She didn’t wait for a prince to save her; she followed the quiet voice, did the work, and found a steadier love inside herself that lets everything else be a bonus. About three years ago, she woke up on a Monday and realized she was done feeling “fine.” She wasn’t depressed or in crisis, just stuck. Tired. Restless. Unmoored. A small, steady voice inside urged her to pay attention. She got the kids ready for school, dressed for work…and then drove back home, called in a mental health day, and followed that inner nudge into her backyard with a coffee, a journal, and a laptop.
Meditation softened the noise. When she opened her laptop, she typed “yoga teacher training.” She’d flirted with the idea for years. One link led to another until she found a 200-hour training in Melbourne starting in six weeks. Could she leave for three weeks over Easter, kids, job, everything? She texted her best friend in Melbourne, “Stay with us!” then her mum and nanny said, “We’ll take the kids! “We’ll block you out.” Every door swung open. Six weeks later, she walked into a studio and into a hug from her teacher. She turned off her phone, showed up for every practice, and let discipline carry her when motivation dipped. She left certified and aware of how much stress and sadness her body had been holding. Reentry was jarring.
The world felt loud, rushed, and angry. That same inner voice kept tugging, so she booked a pilgrimage to India. She’s never been a planner; confidence and faith did the heavy lifting. On a flight to the south, a terrified seatmate crushed her hand at each bump. She closed her eyes to meditate and felt sudden breaths and deep abdominal contractions surge through her body, strange, but she filed it away.
Later, at an ashram, the room buzzed with devotion. She was skeptical and also swept up in the current. That night, energy tore through her again, gasping, powerful contractions, and then deep, heavy sleep. By morning, she felt washed out but clear. Her teacher called it a kundalini awakening. Whether or not she had the perfect words, something had shifted. Before leaving, she faced one last ritual: tie a string to the “love tree” and ask for more profound love. She stalled, tears welling, all her old defenses rising. Two new friends stood with her as she finally tied the string and let herself cry, this time with release. Her nervous system seemed to exhale. On the ride to the airport, her teacher gave her a script for the curious: “Say it was wonderful and you had amazing experiences. Share more when you’re ready.”
To understand why this all mattered, you must know her story’s “drink” part. Years earlier, motherhood had collided with a partner’s severe mental illness. Memes about wine and mum life were easier to laugh at than the truth: crisis after crisis, hospital stays, job losses, and the crushing weight of keeping a family afloat. She brought him home when she was 36 weeks pregnant, hoping they’d turn a corner. Instead, she watched him slide into self-destruction.
One day, he took his life in their home. She became a widow with two tiny children, running on fumes and adrenaline. Even then, a voice inside whispered: You’ll be okay. It just took time before she could trust it. That voice led her to the lawn on that Monday, to Melbourne, to India, to practices that helped her peel back grief, burnout, and the beliefs that kept her small. Back home, she listened again and took another six weeks off.
During that pause, a good man walked into her life. She doesn’t frame him as the “love” part, though. Fairy tales promise rescue; she’s learned something different. What she knows now is complex and straightforward: freedom comes from shedding old layers, habits, stories, expectations, and meeting yourself honestly. It can be messy, lonely, and breathtaking. But once you taste it, you can’t pretend you don’t know the way back.
