The Trio & Me

From trauma to triumph

recent posts

about

For almost forty years, my life was shaped by trauma — the kind that settles into your bones and teaches you to survive instead of live. But survival is not the end of the story. Not mine, and not my children’s. This blog begins in the year before I turn forty, the year I finally decided to change the ending. I made a choice: To right what I could, release what I couldn’t, and rebuild what was broken. To stop shrinking from my own life and start shaping it. To heal — deeply, honestly, and fully — not just for me, but for my three children who have walked through every storm beside me. They are my reasons to rise. My three small suns in a sky that has seen too many clouds.
  • 40 Things to do before I turn 40 (26)

    40 Things to do before I turn 40 (26)

    26. Track my ancestry DNA

    Not having a relationship with my biological parents has been a challenge for most of my life. I think one of the biggest parts of that has been not really knowing where I come from, and not feeling like I belong to a particular community, village or family.

    I’ve made peace with that in so many ways. I’ve built my own family and my own life, and the family I’ve created means more to me than anything. But there are still parts of where I came from that carry a lot of heartache, and questions I’ve never really had answers to.

    When I was around 20, I asked my mother’s family who my biological father was. I didn’t have a relationship with my mother to be able to ask her myself (they also didn’t have a relationship with her), so I relied on the information she had given them when she came back pregnant. They gave me the name of the man my mother had told them was my father, and for the first time I thought I finally had an answer to one of those questions.

    I eventually met him a couple of times. We never did a DNA test. He didn’t know anything about me because my mother had left when she was in the early stages of pregnancy and hadn’t turned back. My announcement that he was my dad was just as much a shock to him, as it was for me to finally meet him. But by the time I appeared in his life, almost 20 years had passed. He had a wife, children and an entire family that had existed without knowing anything about me.

    I chose to not pursue a relationship with him. My presence seemed to bring his family more grief than it brought me answers. His children had grown up with their family together, while I knew exactly what it was like to have no real family at all. His wife also struggled to see me as anything other than a connection to my mother – someone who had brought her pain for a long time, as the woman who had been the love of his life before her.

    So I stepped away.

    For a long time, I painted that decision as something noble. I told myself that I was protecting his family and that I didn’t want my existence to cause pain or disrupt the lives they had built together. I knew stepping away hurt him, but I thought it was better for everyone else.

    Looking back now, I can admit that it wasn’t entirely noble. I was scared. Maybe even a little cowardly. I knew what it felt like to grow up without a family, and I was terrified of being responsible for causing cracks in somebody else’s. Instead of believing there might have been room for me as well, I decided that the safest thing was to remove myself.

    So I did.

    And now, almost 20 years later, there is something almost comical about discovering that the sacrifice I thought I was making may have been completely in vain.

    Because the ancestry DNA results have raised the possibility that he may not have been my biological father at all.

    When I looked through the people who share DNA with me, the names and family connections weren’t familiar. They don’t seem to connect to the family history I thought I knew. Suddenly, my paternity is a mystery again.

    And that’s probably the part I’m struggling with the most. I don’t have a relationship with my mother, so I don’t had the opportunity to sit across from her and ask her myself. The only answer I had was the one she had given her family – and it seems there is a possibility that wasn’t the truth either.

    It feels strange to think that there was one piece of information she could have left me that would have helped me understand where I came from, and even that may not have been true.

    I’m not overly surprised. My mother’s relationships were complicated, and she wasn’t always faithful. She also wasn’t someone who stayed. When I was still quite young, she left me with her boyfriend when she moved on to another relationship. There are a lot of pieces of that history that I’ve spent years unpacking, and this is simply another one.

    But this particular piece can wait.

    Maybe one day I’ll follow those DNA connections and find out exactly what they mean. Maybe there’s another person, another family and another entire part of my history sitting within those results. Just because the answers might now be available doesn’t mean I need to find them straight away.

    Although, if anyone is looking for their next Find My Family-style documentary, I’m your gal. Mystery father, surprise DNA matches, complicated family history, a redhead with a questionable family tree – honestly, most of the storyline has already written itself. 😂

    For now, though, I’ve spent enough of the lead-up to 40 unpacking the past. I think I’m allowed to leave this particular box closed until I’m ready to open it.

