Yearly Digest 2025 DWC Weekly Issue 72 (Part 2)

I was born in Nigeria and raised in Westchester County, New York, the kind of place where lawns are tidy, surnames carry weight, and the question "Where are you from?" can feel more like a challenge than a curiosity.

For a long time, I answered simply: "Nigeria."

That answer carried the memory of my mother, whom I lost at a young age. Without that connection, I feared I might lose the last thread to her altogether. So, Nigeria was always at the forefront, even in the early days when I would have given anything to be Stacy instead of Yetunde. Thankfully, that urge passed.

It wasn't until university that I learnt the term third culture kid, a neat little label for those of us who don't fit cleanly into our country of birth or the place we grew up. Suddenly, the pull I'd always felt towards other immigrant kids made sense. We shared an unspoken language, even if none of us had the vocabulary for it back then. We were orbiting different worlds, but somehow knew how to see each other.

Over time, my answer to "Where are you from?" got more layered. Now I ask, "Do you want the short version or the long one?" Because every layer has shaped me, and honestly, I think they're my superpower.

My sense of belonging used to chase something big, a national identity, a cultural claim. But the older I get, the smaller the circle becomes. These days, belonging looks like routines and rituals. A quiet morning making tea. Friends who know what dish I'm likely to cook on a rainy day. A kitchen where I know where everything lives.

I live in neither the country of my birth nor the one where my son was born. He is not being raised "American" in the traditional sense, but then again, I wasn't either. My upbringing sat in the in-between. So instead of replicating a culture, I parent with intention. I pull from the best values I inherited, even if I never learnt them in a textbook. He eats some of the American dishes I never had growing up and hears cultural stories I couldn't have told, but he also eats egusi soup and understands that food is love.

It's strange: I didn't cook many Nigerian dishes while living in the US. I enjoyed them when my dad made them, they were a treat. But I didn't often make them myself. Later, in Paris, I started cooking them more. Maybe because, ironically, the ingredients were easier to find than they were in suburban New York. Or maybe because I was ready to stop substituting pieces of myself to fit in.

I think some people still assume that without one fixed cultural identity, we must feel lost. That we're fragmented. But that's a narrow way of thinking, and often a privileged one. Humans have been migratory forever. The purest bloodlines often come with fragility. Strength is in variation.

Strength is in variation. Humans have been migratory forever. The purest bloodlines often come with fragility. I'm less interested in being "from" somewhere and more interested in what travels with me — the flavours, the values, the lessons.

These days, I'm less interested in being "from" somewhere and more interested in what travels with me, the flavours, the values, the lessons. And I hope, someday, my son feels that too. That no matter where he finds himself, he'll know how to create a home: with a meal, with a memory, with people who understand the long version of who he is.

At just 19 years old, Ava Brooks has already carved out a name for herself as the AIWF Women's World Champion, a title she carries with pride and purpose. More than just a rising star in professional wrestling, Ava is a symbol of determination for young women everywhere, proving that age, gender, or doubt can't stand in the way of passion and perseverance. Balancing her in-ring career with studies to become a medical assistant, she represents a new generation of athletes rewriting the rules, breaking barriers, and doing it all with heart.

It's honestly such a powerful feeling. Being the AIWF Women's World Champion at just 19 is something I don't take lightly. This isn't just a belt, it represents every late night, early morning, bruise, doubt, and moment I told myself to keep going. I know there are people out there who probably have their opinions about someone my age holding a world title, but the truth is, times are changing. Wrestling is evolving. Young talent isn't something to overlook anymore, it's something to take seriously. I've worked hard to earn this spot, and I carry that title with pride, not just for myself, but for every young girl who dreams of doing something big and needs to know that it's possible.

When I got the news that I was wrestling for the AIWF Women's World Championship, I just sat there for a moment, letting it all sink in. It felt unreal, like all the hard work, the early mornings and late nights, were finally paying off. I couldn't wait to share it, so I ran downstairs and told my parents because they needed to know why we were driving all the way to North Carolina. Honestly, I didn't think I belonged at that level yet, but others believed in me, and that belief gave me the fire to push myself even harder. I was nervous, excited, and determined all at once. I knew this was my chance to prove to myself and everyone else that I'm ready for whatever comes next.

What really drew me to wrestling again was watching Katie Arquette. From the very beginning, she was someone I looked up to, not just for her strength and presence in the ring, but because she made me believe that this dream was possible. Over time,

she became more than just an inspiration, she's been a mentor to me, guiding me through the ups and downs and helping me grow both as a wrestler and as a person. Katie made me want to chase this dream with everything I've got, but also to inspire others the way she inspired me. She showed me that wrestling isn't just about winning matches, it's about connecting with people, showing your true self, and making an impact beyond the ring.

My biggest wrestling influences come from both past and present because every era has shaped who I am today. One of the first wrestlers I ever watched was Rey Mysterio, his incredible energy, creativity, and the way he connects with the crowd made me fall in love with wrestling and showed me the power of passion in this business. From the current women's scene, I really admire Chelsea Green for her toughness and determination to overcome setbacks, Liv Morgan for her resilience and ability to keep fighting no matter what, Toni Storm for her intensity and fearlessness inside the ring, and Britt Baker for her confidence and skill that commands respect. Each of them brings something unique that I try to channel in my own style, and watching them push boundaries reminds me that wrestling is always evolving. Their journeys inspire me to keep working hard, stay true to myself, and carve out my own legacy.

The match against AJ Alexander at RWA in April was one of the toughest I've ever been through. Going over 18 minutes against someone with that level of experience, strength, and intensity pushed me way past my limits. It wasn't just about keeping up physically, it was about staying sharp mentally, adjusting to everything AJ threw at me, and refusing to back down no matter how hard it got. There were moments when I felt completely drained and doubted if I could keep going, but I reminded myself why I started wrestling in the first place. That match taught me so much about endurance, resilience, and what it really means to fight with heart. Even when things got brutal, I kept pushing because this is my passion, and I wasn't going to let anything stop me.

