The Way Home is coming.
The book for everyone who has held it together so tightly they forgot what it felt like to let go.
For everyone who is quietly, inexplicably lost, while being, by every external measure, absolutely fine.
You've done everything right.
You've worked hard, shown up, kept going. You've been the strong one, the capable one, the one who holds it all together. You've read the books, listened to the podcasts, underlined the good bits.
And still. In the quiet moments, when no one is watching and the noise dies down, there's a feeling you can't quite name. Not quite sadness. Not quite lost. Just... not quite home.
You're not broken. You never were.
You just need a map.
Read the beginning
An extract from The Way Home
The phone call came on a gloriously sunny Saturday evening at 6:34pm. I was walking the dog.
That's the thing about the moments that split your life into before and after — they never announce themselves. They just quietly arrive, without apology or preamble, and everything changes even though there are no visible signs. The sun was still shining, the grass was still green, the breeze was still light, but the scent in the air had vanished.
I fell to the floor when I heard her voice was gone. Not dramatically. Not the way you imagine it when you've spent months quietly dreading that call. Just — down. Like someone had simply removed the bones from my legs.
I want to tell you something before we go any further. This isn't a book about grief. It's not a book about loss, or divorce. This isn't even about a hero's journey. It's the story of how a girl got so lost in trying to find herself that she almost lost sight of the reason she wanted to be found. The story of someone who held it together so tightly that she shattered in the process – not openly but enough that in the quiet moments, nothing made sense.
But to understand how I got there, you need to know who I was before I fell.
I am the big sister. The planner. The person most people would call to get them out of the worst possible trouble. I am hypervigilant. I think deeply, try to see things from every angle, cover every possibility, make sure everyone is safe. I have always done this.
The problem is, I didn't think about keeping myself safe. I didn't even think about what safety felt like to me.
Because of this I gave too much, tried too hard to fit the mould everyone else needed me to fit into. And the problem with that was it was never enough. You are so kind, people would say, as they let me carry the weight of their problems. You are so thoughtful, as they let me make sure their experience was perfect.
The weight of this wasn't a burden — you get used to it. Just like progressive overload in the gym, the loads become more manageable so you take on more. Until you don't.
Then one day I had so much of my own emotional weight thrust upon me that I couldn't take on anyone else's. So I hid. I retreated to save myself and recharge what little energy I had left.
Inside The Way Home you'll meet two characters you already know.
One who has kept you safe your whole life by telling you everything that could go wrong.
And one who has been quietly waiting, patient as a held breath, to show you the way back.
Together they'll walk you through five chapters of your own story. These are the themes that through years of trying to ‘fix’ myself kept repeating in every book, every podcast and every conversation, so I know you will see them in your life too.
Love. Where we begin, as all good stories do.
Duality. The moment you stop fighting yourself and start listening instead.
Movement. Because your body knew the way home before your mind did.
Grace. The thing you've been giving everyone else.
Balance. Where we end. Sitting in the sun. Knowing exactly how we like our eggs.
“"I've had to hold back tears a few times."
— Early Reader(we’re working on that)
Meet the Author - surprise it’s me
As you already may know if you are here, I am a yoga teacher, nervous system nerd, calisthenics enthusiast and the proud dog mum of two spaniels who have taught me more about regulated breathing than any textbook.
I wrote The Way Home because I needed it and couldn't find it.
I have walked through grief, divorce and the particular exhaustion of being someone who holds everything together beautifully while quietly falling apart at the edges. An ex boss once likened me to a Swan, calm and serene on the surface, legs peddling like mad below the water. That image could not have been more true. I have also walked through woods in the dark, attempted handstands more times than I can count, and sat on a terrace in Greece watching the boats, and finally, finally felt at home in my own skin.
I write for the woman who has pretended she's fine for long enough.
And for the man quietly holding back tears who hasn't quite let himself admit he needed this too.