    As part of my 40 Things Before 40, I did the ancestry DNA kit because I wanted to know a little more about where I came from. And despite the questions it has raised, it did give me that. The results showed what I guess my red hair has been confirming all along – I’m a mixture of Irish, Scottish and other parts of the UK.

    For someone who has spent most of her life knowing very little about her biological family history, I actually really enjoyed discovering that. For once, it gave me something about my history that didn’t rely on somebody else’s version of events.

    And here’s a little sneak peek of something that will be added to my next list. Once I’ve turned 40 and had some breathing and healing space, I’ll eventually start working on my 50 Things to Do Before 50 list. One thing that will definitely be on there is to visit the places that showed up in my ancestry DNA.

    I’d love to visit Ireland, Scotland and the other parts of the UK connected to my results. After spending so much of my life not really knowing where I came from, I think actually getting to see those places for myself will be pretty special.

    Maybe by then I’ll also be ready to explore the unanswered part of these results. Maybe I won’t. There doesn’t need to be a deadline on that.

    For now, knowing a little more about where I come from is enough

    And a little preview of the next decade – I’ll see you soon Ireland & Scotland 🇮🇪🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do before I turn 40 (25)

    25. Do an 8 week challenge

    This one sounded fairly simple when I added it to the list: commit to something for eight weeks and actually see it through.

    For my first eight-week challenge, I decided to strip things back and focus on what I was putting into my body. For eight weeks, I cut out the junk – soft drink, chocolate, heavily processed foods and all of those little things that are incredibly easy to reach for when life is busy, stressful or exhausting.

    And because life is almost always some combination of busy, stressful and exhausting, there were definitely challenges.

    There were moments when convenience would have been easier. Moments when I wanted the chocolate, wanted the soft drink, or could have very easily told myself that one won’t hurt. But the point of this challenge wasn’t really about whether I ate a piece of chocolate.

    It was about making a commitment to myself and keeping it. And I did.

    I feel genuinely good for it – physically, but also mentally. There is something really satisfying about proving to yourself that you can stick with something, particularly when nobody else is holding you accountable.

    So naturally, I’ve decided to make the next one a little harder.

    Next challenge begins next week. I’ll once again be cutting out the unhealthy foods, but this time I’m expanding the challenge beyond food. I’ll be adding some other unhealthy habits to the “no” list, while deliberately adding more of the things I know are good for me – extra movement and exercise, mindfulness, and making time to properly look after myself.

    The first eight weeks were about proving that I could commit. The next eight are about seeing what happens when I take that commitment a little further.

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do, before I turn 40 (24)

    40 Things to do, before I turn 40 (24)

    24. Try pottery

    This was one of those things I added to my 40 Things list to break up some of the bigger, more adventurous items.

    There was no deep meaning behind it. No lifelong dream of becoming a potter. No desire to suddenly discover an untapped artistic talent. I simply wanted to try pottery.

    And it actually worked out perfectly, because we tied it in with our mid-year staff social. So not only did I get to tick something off my list, I got to do it surrounded by the work girls, with plenty of laughs along the way.

    And the verdict?

    I enjoyed it! It was relaxing, something completely different, and a really nice way to spend an afternoon.

    Will pottery become my new personality? Probably not.

    As someone who loves a clutter-free home, I’m not overly enthusiastic about slowly filling it with an assortment of slightly wonky, awkward, child-like pottery creations that I then feel emotionally obligated to keep forever. But hey… maybe I’ve found everyone’s Christmas presents for the next few years instead.

    That’s kind of the point of this list, though. Not everything has to be life-changing. Not everything has to push me completely outside of my comfort zone or come with some profound lesson attached.

    Sometimes it’s simply about saying, “I’ve always wanted to try that,” and then actually doing it.

    Pottery – tried it, enjoyed it, ticked it off.

    Would I recommend it? Absolutely. Such a lovely, relaxing afternoon.

    Would I do it again? Maybe.

    But next time, whatever I make is going home with someone else.

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (23)

    40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (23)

    23. Study a course

    When I first wrote study a course on my 40 Things Before 40 list, I genuinely thought I would find some little 12-week course that sparked my interest. Maybe something creative, something practical, or something completely random that I had always wanted to learn. I imagined it being one of the easier things on the list — enrol, learn something new, get a certificate at the end and put a nice big tick beside it. I certainly didn’t imagine that those three little words would somehow turn into me enrolling in an entire Bachelor of Psychology (Honours).