Before I step into the ring, it's all about getting my mind right. I have a few rituals that help me lock in, like taking some deep breaths to calm my nerves, listening to my theme song to get hyped, and praying for strength and focus. I also visualise how I want the match to go and remind myself why I'm there: the hard work, the dreams, and the people who believe in me. It's about focusing on the moment and blocking out everything else. Those few minutes before the bell are mine to gather strength and confidence, so when I step through those ropes, I'm ready to give everything I've got.

I'm starting a new training schedule soon to get back on top of everything. This plan will include training about 4 to 5 days a week, mixing wrestling drills, strength training, and cardio to build endurance and power. I'll be focusing a lot on core work and flexibility because staying agile is key in the ring. Recovery will stay a huge priority, I'll make sure to get good sleep and stretch daily to help my body bounce back. Nutrition and hydration are also a big part of the plan, I want to fuel myself with balanced meals and stay hydrated so I can perform at my best. Wrestling is physically demanding, but this full-time commitment is what helps me stay sharp and ready for whatever the ring throws at me.

One thing I think fans don't always realise about being a professional wrestler is just how much mental toughness it takes, not just physically but emotionally and mentally too. Wrestling is such a demanding career where you're constantly pushing your body to the limit, but it's equally about managing pressure, expectations, and sometimes doubts that creep in.

Every time I step into the ring, I have to be ready to tell a story and connect with the crowd, no matter how tired or worn down I might feel from travel, injuries, or life outside wrestling. While my family travels with me, for a lot of wrestlers, missing family moments like birthdays, funerals, or other important events is part of the reality. Staying disciplined with training and recovery despite all of that takes serious focus and resilience. The mental game is constantly evolving, and learning how to stay motivated and balanced through it all is as important as any move I perform. That side of wrestling is something fans might not see, but it's what really shapes who I am both inside and outside the ring.

There have been moments where I seriously questioned if wrestling was the right path for me. I started young, so balancing wrestling with wanting to live a normal teenage life was a real struggle. There were times when I felt torn between chasing my dream and just having the typical experiences other kids my age were having. Wrestling is tough, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and sometimes the pain, pressure, and sacrifices felt overwhelming. I'd wonder if all the hard work was really worth it, especially when progress felt slow or setbacks hit hard. But whenever those doubts started to take over, I'd think back to why I started this journey, the fire inside me that wrestling ignited, the dreams I refuse to give up on, and the little girl who first found hope and strength in this sport. Those thoughts gave me the strength to keep going. I also knew I wasn't alone, my family, friends, and mentors stood by me, reminding me of my worth and pushing me to believe in myself even when I struggled to.

Overcoming those moments wasn't easy; it meant facing my fears head-on, accepting that setbacks are part of growth, and learning to trust the process. Every challenge has made me more resilient, and every time I step into the ring, I'm reminded that this path is mine, and I'm ready to keep fighting for it.

Honestly, if I could headline a dream match, it'd be against Chelsea Green. I've always respected how tough and real she is, she brings that fire and grit every time she's in the ring. I think a match between us would be super intense and honestly, a lot of fun. We both know what it takes to push ourselves and keep fighting no matter what, so I feel like we'd bring the best out of each other. She's someone who's overcome a lot and kept coming back stronger, and that's the kind of mindset I really connect with. Having a match like that would be about respect, competition, and pushing boundaries, not just for us, but for everyone watching.

Success at a young age can be overwhelming, and there have definitely been moments where it felt like it was all happening too fast. But I've come to realise that staying grounded isn't just about the outside things, it's about the inside work. It means constantly checking in with myself, being honest about my strengths and weaknesses, and remembering the journey that brought me here. My family and close friends are my anchor, they remind me of who I am beyond the ring and keep me humble when the spotlight gets bright. I try to stay focused on growth rather than just achievements because that's what really matters in the long run. At the end of the day, staying grounded is about embracing the process, accepting challenges, and never losing sight of the person I want to become.

A perfect day off for me is all about balance and recharging. Since I'm interning and studying to be a medical assistant, those days can get pretty busy and intense. So when I get a day off, I love just slowing down, catching up on sleep, spending time with my family and my cats, and maybe binge-watching some shows or movies to just relax. I also like to spend some time outside, tanning or going for a walk, to clear my head and soak up some sunshine. It's important for me to take those moments away from wrestling and school to reset mentally and physically so I can come back stronger and more focused. Simple things like good food, laughter, and downtime with the people I care about make a perfect day off.

I actually have really bad social anxiety, which surprises a lot of people because they tell me I look relaxed or calm in the ring, even though I'm actually so nervous inside. Wrestling has been this amazing way for me to push past my fears and step out of my comfort zone. But outside of the ring, social situations can still be really tough for me.

Meeting new people, being in crowds, or even just small talk can make me anxious in ways most fans wouldn't expect. It's something I've had to work on over time, and it's definitely a process, not something that just goes away overnight. I try to remind myself that it's okay to feel that way and that being vulnerable about it actually makes me stronger. I hope that by sharing this, fans know there's more to me than just the performer they see, and maybe it helps someone else dealing with anxiety realise they're not alone in it.

My support system means everything to me, and I honestly wouldn't be where I am today without it. From the very beginning, my family has been my biggest rock, they've travelled with me to shows, encouraged me when things got tough, and believed in me even during moments of doubt. Their unwavering support gives me strength and reminds me that I'm never alone on this journey. Beyond my family, my boyfriend and his family have also been incredible. They've welcomed me with open arms, offer constant encouragement, and help keep me grounded when the wrestling world gets overwhelming. Having people around who genuinely care about my well-being makes all the difference.

I'm also grateful for the mentors and close friends who've guided me, shared their wisdom, and pushed me to grow both in and out of the ring. These relationships remind me to stay humble, work hard, and keep my passion alive no matter the challenges. Wrestling is such a demanding path, physically and mentally, but knowing I have this amazing support system behind me helps me face every obstacle with confidence.

