From the Cover: Michelle Wollaston on Disappearing, Rediscovering Herself, and Reclaiming Her Spiritual Voice

For a long time, I disappeared inside a life that looked functional. A 27-year relationship. Three small children. A business to run. Side jobs to make ends meet. From the outside, I was doing what needed to be done.

On the inside, I was fading.

I don’t think it happened all at once. It was slow, the kind of disappearing that looks like devotion. You don’t realise you’re vanishing when you're so focused on keeping a family intact.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking what I needed. I just accepted the harsh words, the moody silent intervals, even the slaps. I didn’t pretend it was normal, I knew it wasn’t. But I didn’t have the space, the support, or the energy to unravel it.

So, I just functioned.

Someone once suggested that people like me were “high-functioning depressives.”
I wasn’t curled up in a dark room. I was making lunches, running a business, juggling side work, keeping things afloat, and there were moments, sharp, emotional ones, where the darkness felt so big I could’ve easily driven my car into a tree.

But I was far too responsible for that.
Too responsible to fall apart.
Too responsible to leave.

Then came a moment I couldn’t ignore. I won’t go into the details here, but something cracked open. And in the quiet after, I saw it clearly, I had not been honouring myself.
Not in my choices, my silence, or the way I kept betraying my truth to keep the peace.

That moment led me back to something I’d buried decades earlier, my spiritual practice.

It wasn’t new. It had always been there, planted early by my father, who was a healer.
I grew up around energy work, intuition, and the quiet kind of knowing you don’t always have language for. But like many women, I tucked it away in favour of being useful, practical and selfless.

Coming back to that practice saved me. It gave me clarity, purpose, and permission to feel again. It reminded me who I was, and what I was here for.

Now, I support other women who are where I once was, still showing up, still functioning, still disappearing. I help them reconnect with their spiritual strengths, rediscover their voice, and find their way back to themselves.

Because disappearing might feel like survival, but coming home to yourself is where real life begins.

And for the women reading this and silently recognising this story in their bones, I see you. I hear you. I was you. There is nothing wrong with you. There is only a version of you waiting to come home.