    But as I started looking at courses, I kept coming back to the same thing. I didn’t just want to learn something for the sake of learning it. I wanted to choose something that meant something to me. Something that could help me, and maybe eventually help other people too. The more I searched, the more psychology kept appearing, and the more I thought about it, the more obvious it became why. A huge part of my 40 Things Before 40 list has been about healing. It has been about challenging myself, learning who I am, doing things alone, becoming comfortable in my own skin and figuring out what my life looks like when I’m not simply surviving it. Psychology somehow felt like another piece of that.

    I wanted to understand my brain. Not just in the emotional, therapeutic sense of understanding myself, but actually understand what was happening inside it. I wanted to understand trauma and memory, behaviour and emotions, triggers and responses. I wanted to understand why sometimes I could be completely rational and grounded, and other times the smallest thing could make my entire nervous system behave as though something terrible was happening again. I wanted to know why I responded to certain situations the way I did. Why I could lose myself in the smallest of triggers. Why my body could react before my logical brain had even worked out what was wrong.

    I live every day with trauma ingrained into parts of me. Having complex PTSD means that sometimes my reactions don’t make sense until I stop and trace them backwards. Some days are incredibly hard and others are an absolute breeze. Some days I can be triggered by a smell, by walking past a particular item in the supermarket, by the expression on a stranger’s face, a tone of voice, a sound, or something so ordinary that another person wouldn’t even notice it. Something can transport my nervous system somewhere my conscious mind wasn’t planning on going. Then, on another day, I can talk openly about trauma, hear incredibly difficult stories, reflect on things that have happened in my own life and be completely okay. That contradiction fascinated me. How could my brain cope with something enormous one day, yet be completely overwhelmed by something seemingly insignificant the next?

    Therapy has helped me understand so much of myself, and healing has already changed the way I experience my life, but I found myself wanting to go deeper. I wanted to know the science behind what I was experiencing. I wanted to understand what trauma actually does to us, why memories can carry so much power, why our bodies can remember things our conscious minds aren’t actively thinking about, and why humans develop the coping mechanisms that we do. I didn’t want to look at myself as a collection of reactions that needed to be fixed. I wanted to understand how those reactions came to exist in the first place.

    I kept asking myself whether I could truly understand my own healing if I didn’t understand my brain. Maybe I didn’t need to understand all of it to heal, but I wanted to. I have spent so much of my life asking why? Why did these things happen? Why did people behave the way they did? Why did I tolerate certain things? Why did I respond in particular ways? Why did I become fiercely independent in some areas of my life and incredibly vulnerable in others? Eventually, some of those questions shifted from why did this happen to me? to what did all of this teach my brain to do in order to survive? That was a much more interesting question.

    So, because apparently I don’t do anything by halves, instead of enrolling in a short course, I applied for a Bachelor of Psychology (Honours).

    It sounded slightly ridiculous even to me. I had written study a course, not commit yourself to years of university. A psychology degree isn’t something I can neatly complete before I turn 40. It isn’t a quick qualification that I can frame, photograph and tick off the list. It is years of study. And the more I learn, the more I realise how much there is still to learn. There is every possibility that I’ll still be studying the human brain in some capacity in 10 years, 20 years, or on my deathbed — and strangely, I love that idea. I don’t want to reach an age where I decide I know enough. I want to keep questioning things, challenging what I think I know and discovering new ways of understanding people and myself.

    So I applied. And I was accepted.

    Then came the slightly inconvenient realisation that I actually had to do the degree.

    I took on a full-time study load while continuing to work full-time. I remained a mum to three children who still needed me regardless of whether I had an assignment due at midnight. I continued doing everything that comes with my career and the responsibility I carry there. I still made time for my kids, my friends and the people I love. I still went out. I still laughed. I still had adventures. I still took myself away alone. I still worked through therapy and healing. I still kept working my way through this 40 Things list. Life didn’t stop so that I could study psychology; psychology had to somehow squeeze itself into the life I already had.

    And there were definitely moments where I questioned my life choices.