Wrestling is such a huge part of who I am, it's what I've given my heart, time, and body to, but I never want it to be the only part of me that people see. I'm also a student, a daughter, a sister, a friend. I have other passions and sides of me that matter just as much, even if they're not always in the spotlight. When people see me in the ring, they see someone who's confident and locked in, but once I step outside those ropes, I'm just Ava.

I like quiet days, spending time with my pets, tanning, journalling, going on drives, or just being around the people I love. I've learned how important it is to have that space to breathe and recharge, especially when you're pouring so much of yourself into this dream. I think a lot of people forget that wrestlers are real people. We go through the same highs and lows, the same doubts, the same need to figure out who we are outside of our careers. I've really tried to protect that part of me, to never lose sight of the things that make me feel whole even when I'm not in the ring.

I'm doing it for the people who've been told they're too soft or too different, or that they don't belong in spaces like this. I want to be proof that you can carve your own path and still keep your heart intact.

There's something really powerful about knowing your presence, your story, your fight, can actually mean something to someone else. I think what drives me most isn't the belts or the recognition or even the 'you made it' moments… it's that maybe, just maybe, someone out there who's watching sees a little of themselves in me. Not just kids, not just girls, but anyone who's ever doubted if they're good enough to go after something that sets their soul on fire. I've felt that. The doubt. The fear of not being enough. The pressure of chasing a dream that doesn't come with a blueprint, especially as someone who started young and gave up a 'normal' life to make this happen. I've questioned myself, I've second-guessed everything, and I've had to pick myself back up more times than I can count. But every time I lace up my wrestling shoes, I remember that I'm not just doing this for me anymore. I'm doing it for the people who've been told they're too soft or too different, or that they don't belong in spaces like this. I want to be proof that you can carve your own path and still keep your heart intact. That you can be passionate, and fierce, and still lead with empathy. That you can chase your goals, even when they scare you, and come out stronger on the other side.

Wrestling's given me purpose. It's taught me how to fight for the things that matter, how to show up even when it's hard, and how to use my platform for something bigger than just wins and losses. That's what keeps me going. Knowing there are people I haven't even met yet who might one day say, "She made me believe I could do it too."

I grew up with social media, it's been around my whole life, so in a way, it just feels natural to be on it. I've used it to help build my brand and connect with people, and honestly, it's opened doors for me that I didn't expect to walk through this early in my career. It's wild how one post or clip can lead to something so real. I've got to work with promotions, grow a fanbase, and showcase not just what I do in the ring, but who I am outside of it too. It's helped me tell my story, on my terms. But I'm not naïve to the other side of it. The hate, the judgement, the assumptions, it's all there. And yeah, I see it. Sometimes it stings, especially when it feels like people are picking apart things they don't understand. But I've learned to remind myself that those people don't know me. They don't see the hours I put in, the sacrifices I've made, or the personal things I've had to push through just to be here. They're judging a highlight reel or a clip out of context, not the full picture. I've also realised how important it is to set boundaries with social media. If I need to take a step back, I do. If I need to protect my peace, I will. I try to use it for good, to uplift others, inspire younger girls chasing dreams like I did, and connect with people who truly support me.

Social media's just a tool. It's not my worth. I know who I am with or without the likes, follows, or comments, and that's what keeps me grounded.

If there's one thing I'd say to young women wanting to step into wrestling or any male-dominated field, it's to truly believe in yourself even when it feels like the whole world is doubting you. I can't sugarcoat it, the journey is going to be tough. There will be times when people question your ability just because of your gender or your age. You might face stereotypes, doubt, or even outright dismissal. But that's exactly why your presence matters so much. You're not just fighting for yourself, you're breaking down walls for the women who will come after you.

When I first started, I was one of the youngest in the room, and honestly, I didn't always feel like I belonged. There were moments I questioned whether I had what it took or if I was just chasing a dream that wasn't meant for me. But what kept me going was learning that no one else's opinion defines my worth or my potential. You have to be your own biggest cheerleader. It's about showing up day after day, putting in the hard work even when no one's watching, and trusting that progress is happening, even if it's slow. Don't be afraid to ask questions and seek out mentors. Finding people who believe in you and want to see you succeed is so important. Mentors have been a huge part of my journey, they've shared wisdom, pushed me to get better, and reminded me that I'm not alone in this.

Building a community of support is crucial because wrestling, like any challenging career, can feel isolating at times. Also, embrace what makes you different. The things that might feel like weaknesses or reasons you don't fit in are actually your biggest strengths. Your unique perspective, your style, your story, those are the things that set you apart. Don't try to mould yourself into someone else's idea of success. Create your own path and celebrate every small win along the way. Patience is key. Growth doesn't happen overnight. You'll face setbacks and failures, but those are just lessons disguised as obstacles. Every time you get knocked down, it's a chance to learn, grow, and come back stronger. Believe me, I've had moments where I thought about giving up, but sticking with it has been the best decision of my life. Above all, remember why you started. Keep your passion alive and let it fuel you through the hard days. You're stronger, braver, and more capable than you realise.

The world needs more women who are willing to step into these spaces and show up unapologetically. Your story, your voice, and your fight will inspire others, even when you don't realise it. So keep pushing, keep believing, and never let anyone tell you that you don't belong. You do. You've got this.

Five years from now, I see myself continuing to grow and evolve both in wrestling and in life. In the ring, I want to keep pushing my limits, taking on bigger challenges, and competing at the highest levels. I hope to be a multiple-time champion, but more importantly, I want to be someone who inspires others, not just through titles, but through my passion, work ethic, and how I carry myself every day. Outside of wrestling, I'm working toward building a meaningful life beyond the ring. I'm balancing my training with my medical assistant studies and gaining real-world experience through my internship. I want to establish myself in that career while continuing to pursue wrestling, proving that it's possible to chase multiple dreams without losing sight of what truly matters, family, health, and happiness. In five years, I hope to look back and see that I stayed true to myself, faced challenges head-on, and kept fighting for my goals no matter what. I want to be a role model not only for young wrestlers but for anyone chasing something that feels impossible. Ultimately, I want to build a legacy that's about resilience, heart, and inspiring others to believe in themselves.

