I haven’t written anything for a very long time. I’ve felt more than a little lost, and life has honestly been really tough.

One thing I’ve started to realise is this:
when you’re no longer scared of death, it can become a dangerous place to be.
It’s terrifying, it’s lonely, and trying to control those thoughts and feelings feels impossible. Trying to explain them feels even harder.

The Weeks That Broke Me and Built Me at the Same Time

The past few weeks have been a mix of everything — but if I’m being truthful, the downs have far outweighed the ups.

I tell other people to look for the positives, so I’m trying, slowly, to take my own advice.
And the truth is… there have been positives:

• I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone more times than I can count.
• I’ve reconnected with one of my closest childhood friends.
• I’ve taken time away from the things that usually swallow me whole.

But even with those positives, there have been moments — crises I genuinely didn’t think I would come back from.

Below is a letter I wrote at the weekend, in a moment of complete despair. I’m sharing it not for pity, not for attention, but because I promised myself I would always tell the truth.

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A Letter From My Lowest Point

I’ve always been misunderstood — not just by people around me but by myself too. I think people have an idea of who I am in their heads, and I also have an idea of who I think I’m supposed to be.

Here’s the truth I can never say out loud:

I tell myself that I’m not a very nice person.
That I hurt people over and over again.
That I blame everyone but myself.
That I apologise, but it never stops me repeating the same patterns.
That I act impulsively.
That I think only about myself.

And then there’s the part of me that breaks my heart the most:

I have the kindest, loveliest little boy — and I convince myself every day that I don’t deserve him.
I want nothing more than to be a good mum, but I tell myself I’m failing him. That he’s collateral damage in my chaos.

And maybe you’re reading this and thinking, “Why not just change?”

Trust me, I have tried.
But sometimes you feel like there is something fundamentally wrong with you — something you can’t name or fix.
Sometimes you wish you could be anyone other than yourself.

And when you feel like that long enough, you start believing the darkest thought of all:
that the world would be better without you.

I’ve felt that.
I’ve tried to act on that.
More than once.
And yet, here I am — still here, somehow.

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What Happens After the Breaking Point

Since writing that letter — and acting on it — I’ve been left feeling even more broken than before. I honestly didn’t think that was possible. But here I am.

Still breathing.
Still trying.
Still fighting — even on the days it feels impossible.

And I am angry.

The Truth About “Support”

Today, someone said to me:

“It must be overwhelming having so many professionals involved in your life.”

Overwhelming isn’t the word I would use.
Because the truth is this:

There are so many professionals involved — but none of them are actually doing anything.
They sit on the sidelines.
They judge.
They comment.
They write notes.
But they don’t support. Not really.

I’m sick of waiting lists.
I’m sick of promises.
I’m sick of being left alone in the middle of a storm while everyone watches from a safe distance.

And I’m not prepared to accept it anymore.

What Today Sparked in Me

I lost my motivation recently.
I lost that fire to fight the system.
I lost the belief that change was possible.

But today — listening to someone tell me what I should be doing while offering nothing meaningful — sparked something in me again.

A fire.
A purpose.
A reminder of why I speak up in the first place.

I am going to make changes.
I am going to fight for something better.
I’m going to make sure that no one else is left to drown while professionals simply watch from the shore.

This isn’t just about me anymore.
It never was.

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If You’re Reading This

You’re not alone.
Even when it feels like you’re the only person in the world drowning, you’re not.

And even when you think the fight has been beaten out of you — it only takes one spark to bring it back.

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A gentle safety note for readers

If any part of this post feels close to home, please reach out to someone — a friend, a helpline, a GP, anyone who can keep you safe in the moment.
You deserve support. You deserve to be heard.
You deserve to stay.