    There were ridiculously late nights staring at a laptop when every sensible part of me knew I should have been asleep. There were weekends swallowed by assignments and journal articles. There were moments when I would finish a full day at work, come home and do all the things that needed to be done as a mum, and then open my laptop knowing that my day wasn’t even close to finished. There was an irresponsible amount of coffee involved. There were times when I was exhausted, frustrated and wondering why I hadn’t just chosen a nice little scrapbooking course like a normal almost middle aged women.

    But there were also moments where I would sit in front of something I was learning and think, Oh. That makes sense.

    Not necessarily because a textbook was explaining my life to me, but because I was beginning to understand human behaviour differently. I was learning how complicated we are. I was learning that our brains are extraordinary, messy, adaptive things. I was learning about development, perception, cognition, behaviour, counselling, culture and the countless factors that shape the way people experience the world. I started noticing things differently. I started asking better questions. I became more aware of how much we can never know about another person’s experience simply by looking at their behaviour from the outside.

    And somewhere amongst all of that learning, I was also proving something to myself. I worked ridiculously hard.

    I didn’t just want to pass. I wanted to know that I had given it everything I could. I studied when I was tired. I researched until things made sense. I rewrote things when they weren’t good enough. I pushed myself academically in a way I hadn’t done for a very long time. I had moments of doubt and moments where I wondered whether I had taken on too much, but I kept going.

    And the results came back.

    Three High Distinctions. Full marks across the three courses I enrolled in.

    I stared at some of those results in complete disbelief, because while I knew how much work I had put into them, there was still a part of me that wasn’t expecting to do that well. And I am so incredibly proud of myself. Not in an embarrassed, minimise-it-so-I-don’t-sound-too-proud kind of way. I am genuinely, unapologetically proud of myself.

    Because those grades aren’t just numbers on a university transcript to me. They represent nights when I could have decided I was too tired. They represent juggling motherhood, full-time work, study, healing and an actual life. They represent choosing to challenge myself at 39 when it would have been much easier to tell myself that university belonged to a different stage of my life. They represent discovering that my capacity to learn didn’t disappear because I got older, became a mother, built a career or accumulated responsibilities.

    More importantly, this wasn’t about proving that I was smart enough to study psychology. Somewhere along the way, it became about giving myself permission to remain curious about who I am.

    For so much of my life, my energy went into surviving what was happening around me. Then it went into building stability. Then raising children, building a career, keeping everyone safe, being responsible, being dependable and being the person who could handle things. Turning 40 has made me think differently about what I want the next part of my life to contain. I don’t only want to survive things or accomplish things. I want to understand. I want to keep growing. I want to keep learning simply because there is an entire world of things I don’t know yet.

    Maybe one day this degree will lead somewhere completely different professionally. Maybe I’ll continue working in spaces where understanding trauma, development and human behaviour allows me to advocate more strongly for children and families. Maybe I’ll keep studying far beyond the degree. Maybe parts of what I learn will simply make me a better mother, leader, friend and human being. I don’t actually know where it ends yet, and for once, I don’t think I need to.

    What I do know is that I started this because I wanted to understand myself more deeply, and already it has given me so much more than I expected.

    There is something incredibly empowering about taking the things that once made me ask, What is wrong with me? and replacing that question with curiosity. What happened here? What did my brain learn? What purpose did that response once serve? What does the research tell us? And what can I do with that knowledge now?

    Maybe that’s another part of healing too.

    Not erasing what happened. Not pretending the triggers don’t exist. Not reaching some imaginary finish line where nothing ever hurts again. But slowly understanding yourself well enough that your reactions no longer feel like a mystery. Understanding that the brain that sometimes frustrates me is also the same brain that found ways to survive, adapt, learn, parent, lead, love, study and keep moving forward.

    When I wrote study a course on this list, I thought I was giving myself a little challenge. Instead, I accidentally gave myself the beginning of something that could stay with me for the rest of my life.

    I haven’t finished my psychology degree, so technically this one doesn’t have the same neat ending as some of the other things on my list. I can’t say done, never have to do that again. In fact, I’ve really only just started.

    But I did what I wrote on the list. I studied a course. Actually, I studied several of them.

    I worked full-time, studied full-time, raised my children, continued living my life and somehow came out the other side with three High Distinctions and results that I am ridiculously proud of.