If my younger self could see me now, I think she'd have a mix of emotions. First, I imagine she'd be surprised, maybe even a little shocked, at everything I've been through and how much I've grown. I don't think she'd expect to see someone who's still figuring things out, still having doubts and worries, but who's also still here, still fighting, and still chasing that dream. She'd probably wonder if it was really worth it, and I think she'd be proud to see that, despite all the ups and downs, I didn't give up.

In the end, I think she'd smile and tell me, "Keep going. You're doing better than you think." And honestly, hearing that from her would mean the world.

Have you ever felt completely drained, even though nothing "major" happened that day? No emergencies, no over-the-top drama, just a creeping sense that your energy's been siphoned off, bit by bit.

For many women, that's not just stress. It's an energy leak.

You don't have to be a healer or spiritual practitioner to have an energy body. We all do. And when we ignore our needs, override our instincts, or say yes when we mean no, we're not just compromising our time, we're giving away our power.

Where Does Your Energy Go?

Most of us were never taught about energetic boundaries. Instead, we learned to stay polite, say yes, avoid conflict, and be endlessly accommodating.

Here's how that plays out in everyday life:

People-Pleasing. Saying yes to things you don't want to do, simply to keep others happy or avoid awkwardness. On the surface, it seems harmless. But over time, it erodes your sense of agency and drains your energy.

Over-Committing. Filling your schedule to the brim because rest feels lazy, or because you feel guilty saying no. This is a fast track to resentment, exhaustion, and burnout.

Ignoring Intuition. You sense a situation feels "off", but you override the feeling to keep the peace. Or you talk yourself out of setting a boundary, even when something inside you screams for it. That inner override is a form of energetic betrayal, and it adds up.

These leaks are subtle, but consistent. They slowly chip away at your confidence, clarity, and connection to yourself.

What Are Energetic Boundaries?

Energetic boundaries aren't cold or rigid. They're not about blocking people out or becoming "difficult".

They're simply the clear, compassionate recognition of where you end and someone else begins.

They protect your emotional space. They allow you to show up fully, without feeling depleted. They help you honour your needs without guilt.

Three Ways to Strengthen Your Energetic Boundaries

You don't need to become a confrontation expert overnight. Strengthening your boundaries is about small, intentional shifts. Here are three to start with.

Pause Before You Say Yes. Instead of giving an automatic yes, create a pause. You can say: "Let me check my calendar and get back to you." Or: "I need a moment to think about that." That tiny pause gives your intuition space to speak. It stops the knee-jerk reaction and lets you respond consciously.

Notice Where Your Body Tightens. Your body is always giving you signals. Do your shoulders tense when someone asks for your time? Does your stomach drop when you see a certain name pop up on your phone? Pay attention to those cues. They often point to places where a boundary is being tested. Instead of dismissing them, use them as information. Ask yourself: what would feel more supportive here?

Set Boundaries Without Guilt. A boundary doesn't need to come with a long explanation or apology. Try phrases like: "I'm not available for that, but I hope it goes well." "That doesn't work for me right now." "I'm focusing on my own needs at the moment." You're allowed to protect your energy. Saying no to what drains you means you can say yes to what nourishes you.

Reclaiming your energy isn't selfish — it's sacred. And it starts with awareness. When you begin noticing where your energy is going, you can start calling it back.

A Reminder to Take Up Space

You don't owe anyone unlimited access to your time, your energy, or your emotional bandwidth.

And it starts with awareness. When you begin noticing where your energy is going, you can start calling it back.

If you're ready, try one small shift today. A pause. A "no". A moment of listening to your gut instead of silencing it.

You deserve to feel whole, clear, and powerful in your own skin.

I write to you now not from a sun-drenched windowsill, nor from the blissful embrace of my crocheted basket, nor even from Lorraine's newest fleece-lined laundry hamper (RIP, your socks).

No.

I write from under the sofa.

Yes, under the sofa, where the dust bunnies speak in whispers and something suspiciously sticky lives near the skirting board. This is where I've taken refuge. This is where I am regrouping, nursing my wounds.

For I, Sir Archibald Fluffington III, Fluff of House Biscuit, Emperor of the Side Table Realm, Undisputed Duke of Disdain, have just endured a harrowing, soul-shattering encounter with true evil.

No, not the toddler from next door who once attempted to feed me a crayon.

I speak of her.

Dr Edith Crimble. Veterinarian. Wielder of cold instruments and colder stares. Possibly a lizard in disguise.

This, dear reader, is the story of how I survived the worst day of my life.

It began as all betrayals do: quietly. Subtly. With a box.

Not a joyous Amazon box filled with crinkly brown paper and the occasional toy mouse. No, no.

This was a carrier.

Plastic. Blue. Reeking of bleach and unspoken trauma. I felt its presence long before Lorraine heaved it from the wardrobe. My ears twitched. My whiskers tingled.

Jeremy tried to be casual about it. "Just a check-up, mate."

Just a check-up. Ha! You absolute clot.

Let me translate: Thermometers. Judgement. Probing. Dignity, obliterated.

Reader, I ran.

Across the bookcase (bye-bye, family photos). Under the bed (where I growled like a wartime general). Inside the airing cupboard (steamy). Behind the washing machine (claustrophobic, dusty, mildly enlightening).

But they found me. With tuna bribes and squeaky voices and the betrayal of a man I once trusted to scratch my chin and respect my boundaries.

Lorraine used The Voice. You know the one. Sickly sweet. Wobbly with false reassurance.

"Come on, sweetheart. It'll be quick."

Lies. Deception. Treachery wrapped in pastel cardigans.

I was shoved into the carrier while Jeremy hummed a tune that can only be described as nervous guilt meets indie regret. They slammed the latch shut like criminals burying evidence.

And so, off we went.

The vet's waiting room is a place of torment. It smells of disinfectant, sorrow, and Labrador breath.

Inside sat a pug in a neck cone, two guinea pigs visibly plotting an uprising, and a parrot who screamed "NO TOUCHING" every seven seconds.

