The Light Between the Cracks: Opening Up
When the Music Stopped
Music has always been a way to connect, to feelings, to self, to something bigger. That’s why it was so disorienting when I realised it no longer moved me. What once gave me comfort and joy became background noise. I didn’t feel much at all, and that absence was one of the quiet signs that I wasn’t myself.
The same thing happened with daily life. Simple tasks like tidying, cooking, or doing laundry suddenly felt like mountains. That sense of stuckness can be difficult to explain, but I’ve learned it isn’t laziness or weakness, it’s often the body’s way of surviving.
The Inner Life No One Saw
Growing up, I was often described as quiet. And yes, there was truth in that. But beneath the surface, there was another story.
I didn’t really know how to connect with my emotions or express them outwardly. People saw me as quiet, but it wasn’t because I was shrinking myself, it was because I didn’t yet know how to give shape to what I felt inside.
Now, with time, healing, and self-awareness, that’s changing. I can express more of who I am. It isn’t always easy, but it’s progress. And that shift, the ability to name and share what’s inside, has been one of the most powerful parts of my journey.
Growing Up in Unpredictability
It’s only recently that I’ve fully acknowledged how unpredictable my childhood was. One of my parents, who I love deeply, has been severely mentally ill my whole life. The other did their best to keep things afloat under impossible circumstances, but often wasn’t physically or emotionally present. We lived in unconventional, cramped spaces. Routines were inconsistent. At school, I sometimes felt different. And although I was loved, the emotional neglect left its mark.
Looking back, I see both the pain and the resilience it built in me. That instability gave me empathy, perspective, and the determination to create more stability in my adult life and also be a safe space for others.
The Storm Beneath the Calm
More recently on the outside, I always looked serene. On the inside, I swung between emotional overwhelm and numbness, rarely landing in the middle. It was exhausting.
Something clicked and I began to understand that this was my nervous system protecting me. I wasn’t broken, I was surviving. And that reframe has been one of the most freeing lessons: survival isn’t failure, it’s proof of strength.
The Small Things That Stay With Us
Some memories from childhood stay with you not because of their size, but because of what they symbolise. For me, one was a school nativity play where my parent arrived late to pick me up. I was already used to my parents not being there for school events, but the anxiety of waiting left a mark.
It wasn’t about that one moment, it was about the pattern of feeling untethered, unseen, or out of place. Small things matter, especially to a child. They become emotional imprints.
Risk, Vulnerability, and Learning
There were times I took risks which were out of character, not out of recklessness, but because I felt numb. There were also moments where I trusted people who hurt me, because I hadn’t yet learned what safe and healthy connection looked like.
I don’t see these choices as failures anymore. They were coping strategies, attempts to feel or connect when I didn’t know healthier ways. Now, I’m learning to rewrite those old messages, reminding myself I am worth protecting, I do deserve love and consistency that is safe and kind.
What I’ve Managed to Do Anyway
Despite the challenges, I’ve achieved things I’m proud of. I earned my degrees. I’ve spoken on podcasts, panels, and radio shows about mental health. I’ve worked as a trustee, visited schools to raise awareness, and contributed to campaigns as a young adult.
These moments remind me that even in the midst of chaos, we can create something meaningful. Pain doesn’t erase purpose. If anything, it can fuel it.
Healing, Grace, and the Journey Back
Eventually, everything I had carried caught up with me. Years of loss and burnout from multiple bereavements, difficult feelings surfacing from childhood and ongoing sadness connected to my still very unwell mentally ill parent left me depleted. For months, I felt low. But that pause, painful as it was, became the start of true healing.
Now, I am slowly building gentler routines, learning to nourish and move my body in the way it deserves, and treating myself like I matter. I still find it hard to open up and feel myself fully, but I’m trying. Progress isn’t quick, but it’s real.
You Are Not Broken
If your childhood was difficult, if your life doesn’t look neat or perfect, please know this: you are not broken. You are human.
The very fact that you’re still here, still trying, is proof of your strength. Difficult circumstances may have shaped you, but it doesn’t define you. Hardship can deepen compassion. Survival can grow resilience. And healing, slow, imperfect, ongoing, is always possible.
You don’t have to be flawless to live a meaningful life. You already carry a strength within you. And if you’re still standing, even on the hardest days, be proud of yourself.