    At 39, I decided that understanding myself was worth studying for. At 40, I’ll still be learning. And hopefully at 50, 60, 70 and beyond, I’ll still be learning too.

    Because perhaps this one was never really about completing a course. Maybe it was about proving to myself that there is no age where we have to stop becoming someone new.

    I may have slightly misunderstood the assignment. But I’m really bloody proud that I did. 3 courses down – 29 to go! 😅

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do before I turn 40 (22)

    40 Things to do before I turn 40 (22)

    22. Watch a sunrise and sunset in the same day each month

    This one began with the sunrise on my 39th birthday.

    I made a quiet commitment to myself that, at least once every month until I turn 40, I would watch the sunrise and the sunset on the same day. Some months, I’ve done it more than once. Not because I had to tick something off a list, but because somewhere along the way, these two little moments became something I genuinely needed.

    I have woken before the rest of the world – or at least before my little world has started moving. While everyone else is still tucked up in bed, I’ve slipped away and found somewhere to watch the sky change.

    There is something incredibly peaceful about being awake when everything around you is still. 

    No one needs anything from me. There are no emails to answer, no decisions to make, no responsibilities demanding my attention. For those few moments, I don’t have to be a mum, a boss, a student, a caregiver, or anything else. I can just be me.

    And I’ve used that time. I’ve sat quietly with my thoughts. I’ve cried. I’ve smiled. I’ve thought about the things I am grateful for and the things that still hurt. I’ve processed emotions I didn’t even realise I was carrying. Some mornings I’ve arrived with a heavy heart, and other mornings I’ve felt overwhelmingly grateful simply to be there – to watch another day begin.

    There is something hopeful about a sunrise. No matter what happened yesterday, the sun comes up again.

    Then, at the other end of that same day, I’ve stopped again. I’ve watched the sun disappear and reflected – not on my whole life or everything I still need to figure out, but simply on that day 

    How was today? Did I do something meaningful? Did I laugh? Did I connect? Did I take care of myself? Did I spend my energy on things that actually mattered?What am I proud of? What could I have done differently? What can I leave here, with this sunset, instead of carrying it into tomorrow?

    I think that has been the most beautiful part of this challenge. It has taught me to stop measuring my life only by the big things – the milestones, achievements, mistakes, losses and plans – and instead pay attention to the individual days that make up a life.

    A sunrise reminds me that I get to begin again.

    A sunset reminds me that I’m allowed to let things go.

    And somewhere between the two, I get another day to live.

    Each month, these have been private little moments that belonged entirely to me. No audience. No expectations. Just me, the sky, my thoughts and whatever emotions decided to show up.

    What started as something to put on my 40 Things list has quietly become one of the most healing rituals of my 39th year. Thirty-nine has been a year of letting go of so much – of trying to understand what has happened to me, what I have carried, what I want to keep carrying and what I am finally ready to put down.

    And I think this might be one I carry with me long after 40. 

    🤍 K 

  • 40 things to do before I turn 40 (21)

    40 things to do before I turn 40 (21)

    21. Go skinny dipping

    For most of my life, I have hated my body.

    I’ve picked it apart in mirrors. I’ve wished parts of it were smaller, smoother, different. I’ve battled weight gain, struggled with weight loss, and spent far too many years believing my body needed to look a certain way before it deserved to be loved.

    But the relationship I have with my body goes much deeper than what I see in the mirror.

    This body has been through trauma. It has experienced sexual abuse and physical abuse. There have been times when my body hasn’t felt like it belonged entirely to me, and times when I have blamed it for things that were never about how it looked, and times it was used for others enjoyment. I haven’t always cared for it the way it deserved to be cared for. Sometimes I have punished it, criticised it, hidden it and wished it could simply be different.

    But lately, I’ve been trying to change the way I see it. Because this body has also done some pretty incredible things.

    This body has grown and carried babies. It has held the people I love tightly in its arms. It has comforted children, wiped tears, worked ridiculously long days and kept going when I thought I had nothing left. It has danced. It has laughed until it hurt. It has loved deeply. It has carried me through some of the hardest moments of my life and somehow continued moving forward.

    It might have scars, softness, stretch marks and imperfections, but every part of it tells a story. And maybe loving my body isn’t about finally getting it to look the way I once thought it should.