A dog, Kevin, I later learned, attempted to sniff my carrier. I hissed. He cried. We understood each other perfectly.

And then she emerged.

Dr Crimble.

Sensible shoes. Oversized glasses. A name badge that dared to say "Here to help!"

"Ah! Archibald!" she said brightly, as if I hadn't just been kidnapped and carted into her House of Horrors.

I glared. Coldly. Quietly. Threateningly.

Jeremy cooed at me. "It's just a quick look, pal."

I meowed once. Loudly. In pure, fluent Disapproval.

A hamster fainted.

The exam room was worse. Cold metal surfaces. Diagrams of internal organs no cat ever wanted to think about. A poster featuring a grinning cat with the caption, "Happy After a Dental Cleaning!"

He was not happy. He was dead inside.

Crimble plucked me from the carrier like I was luggage. Plonked me on the table.

"Let's have a little look, shall we?"

She poked my ribs. Commented on my weight. Slight weight gain, she said.

Excuse me?

I am not chubby. I am luxuriously plush. Built for winter. Designed for opulence.

She opened my mouth. Called my teeth "charming but suspicious". Then she reached for the stethoscope.

I stared into her soul.

She stared right back.

And then, reader, then, she reached for The Thermometer.

You know where it goes. I don't need to say it. We're civilised mammals. But I will say this:

I. Lost. It.

I twisted. I flailed. I produced noises only heard in horror films and cursed basements. I launched myself from the table in a display of acrobatic terror Cirque du Soleil should have witnessed.

Jeremy tried to hold me. I scratched him. Twice. He deserved it.

"Bit dramatic, this one," Crimble muttered.

Bit dramatic?

Ma'am, you just threatened the sovereign territory of my bottom.

When the trauma ended, when the thermometer had been removed, the scales lied about my weight, and Crimble had scribbled "anxious disposition" in my file, I waited.

Bided my time.

Jeremy stood by the counter, collecting flea tablets and pretending not to be emotionally shattered. Crimble opened the door for him.

That was my moment.

I bolted.

Down the corridor. Past reception. Over Kevin the Retriever (again). Through the automatic doors like a furry Jason Bourne.

The receptionist shouted, "CODE FLUFF!"

Too late. I was gone.

I hid in the hedge near the car park for twenty-seven minutes.

It gave me time to reflect. To consider who I'd become. The things I'd endured. The hands I'd slapped.

Eventually, Lorraine found me. She crouched, tears in her eyes, holding out a tin of sardines.

I made her beg.

I am not petty. I am a cat. We invented spite.

I allowed myself to be scooped up like a weary war hero returning from the frontlines.

She held me close. Whispered apologies. Jeremy offered me his hoodie like a blanket of remorse.

I said nothing. But I licked my paw and slapped his cheek lightly. Forgiveness is earned, not given.

Back home, I retreated under the sofa. I ignored Dreamies. I refused belly rubs. I rejected affection for a full 72 minutes.

But I plotted.

Oh yes, I plotted.

Later that week, I knocked Lorraine's essential oil diffuser off the shelf. I chewed Jeremy's shoelace while he slept. I dragged a single sock into the litter tray and buried it with precision.

Justice.

I survived.

The vet did not break me. The thermometer did not define me. Crimble did not win.

Let it be known: I am Sir Archibald Fluffington III. Knight of the Knotted Curtain Tie. Sovereign of Sardines. Enemy of All Who Wear Surgical Gloves.

Let this tale be a warning to veterinary professionals everywhere:

We remember. We plan. We poop next to the tray, not in it.

And someday, when you least expect it…

We return.

For much of my life, I have been a highly successful, driven entrepreneur. My first passion was to become a sportswriter (at a time when there were no women sportswriters!) And with my total focus, I was able to land at the Detroit Free Press, Los Angeles Times, Associated Press, Washington Post and host of Dodger Dugout on TV by the time I was 22.

After that, I launched a 20-year journey owning and managing one of the world's two largest sports-special events-cable TV public relations agencies with a world-class client list, Toyota, Avon, Seagrams, National Hockey League, Golf Channel, LA Marathon, Showtime, AMC, Ice Capades, Harlem Globetrotters and Top Rank Boxing just to name a select few. Quite an accomplishment when you realise I was the only woman running a sports agency.

And then I segued to doing podcast tours for authors making a difference in the world, and I still continue to do that work. We've done 400 and I am happy to say, they have garnered 90 raving testimonials, including from leading personal growth figures. All that is to say, I've been in service to other people for more than four decades.

But what few knew was that when I could escape the grind, I would run off and indulge myself in historic travel, photographing amazing cities and places around the world that spoke to a slice of history. I was a closet photographer! All the time thinking, "Someday I will share these fabulous images." Even my friends despaired of actually seeing the pictures as I'd just immediately jumped back into work.

My other escape, if I couldn't go, was to read historic novels, mysteries, history books or biographies that took me back in time. So if I couldn't physically go, I time-travelled through books.

When I hit my 70th birthday, something clicked in. There were far less years ahead than behind. Until then, I'd been telling myself I had plenty of time. But a new reality was hitting me!

The first thing I did was make a list of all the bucket-list cities I wanted to visit and shoot before it would be too challenging to lug a suitcase and a backpack full of cameras across a continent. So, in the summer of 2023, I just took the leap, left my business to my remaining team members, and did a 9-week tour of Europe! Regardless! 20 cities in France, Croatia (Dubrovnik, Zagreb, Korčula island), Austria (Vienna), Hungary (Budapest), Czech Republic (Prague), Switzerland (Lucerne, Interlaken, Geneva) and Northern Italy (Milan, Lake Como, Bellagio, Verona, Genoa, Pisa and Lucca).

It was simply life changing. All the pressure to see these things before it was too late, was off! I had done it and loved every minute! But something else had changed, too.

When I got home, I decided it was time to do what was in my heart. Nothing else was as important. I would say no to anything that didn't light me up and yes to ONLY what lights me up.

