, I live a life that once felt completely out of reach.

I run my own business. I walk, travel, spend time in nature, move my body and make plans for the future. I’m able to experience the full messiness of being human without feeling like every difficult day means something has gone wrong.

And perhaps most importantly, I no longer see recovery as reaching some final destination where everything is fixed and I never struggle again.

I still get overwhelmed. I still have difficult days. I still fall into old patterns. I still have moments where I forget everything I know.

I’m a messy human too.

But I have a relationship with myself now that I didn’t have before. I know how to listen. I know how to slow down. I know how to meet myself with more compassion. And I have a much greater sense of choice in how I respond to what life brings.

This is what ultimately led me to the work I do today.

Through my own experience, and through years of training in breathwork, somatics and nervous system science, I now support others who are wanting to feel more connected to themselves and their bodies.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because I know what it’s like to feel lost in your own body, to be overwhelmed by your own experience, and to wonder if things can ever feel different.

And I know that change doesn’t have to mean becoming a completely different person.

Sometimes it’s about coming back to the person who was already there.

You can find all my qualifications here