    Maybe it’s about finally appreciating everything it has already done.

    So, somewhere on my 40 Things Before 40 list, I wrote:

    Go skinny dipping.

    It sounded cheeky and adventurous when I wrote it. Something slightly outside my comfort zone. Something that would make a good story one day.

    And wow… it was certainly an experience in itself.

    But standing there, completely exposed, there was something unexpectedly freeing about it too.

    No hiding behind clothes. No carefully chosen angles. No sucking my stomach in. No worrying about whether something was flattering. Just me – exactly as I am.

    And for once, instead of immediately finding something about my body to criticise, I made a different choice.

    I chose to let it exist. I chose to appreciate it. I chose to be grateful for it.

    And somewhere between taking my clothes off and taking that plunge, something shifted.

    It wasn’t suddenly believing my body was perfect. It wasn’t magically undoing decades of insecurity or pretending that I will never have another day where I look in the mirror and struggle with what I see.

    It was simply deciding that I don’t want to spend the next forty years at war with the body that carried me through the first forty.

    I want to look after her now. I want to move because it feels good. Nourish myself because I deserve care. Wear the clothes I love. Swim without worrying about how I look getting out of the water. Take the photograph.

    And apparently… occasionally swim completely naked. Because this body is mine.

    After everything it has survived, everything it has created, everything it has carried and everyone it has loved – I think it’s about time I started loving it too.

    Turns out I took off a little more than my clothes that day. I left behind a little piece of the shame, too.

    I’ve also shifted the music on my social media for the next 20 items on my 40 list – to be all of my favourite songs. Starting with my favourite band – the Cranberries, I love all of their songs (they may feature again in the next 20 items 😅)

    (Tried to post a photo that was ok to send into the world 😅)

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do.. Before I turn 40 (20)

    40 Things to do.. Before I turn 40 (20)

    20. Go on a solo holiday

    This one was the most challenging, but oh, was it one of the most rewarding things I could have done.

    For almost 19 years, my life has revolved around being the best mother I could be. Whilst at times that title has slipped, and I haven’t always been the mother I wanted to be, one thing I have always done is be there. I have been with my children every single day. I’ve been a part of every single part of their lives – the big moments, the little moments, the chaos, the cuddles, the celebrations, the hard days and everything in between. Being a mum has never just been a part of my life; for so long, it has been my life.

    On the rare occasions when my kids weren’t around, I filled that time with social contact. I kept myself busy, surrounded myself with friends and made sure there was always someone around. In fact, in 19 years, the longest I had ever gone without being with either my children or a friend was 18 hours. And that was tough. I had become so used to being needed, surrounded and connected that the thought of being completely alone felt almost foreign.

    So this year, as part of my 40 Things to Do Before I Turn 40, I decided to do something completely out of character. I went away by myself. Just me. I booked a tiny home in the middle of the Noosa hinterland, with no children, no friends, no responsibilities and absolutely no plans. And honestly, I had no idea what I was going to do with myself.

    The first night, I cried. I missed my babies. I felt uncomfortable, lonely and probably a little bit ridiculous for voluntarily putting myself in a tiny house in the middle of nowhere. And because I am an avid horror movie and true crime watcher, my imagination ran wild. Every noise became suspicious, every shadow looked sinister, and I spent a fair amount of time wondering why I had thought this was a good idea.

    But eventually, I let myself feel it. I let myself miss them. I let myself feel uncomfortable. And then I parked it there. Slowly, I began to unwind. And somewhere between the quiet, the rain and the complete lack of responsibility, something shifted. I started to really enjoy being there.

    I went to the markets by myself and bought beautiful, fresh local produce. I ate so many delicious things. I smiled at the locals and people-watched for hours. I slept in. I watched the rain from my bed and even saw a rainbow. I sat in silence, listening to the trees and the rain, and sometimes I played music and simply enjoyed the little house around me. I wandered around the property, patted cows and showered outside in the rainwater shower. I spent afternoons in the plunge pool enjoying a few wines. I made sourdough every day. I read, I wrote, I baked and I explored the local area. I had no agenda, no schedule and nowhere I needed to be.

    And it was beautiful.