And that turned out to be The Historic Traveler, a blog and membership community devoted to people like me, who love history, travel and historic novels. And here is where I can share my images, in all their glory! In every blog post (twice weekly) I feature up to 30 amazing images from one particular location that has historical significance, cities, villages, landmarks, churches, libraries, palaces, castles and so much more! I showcase this place with my storytelling skills. But what makes the blog unique is the book recommendations. I draw on my deep bank of knowledge of historic novels, mysteries and history books to provide reading that make you feel as if you lived it! It's far from your usual, everyday travel blog!

Furthermore, I like nothing more than hunkering down with a bunch of women, and occasionally men, who love to read historic novels and sharing our finds. I also love exploring new places through the eyes of people who have already been there. So I decided to create a community, as well, where like-minded folks could get together and discover more with each other. Furthermore, since I now write an 80-page magazine on Historic Travel and Historic Reading, I have contacts with many experts and famous historic novelists, so I invite them for group chats! Best of all, I've launched a photo gallery as part of the blog (Lapin Gallery) with more than 35 individual collections of images from all over the world, plus things that just offer beauty, roses, animals, landscapes, coastal panoramas, hot air balloons, fall colours, sunsets, other florals, faces, and, of course, historic places.

What could be better than that!

What could be better than that! I am still 'working,' but my passion is The Historic Traveler. That never feels like work. It's sheer joy. Don't wait as long as I did to give in to your heart. Whatever you've been denying yourself shrinks your soul.

So, yes, I am still "working" but my podcast tours for clients are fun and easy. It's another way to share books with seekers of knowledge, answers and inspiration. But my passion is The Historic Traveler. That never feels like work. It's sheer joy. (Even digitising 35,000 slides that date from before digital cameras and cell phones!)

When I am asked to do something now other than these two, I ask myself, "Does it light me up? Is it worth my time? If I am going to spend the last part of my life investing in something, does it open me up or contract me?" That's my rule. Would I rather be taking a group of folks to Egypt, sharing the rich history there, or sitting at my desk doing work that makes me wish I was out exploring the world?

So my gift to you is to say don't wait as long as I did to give in to your heart! Whatever you've been denying yourself, shrinks your soul, which is always seeking expansion. Your heart calling may be something entirely different than mine, but follow it. Don't let it slip away!

Fortunately, I am still vital enough to do this pivot joyfully. I just love sharing my pictures, what I have learned about these amazing places and the books that bring history to life. I call myself The Historic-Traveler-in-Chief. It makes me feel ALIVE! So if you love any of these, don't be a stranger. Come visit me at The Historic Traveler and share your stories, or books! Let's light up both our hearts, and the world!

I come from a line of extremely strong, resourceful women. My mother immigrated to the United States at age 16, having graduated from university early. She sought a master's degree in finance and a better life here, becoming an executive at a Fortune 500 company, at a time when few women were allowed in such positions.

My grandmother followed her daughter here after I was born. My mother worked full time and my grandmother came to help take care of me. She gave up a life of financial privilege back home. Although she was a teacher in the Philippines, she became a domestic worker in the US to supplement her income. Often, professional degrees earned in the Philippines do not translate to commensurate work in the United States.

Both women taught me a great deal. They shared their hard-fought life lessons with me and encouraged me daily. My grandmother had to flee a hospital hours after giving birth to my mother because the Japanese were bombing it at the time during World War II.

My grandmother gave me financial rewards for all of my good grades and a car when I turned 16. They instilled confidence in me, and I grew up thinking I could achieve anything to which I set my mind and persevered. They cheered my every achievement and gave me what they could to support me.

After graduating from a top-ten law school, I became a successful attorney at one of Washington, DC's largest law firms. I later became a political appointee in the Clinton Justice Department. Although following the professional path that I followed was more to fulfil my mother's dream than mine, it has afforded me wonderful and rewarding opportunities.

After reaching midlife, I added my own dreams to my repertoire. I became a journalist, author, public speaker and podcaster. Each afforded me the chance to pursue long held areas of interest. After raising my children, I had more time to focus on personal avenues of joy. I became acutely aware that I had lived more of my life than I had ahead of me, and became more intentional about how I spent my time.

I kept my law job, part-time, and set off on new paths. While my legal job still is the most financially rewarding, my other gigs are more personally rewarding. I feel fortunate to have the ability to pursue these other avenues of growth and giving back.

My daughter is even stronger than I am. She, too, was given advantages neither my grandmother nor my mother enjoyed. She had even more opportunities than I had. She has chosen to use her gifts to help others as a social worker, a profession I do not believe I could do. She is empathetic, caring and wise, and I have no doubt that she will help a great deal of people. She already has.

I know I would not have achieved my successes without the support and example of my maternal relatives. They each overcame obstacles and taught me how to do the same.

My obstacles differed from theirs. My mother had to fight overt racism in the US, even being forbidden by Maryland law in 1962 from marrying my white father. It was not until 1967 until the US Supreme Court deemed such laws unconstitutional.

I was a victim of sexual assault and abuse, and became an alcoholic. The road to sobriety was arduous, but I found a way. I am now 12 years sober and mentor other women alcoholics. My mother and grandmother were not familiar with the challenges of alcoholism, but my sober sisters loved me until I could love myself.

If you do not believe you are from a strong line of women, remember that you can choose your own family. My sober sisters are part of my chosen family. Surround yourself with women who inspire and encourage you.

If you do not believe you are from a strong line of women, remember that you can choose your own family. My sober sisters are part of my chosen family. Surround yourself with women who inspire and encourage you. Be intentional about with whom you spend your time. Your choices each day become your life. You, too, can emerge from a strong line of women.

If you've been affected by anything in this article, the Samaritans are available free, any time, on 116 123.

No one told me that building a business would first require burning the life I was supposed to want.

You know the one, the life built by other people's expectations. The one that looked so good on paper. A life curated by checkboxes: successful career, respectable partnership, competent parenting. A life praised by the outside world, but quietly suffocating on the inside.

