Since sharing my story and founding What About Now?, I’ve always promised myself to be as honest as I can be. I do this because people need to see what recovery actually looks like. I do this because recovery isn’t always positive. I do this so others know that everyone struggles — not just them.
Yesterday, eight months after leaving hospital, I found myself in crisis.
The past few weeks have been incredibly difficult, and the need to escape hit me so hard I couldn’t fight it anymore. Until now, I’ve always managed to pull myself back for Archie. But this time was different.
I was so far gone I couldn’t think rationally. Every trauma I’d ever carried, every unkind word ever spoken to me, every flaw I’ve ever believed about myself — they all came crashing back, louder than ever. My mind told me the same lie it always whispers in those darkest moments: that everyone’s lives would be better off without me. That it wouldn’t matter if I was gone.
So yesterday, I left my house believing it was for the last time.
There were no goodbyes. No preparation. Just me, my car, and the finality of what I thought I was about to do. I drove while sobbing and hyperventilating. When I reached a quiet spot, I recorded a message for Archie. I told him I loved him. I told him none of this was his fault. I told him I was sorry.
I don’t want to go into detail about what happened next. What I will say is that I began to fade in and out. And then — somehow — I woke up at home, in my bed, at 8pm. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But I was still here.
And though this feels like a devastating setback, I cannot let it erase all I have worked so hard for. Right now I am sitting with so many emotions — shame, anger, sadness, confusion, exhaustion. But I am also trying to sit through them, not run from them.
I am sharing this because this moment — this reality — is why I founded What About Now?
Since being discharged from hospital, I’ve had little to no support. No follow-up. No safety net. Nothing to help me navigate what happens after the crisis unit lets you go. And maybe, if I had been supported, things would look different today. Maybe I would know how to respond to my own crises better. Maybe I would know how to hold onto stability, even when life feels unbearable.
It just isn’t good enough.
No one should be left to survive recovery on their own.
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