    I realised how rarely I actually stop. How often my mind is thinking about the next thing that needs to be done, the next person who needs something from me, the next responsibility waiting for me. Even when I have time off, I am usually still doing something for someone else. This time, there was no one else to think about. There was just me.

    And for once, I had nowhere I needed to be. No schedules. No responsibilities. No one needing anything from me. Just me.

    Most importantly, I remembered that there is a version of me that exists outside of being a mum, a friend, an employee, a partner and everyone else’s support person. A version of me who loves slow mornings, fresh bread, reading, writing, exploring, cooking, rain, quiet and doing absolutely nothing. A version of me who doesn’t need to be productive every second of the day. A version of me who can simply exist without having to give something to someone else.

    This experience gave me something I didn’t realise I needed: the chance to simply be with myself. To connect with a part of me that has always been there, but is so often pulled into the needs of others. I didn’t go away because I wanted to escape my life. I went away because I wanted to experience myself outside of it.

    And perhaps that was the most rewarding part.

    I learnt that being alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely. Sometimes, being alone is where you finally get to hear yourself. Sometimes, the quiet gives you the space to remember who you are beneath all the roles you carry.

    And honestly? It was wonderful.

    I highly recommend taking time for yourself, even if the thought of it makes you uncomfortable. Step into the discomfort. Sit with the loneliness. Let yourself miss the people you love. And then see what happens when you give yourself permission to simply be.

    Because sometimes the things that scare us the most are the things that give us the most.

    This is something I want to do more of. Not because I love being away from the people I love, but because I am learning that I deserve to spend time with myself too.

    Maybe this is what turning 40 is really about – not becoming someone different, but finally making space for the person you have always been.

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do before I turn 40 (19)

    40 Things to do before I turn 40 (19)

    19. Learn to make bread

    So, this item on my list doesn’t hold quite the same significance as some of the previous ones. It’s simply on my list because it was something I wanted to try and do this year.

    One of my favourite things to do is go out for breakfast. I enjoy social interactions so much more over a coffee and a slice of sourdough than I do on a night out drinking. This year, I’ve also been consistent with regular self-care each month, treating myself to solo breakfast dates. And whenever I’m at breakfast, my order is almost always the same: toasted sourdough and a coffee.

    So, learning to bake my own sourdough felt like a natural addition to the list.

    I went to a sourdough workshop with a good friend of mine, where together we learned all the tricks to making the perfect loaf. We left with our bread ready to complete its rise at home, along with our own starter to continue making loaves ourselves.

    Mine has affectionately been named “Dumble-Dough” – for all the Harry Potter fans out there, you’ll understand. 😅

    By the time my loaf had completed its cold fermentation and was finally baked, two days had passed. My oven was a little too hot, so the loaf came out slightly crispier than intended, but honestly, it was still a great end to the process – and I enjoyed every last crumb!

    I’ll definitely continue making loaves in the hope of eventually achieving the perfect one. I’ve already learned that it’s going to take a fair amount of trial and error, patience, and plenty of practice. But I’m up for the baking challenge as the year continues, and I might even share a loaf or two along the way!

    For anyone wanting to give sourdough making a go, I’d say go for it.

    It’s been a real “trust the process” exercise – one that requires patience, consistency, and a willingness to slow down. And perhaps that’s part of what I’ve enjoyed most about it.

    Not everything on my list has to hold some deep or life-changing significance. Sometimes, it’s simply about trying something new, enjoying the process, and finding a little joy in the everyday: a slice of sourdough and a cup of coffee!

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to be.. Before I turn 40 (18)

    40 Things to be.. Before I turn 40 (18)

    18. Step out of my comfort zone, and say YES!

    This year, I knew I wanted to have fun along the way while completing my 40 Things Challenge. I knew there would be triggering moments. I knew some of the things on my list would take me into places that felt very real, very raw, and at times, uncomfortable.

    But I also wanted to make sure there were plenty of moments of joy along the way – things to look forward to when life felt a little heavy.

    So, I decided to say yes.

    Yes to the birthday invitations. Yes to the dress-up nights. Yes to the social invitations I would normally find an excuse to avoid.

    A big part of who I am has always been about finding peace. And for me, peace had slowly started to look a lot like becoming a bit of a hermit.