Before I ever stepped into this version of my work, as a speaker, author, and host of Rabbit Hole Reflections, I was the woman who kept everything running for everyone else. I wore the armour of being dependable, high-achieving, self-sacrificing.

I was a military veteran and a former educator. I knew how to lead, how to serve, how to silence my needs to meet everyone else's. I knew how to smile while suppressing the ache in my chest.

I knew how to shrink in all the ways women are conditioned to, soften your voice, smooth out your edges, don't take up too much space. Be agreeable. Be easy to be around.

But underneath the polished surface was a voice that hadn't been heard. The voice inside me that had grown tired of whispering. A fire that refused to die out no matter how many times I tried to dim it. A version of me I hadn't yet allowed myself to meet, let alone become.

Building this business wasn't just about creating an income or platform. It was about coming home to myself. For many women, especially those of us who have spent years living by the rules, entrepreneurship is less about business and more about becoming. It's a reclamation. Of our time. Of our values. Of our voice.

We don't just build brands, we rebuild ourselves. We unlearn the belief that our worth is tied to being useful. We start leading not just from our résumés, but from our wisdom. We stop editing out our softness. We stop apologising for our stories. We realise that what makes us different is what makes us powerful.

I didn't start this work because I had a five-year business plan. I started it because I was finally ready to step out of the shadows, mine and other women's. I needed a space where honesty could breathe and be honoured, where we could speak without code-switching, without shrinking. I wanted it to be loud.

Arrival doesn't always look like a ribbon-cutting ceremony. Sometimes it looks like sitting in the ashes of what no longer fits. It looks like grieving what you thought you were supposed to want. It looks like being brave enough to stay with yourself through the unravelling.

And here's what I've learned: arrival doesn't always look like a ribbon-cutting ceremony. Sometimes it looks like sitting in the ashes of what no longer fits. It looks like grieving what you thought you were supposed to want. It looks like being brave enough to stay with yourself through the unravelling.

Because this isn't about perfection. It's about power. The kind of power that comes from truth-telling. The kind that doesn't need to prove anything, only to stand rooted, unwavering.

And if you take anything from my story, let it be this: the business you're building will only be as honest as the voice you build it with.

Let it be yours. Unapologetically.

We met on social media through mutual friends. I knew who he was but to be honest, he wasn't on my radar at all, and I didn't have much interaction with him. But I noticed that he had been very supportive of my social media content so one day, I wrote him a message thanking him for being so kind and encouraging. Then we started to communicate.

It was fun to have someone to talk with, especially over shared interests. This became a daily communication and the connection grew. It was lovely to be able to share your day; the ups and downs and wins and losses. It was appealing and addicting. I tried not to engage in the flirtation, at first. But he told me how magnetic my energy was and how attractive he found me and my personality. He became too hard to resist. And before I knew it, I was checking my phone for his texts and phone calls, which came quite furious and frequently.

And now I was hooked. I knew I should be more careful with my heart. It had been broken way too many times and I couldn't let a man take me off my focus. I was in my 40s and my head knew better. I was working on my latest children's book and working on my coaching business. But my heart still longed for it all. And the effect the masculine can have on you is strong, especially when you feel your heart and body come alive from his words and his voice. It's intoxicating.

He filled me with such hope and belief in the future. He would take care of me, protect me, even move to where I was. I knew it seemed too good to be true but that part of me that longed for that melted with every word. There weren't any promises made and yet I felt like this all could come true.

After a while, he started to call and text less. They've always told us when that happens that "he's just not that into you." I got the hint, so I backed off as well, not wanting to be annoying. But he seemed confused why I was messaging him less. He enjoyed hearing from me and even though he had a hard time sending me messages and he was busy with work, he still wanted to hear from me.

I tried. I love encouraging people, and I know it can help fuel us, especially when we are dealing with a lot. But after a while, I felt like I was talking to a wall. I also need reciprocation. It isn't a lot of fun just sending messages and not hearing back. And because we weren't in the same city, this was the only way we could connect. I told him I hoped we could communicate more.

And then the messages and calls became more infrequent. And then they just stopped. I was wondering what was going on and I was trying to be as patient as I could, but I needed communication. I wanted to understand.

Then he became a ghost. I was confused and angry. And sad and heartbroken. Even though deep down, I knew we really were not compatible, and it wasn't going to work out, it broke me. But only for a time.

I allowed myself to feel and cry for a few days. I am capable of healing so much faster now than I used to be. And I realised what had happened. He love bombed me for months. Then ghosted me. Like nothing had happened. With no explanation.

Now, I know he had his own issues. He shared a lot with me, and I knew it was hard for him to communicate and keep up with everything. I have a lot of compassion and understanding for what people go through and what might be hard for them. I can understand, to a point. Yet explanations are not excuses for behaviours and for hurting others.

How I longed for closure. And yet I knew I probably wouldn't get it. I knew that I had to find closure within myself. That meant learning to be okay with what was and letting go of this need to understand and to be understood. Was it easy? No. But it gets easier the more I practise.

I realised that I still look for validation from men because of these underlying beliefs that I'm not good enough. So, this is now my time to rise and validate myself.

Do I resent him? At times. It's painful to go through the emotional turmoil. To be told you are a part of someone's life and then to just not exist at all. And yet I'm so grateful. Because this situation gave me an opportunity to see where I continue to have blockages in my life and where I still need healing. I realised that I still look for validation from men because of these underlying beliefs that I'm not good enough.

So, this is now my time to rise and validate myself. To know that I have the power within me to become stronger and know that I'm a wonderful and awesome woman who does not need anyone else's validation. It also gave me an opportunity to overcome the pain and heartache a lot quicker than in the past. I allowed myself to feel and cry. But then I got right back up because I am even stronger now. I took my power back. And I know that the next time a man tries to love bomb me again, I will protect my heart even more.

If I could say one thing to him now, it would be this: thank you for helping me see how strong I am and to know that I can rescue myself for I am powerful all on my own.

Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered, where did that little girl go?

The girl who dreamed big, believed in fairy tales, danced without fear, and spoke her mind without hesitation. Somewhere along life's journey, through heartbreak, abuse, trauma, disappointment, or betrayal, many women lose sight of who they truly are.

