life – The Balanced Equation

It’s been a long time between posts.

And not the kind of “life got busy” pause — but the kind of full-body halt that comes when life flips your world upside down and knocks the breath clean out of you.

A Dream Realised… Briefly

At the start of 2025, I finally did it — I boarded a flight to India for a long-awaited adventure with Camel Treks Australia. It had been years in the making. I was craving wide skies, desert stillness, shared stories, and soul-deep restoration.

For a while, it was all that and more.

But life doesn’t always follow the plan.

A Message at 4am

I had barely touched back down on Australian soil when everything changed.

Jet-lagged, disoriented, and still holding the scent of incense and dust, I checked my phone at 4am. A message was waiting from my partner of 2.5 years — a man I love deeply, who knows me in both stillness and storm. The message simply read:

“Are you awake?”

Something in me braced. My reply was quick.

His answer came faster — and chilled me to my core:

“I’ll be with you whatever happens. But there’s been an accident. I’ve heard something’s happened — you need to call the police and find out what hospital they’ve been taken to.”

My heart dropped.

The Unfolding

My son and my ex-husband — my life partner for 30 years and the father of my children — had been in a horrific car accident. Both were critically injured. Both were fighting for their lives.

What followed was a surreal blur: hospitals, emergency teams, burns units, and the heavy silence that fills the space between questions no one can answer.

Within a fortnight, my ex-husband succumbed to his injuries and passed away on my 55th birthday.

The complexity of that grief is hard to name. This was someone I once loved, built a life with, raised children with. Our paths had long diverged, but the roots ran deep. His death marked the end of an era I hadn’t realised was still quietly shaping me.

Holding Death in Both Hands

I’ve been here before — near death’s edge. I’ve walked alongside it during illness, felt its breath on my neck through my own near-death experiences, and sat vigil with loved ones as they crossed over.

Death, to me, has never been a stranger. It is a powerful, mysterious teacher — one that strips away the unnecessary and leaves only what matters.

But this time… it asked more of me. It pulled at my roles as mother, as former wife, as woman, as witness — and forced me to sit with all the tangled pieces.

The In-Between

In the weeks and months that followed, I stepped back. From the blog. From work. From almost everything.

I poured my energy into being there for my son, into finding a path forward, into grieving with honesty and gentleness. I went quiet — not because I had nothing to say, but because there were no words wide enough to hold it all.

And Now

I’m not who I was at the beginning of this year.

Something in me has softened. Other parts have sharpened. I feel more grounded, more awake, more certain of what really matters.

This isn’t a return to blogging as usual. It’s a continuation — from where I now stand, in the middle of the mess and the meaning, still choosing to tell the truth, still choosing to grow.

Thank you for your patience, your presence, and for being part of this space — one that holds not just the light, but also the shadow, the mystery, and the unexpected turns that come with living a fully human life.

More soon — from the heart.

It’s just a few days after Christmas, and here I am, staring at my house like it’s a life-sized game of Tetris, with pieces I have absolutely no idea where to put. The task before me is monumental: pack up my home, get it ready for inspection, and somehow, miraculously, make it all happen before I fly to India. Simple, right? Except it’s not. Not even close.

I start the day ambitiously, tackling three spaces at once—the garage, the upstairs landing that needs painting, and my walk-in wardrobe. Rookie mistake. Within an hour, my head is pounding, my patience is gone, and my house looks more chaotic than when I started. It’s like I’ve unleashed a tornado, but instead of Dorothy and Toto, it’s me in leggings, clutching a paintbrush in one hand and an old sweater I can’t part with in the other. Honestly, even Marie Kondo would throw her hands up and walk away at this point.

I pause and do the only thing that seems remotely sane: I clear the dining room table. Just the table. One surface, one tiny victory. And it feels glorious. I can see the wood again, and for a moment, I convince myself I’ve got this. Of course, the rest of the house is still a disaster, but I decide to reward myself with something that always helps me find my footing: writing.

When Memories Hide in Clutter

As I wade through my stuff, I quickly realise this is about more than just packing. Every box I open, every drawer I rifle through, feels like opening a time capsule. There’s the top I wore on that disastrous first date. There’s my boys’ old Lego set, the one I swore I’d never step on again, and here it is, mocking me. Each item carries a memory, and with each memory comes a wave of emotion that crashes over me like an unexpected tsunami.

I try to ride the waves, but let’s be honest—it’s messy. Sometimes I laugh; sometimes I cry. Occasionally, I find myself doing both simultaneously, which must look absolutely ridiculous. But this is where I am: mid-fifties, physically fit (thankfully), and knee-deep in a task that is equal parts cleansing and chaotic. I’m grateful to have the energy to do this on my own, but let’s not romanticize it—this is hard, humbling work.

Finding Humility (and Humor) in the Mess

Something about packing up your life makes you realise how absurdly attached you are to random objects. Why am I holding onto the hideous vase a distant relative gave me in 1992? Why do I own three fondue sets when I’ve never made fondue? And why, oh why, did I think it was a good idea to start painting and packing and decluttering all at once? I have to laugh because if I don’t, I might cry again, and I’m trying to pace myself on the tears.

But I do know why I’m doing this. Letting go here, in this nurturing space that has been my home for over a decade, feels important. This house has held so much of my story, and clearing it feels like honoring the past while making room for the wonderful things I know are coming my way in 2025.

Writing gives me a chance to breathe, to step back from the chaos and make sense of it. It helps me process the emotions that rise like a tide—sometimes gentle, sometimes relentless. I remind myself that these e(motions)—energy in motion—are a natural part of clearing space. As much as I’d like to think I’m in control, the truth is, I’m just here for the ride, trying to keep my sense of humour intact.

Small Wins, Big Lessons

Clearing that dining room table taught me something important: start small. One surface, one drawer, one box at a time. It’s not about doing it all perfectly or all at once. It’s about finding those little wins that keep you moving forward. Each cleared space is a reminder that I’m making progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.

This process isn’t just about letting go of clutter. It’s about creating space—for growth, for joy, for whatever comes next. As I pack up my house, I’m not just saying goodbye to things; I’m saying goodbye to old stories, old identities, and old expectations. And that, my friends, is no small feat.

Embracing the Waves

When the tsunami of emotion hits, I grab my pen and write it out. Writing helps me remember that these waves, as overwhelming as they feel, will pass. It reminds me to breathe, to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and to trust that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be—surrounded by chaos, covered in paint, and slowly, steadily clearing space for what’s next.

And you know what? That’s enough. One box, one memory, one laugh-cry at a time, I’m moving forward. Here’s to finding humour, humility, and maybe even a little joy in the mess.

Tag: life

When Life Sends You Sideways