    My downtime became time with my kids – watching movies, playing board games, and doing all the things they love. And somewhere along the way, over the last few decades, I lost a little bit of myself. I put me aside in an attempt to be the perfect mum. To be honest, the last almost 20 years has been solely focused on my kids, I don’t know who I am without them.

    So saying yes wasn’t just about having fun.

    It was about finding me again. And boy, have I had some fun. ❤️

    I’ve hit the nightclubs in ridiculous dress-up outfits, gone to the theatre dressed in costume, celebrated birthdays, and shown up for so many of the beautiful moments that the people closest to me have shared.

    Things I might once have talked myself out of. Moments I might once have missed. Things I know I did miss, mostly intentionally.

    There’s still plenty more to come, but now, almost halfway through my 40 Things Challenge, I can honestly say that I’m finding my way back to myself.

    And I’m loving every moment of it. ✨

    🤍 K

  • 40 things to do.. before I turn 40 (17)

    40 things to do.. before I turn 40 (17)

    17. Raise awareness for homelessness

    This item on my list is one that sits very close to my heart because homelessness has shaped so much of my life.

    When I was 16, I was kicked out of home. The reasons aren’t something I’ll share here, but what I can say now – through the lens of adulthood and after years of therapy – is that I was not the child people believed I was.

    For a long time, I carried the label of “the delinquent.” The truth was very different. I was an A-grade student who spent my spare time volunteering, donating where I could, and trying to make a positive difference in my community. Like most teenagers, I made some reckless decisions from time to time, but I was, at my core, a good kid trying to survive circumstances far beyond my control.

    At 16, with nowhere else to go, I found myself moving between homeless shelters and youth accommodation. Despite everything, I kept studying. I worked hard and earned a place at university. But trauma doesn’t disappear just because an opportunity comes along. Not long after starting uni, I found myself surrounded by the wrong people and eventually on the wrong side of the law. I was only 17.

    Homelessness wasn’t a chapter that ended there. It became a recurring theme throughout my life.

    To date, I’ve lived in 42 different homes.

    I’ve packed my life into bags and boxes more times than I can count. I’ve lost almost every possession from my childhood. I have no physical reminders of my life before I turned 18 – only fragments of memories, and trauma has a way of making even those feel blurred around the edges.

    That’s one of the things people don’t often understand about homelessness. It’s not just about not having a roof over your head. It’s the constant uncertainty. It’s never feeling settled. It’s losing your sense of belonging. It’s carrying everything you own, over and over again, while trying to build a future.

    When I saw the “Sleep in Your Car for the Night” challenge on social media, I knew it was something I wanted to do with my children. Not because one night in a car could ever replicate the reality of homelessness – it can’t – but because it could start a conversation.

    Housing insecurity has touched their lives too.

    Between us, my daughters have lived in close to ten different homes. I wasn’t able to give them a childhood in one forever house, and for a long time I felt guilty about that. But what I have tried to give them is something just as important: a home built on love, safety and consistency, no matter what address was written on the mailbox.

    I’ve worked incredibly hard to make every house we’ve lived in feel like home. To be their constant when everything else felt uncertain.

    We laughed. We squeezed into the car together, wrapped up in blankets and each other. We even extended the challenge by limiting ourselves to just $10 for dinner, snacks and breakfast. Cup noodles certainly didn’t compare to our usual meals, but sharing the experience reminded us how quickly simple comforts become luxuries when your choices are limited.

    At the end of it all, we reflected on just how fortunate we are.

    We may not own a house. We rent. We still understand the anxiety that can come with housing insecurity. But we also know that home isn’t defined by bricks and mortar. Home is the people beside you. Home is love, safety and belonging.

    If there’s one thing I hope people take away from this, it’s that homelessness doesn’t discriminate. It affects children, teenagers, families, people with jobs, students, veterans, survivors of abuse, and people escaping violence. It isn’t always visible, and it isn’t always the result of poor choices. Sometimes it’s simply the outcome of circumstances no one should have to face.

    If you have a safe place to sleep tonight, you’re more fortunate than you might realise. And if you’re in a position to help – whether that’s donating, volunteering, supporting local organisations or simply showing compassion – please do.

    Because everyone deserves more than just a roof over their head.

    Everyone deserves a place to call home.

    🤍 K