16th of April. I was collected from school early, escorted to the front room at home, and told that my adopted mother had died from a heart attack. I was 8 years old. 

From birth ‘til the age of 10, I’d had a total of 7 caregivers. 

In the two decades to follow, I’d experience more deaths, loss, psychological, emotional and physical abuse, heartbreak, divorce, single-motherhood, anxiety, depression, trauma, poverty, homelessness, racism, and corporate narcissism, to name just a few challenges.

I spoke to my birth mother for the very first time when I was in my late 20s and discovered I had a full sister who lived near me, just outside of London. 

Grief, trauma, identity, belonging: the four core themes of my life. 

When I reached my 30s I had a tower moment, weeks before Christmas. My world came crashing down. I couldn’t go on living in survival mode. When I got out of the Universe’s way, I saw there was a greater plan for me. I had to rebuild my life metaphorical brick by brick, but first, I needed to attend my own funeral. The funeral of all my old selves. Every redundant version of me was scorched. This was the beginning of my spiritual awakening. It’s been one hell of a journey since then, and I’m still on that liberating path. 

I believe that joy, and happiness, and light exists in the world, because for the 4 years my adopted mother cared of me, I experienced it tremendously. I experienced a pure love and preserved it in my heart. 

In 2021, my birth father died. We’d spoken maybe four times sporadically throughout my life. There was never a proper hello, nothing in between, neither was there a goodbye. My surname is the only enduring connection I have to him. I don’t have a relationship with my birth mother. 

My tight circle are family by circumstance, not origin. I am grateful for them and all the human angels I have been blessed to cross paths with. They have been a source of Herculean strength.  

Believe me when I say I’ve felt the deepest of pains. I know the might it takes to trudge through life alone while feeling lonely and invisible; I know how unbearable it is to feel unloved and believe you’re unlovable; I know the grace required to move forward with the awareness that you’ll never receive an apology. I know.

I’ve been abandoned many times; I’ve been lost many more, and those experiences finally led me to find myself. What a homecoming.  

We don’t get to choose the people around us in childhood. In adulthood, we have agency to decide who and what we invite and allow into our sacred space.

There’s nothing glamorous about my battle scars. They are evidence of my courage rather than a symbol of my pain. They are proof – I am living proof – that I fought, and endured; that I got up and won small and big battles; public and private ones! I’m still here, and I didn’t get this far to only get this far. 

I am my ancestor’s wildest, most vivid dreams. Thousands protect me from the other side. Their presence is deeply felt. I thought I’d been battling alone my whole life, but they were shielding me from untold dangers that never even got a chance to touch me. 

Every day since my adopted mother’s death I have vehemently vowed to not be consumed by darkness. 

Every day is a conscious, deliberate, intentional choice to bend towards the light, much like a sunflower does with the bright, orange ball in the sky. 

My healing has broken treacherous cycles. My healing will help guide others. 

I’m incredibly connected to my work, not just because I believe it’s a major part of my calling, but because it’s personal. 

I want you to know there is a beautiful life waiting for you beyond the pain. Healing exists; it’s very real. 

Join me on my podcast for 30 days as I offer an assortment of grief and healing related prompts for you to journal or reflect on daily.

Each prompt is numbered  with the corresponding day of the month, so whenever you choose to journal, I can meet you right where you are. There’s also a link in the description to download free resources that you might find helpful.

We’ll start with prompt 16 on this 16th day of April, in honour of my adopted mother.  She chose me and loved me unconditionally so that one day I would know what it means to truly choose myself. 

Her name was Flora. May this be the season you bloom.  

Let’s begin.

16th day of the month: 

How would I define grief and/or healing in three ways? How is each definition similar? How is each definition different?

Speak to you tomorrow. Until then, be well.