But here's the truth: she's still in there.

That voice whispering, "You were made for more," may have been silenced under years of survival, silence, or shame. But she can rise again. And when she does, she won't come back timid or afraid. She'll return with strength, shaped by fire, and ready to speak with power.

This is a story of redemption. Of rising. Of finding your voice again.

The Power of a Silenced Voice

Women are often taught to be strong, to keep going, to smile through pain. But that strength can become a mask. Over time, identity gets buried under roles, titles, and expectations. The true voice, the authentic self, is silenced.

Many women carry untold stories, memories of trauma, pain, rejection, abuse, or addiction. These stories are often hidden, locked away, buried to survive.

The scars may be invisible, but the body and soul still carry the weight. The past lingers in silence, even if it's never spoken.

Still, the heart quietly says: you weren't made to just survive. You were made to live.

Even when the past tries to haunt you, there is a voice calling you forward. Your story doesn't have to end where it was broken. It can begin again. You can begin again, stronger, wiser, and more whole than before.

Redemption Starts at Rock Bottom

Redemption often begins in the lowest places. Every woman has a moment that brings her to her knees, emotionally, physically, or spiritually. It might be betrayal, a toxic relationship, or childhood wounds that never healed.

Rock bottom is painful, but it's also purposeful.

It's the place where pretending ends. Where surrender begins. And where the only one who can truly rescue you steps in to restore what was lost and reveal who you were always meant to be.

Redemption doesn't come through perfection. It comes through surrender.

Healing Isn't Easy, But It's Possible

Healing is not quick, neat, or easy. Some days you feel strong. Other days, the pain resurfaces. This is normal. It's all part of the process.

Be honest with yourself and with others. You don't have to pretend. Healing starts when you allow yourself to feel again, to speak, to cry, to ask for help.

Whether your path to healing includes counselling, journalling, or stillness, it's valid. Take the steps. You matter.

As the saying goes: healed women heal others. Once your voice is restored, your story will echo hope for generations to come.

Forgiveness is the Key to Freedom

Forgiveness is not weakness. It's not easy, and it doesn't happen overnight. But it's how you break free from the hold of the past.

Forgiveness means choosing not to let your pain control your future. It means releasing what cannot be changed, so you can embrace what's ahead.

Often, the hardest person to forgive is yourself. But healing requires grace, for your past, your process, and the moments you didn't know better.

Forgiveness opens the door to freedom. And walking through that door leads you straight into your purpose.

Finding Your Voice Again

Finding your voice isn't about being loud, it's about being true. It's saying, "This is who I am now," and meaning it.

Your voice is your story. It's how you share your truth and say, "I will no longer be silenced. I am not a victim."

Your voice may have been buried by trauma or years of silence. But it's still there. And when it rises, so does your healing, your truth, and your purpose.

Your voice may have been buried by trauma or years of silence. But it's still there. And when it rises, so does your healing, your truth, and your purpose.

Not everyone will understand your journey. But that's okay. You're no longer tied to your past, you're walking in your promise.

From Survivor to Sisterhood

Something beautiful happens when women heal, they find each other. They create safe spaces, rewrite stories, and build bridges for others to cross.

When you heal, it's not just for you. It's for your daughters, your sisters, and for women everywhere who are still silent or searching.

You become the answer to someone else's unspoken prayer.

This is not the end, it's the beginning of a movement. This is redemption in motion.

You Are the Voice

No matter how your story began, through pain, addiction, betrayal, or loss, you are not too broken to be restored.

Your voice matters. Your healing matters. Your dreams still matter.

You don't need to be fully healed or "together" to make an impact. You are worthy and powerful right now, just as you are.

So take back your voice. Speak your truth. Share your story.

There's a woman who needs to know she's not alone. And there's a little girl inside you who still needs to be heard.

You are not beyond repair. You are redeemed. You are rising. And the world is ready to hear your voice.

When the crown of Mrs Universe WA 2024–2025 was placed on my head, I felt something shift. It wasn't loud or dramatic, but it carried weight. It wasn't just about winning, it was about standing in a moment that reflected years of inner work, creative exploration, and the belief that personal growth doesn't have an age limit.

I entered the pageant not to chase a title, but to learn more about myself. I've always loved fashion, not just as a form of beauty, but as a way to express values and tell stories. Sustainable styling, emerging trends, and causes that matter have long been important to me. The pageant gave me space to express all of that in a way that felt true.

One of the most personal moments for me came during the costume round. I chose to highlight breast cancer awareness, designing an outfit inspired by the Amoena mastectomy bra programme. During my time in fashion retail at Nordstrom, I had supported that cause, and it stayed with me. Wearing that look was a reminder that fashion can honour courage and healing.

The process of preparing for the pageant had its share of challenges. I had no background in pageantry, and there were moments of uncertainty. But I had a strong foundation, my love for creativity, support from my husband Prasad, my mum, friends, and even our dog. We worked through the daily practices and coaching sessions together. Every part of my presentation came from thought and intention. On the day itself, I was fortunate to be supported by kind and talented people, Abir, my designer; Ritchie, who helped with styling; the makeup artists who brought everything together with care; and Shibu, who created the props for my costume. My gown was chosen with simplicity and intention, completing the look I had envisioned.

Fashion continues to be a meaningful part of my life. I enjoy sharing how clothes can be restyled, how thrifting makes a difference, and how we can use what we wear to support positive change. I see fashion as a reflection of who we are and what we care about.

Now, at 43, confidence feels different. It's no longer about having all the answers or doing everything perfectly. It's about moving forward, listening to your own voice, and allowing yourself to begin again, even when the timing feels uncertain. For me, this season of life is about trusting the process and staying open.

Since the pageant, I've been fortunate to receive recognition and a chance to share my experience with others. But more than anything, I'm grateful for the clarity it's brought. I want to keep using my story to encourage others to believe in theirs.

The right time is now. You don't have to be ready, you just have to begin. Stay grounded, stay honest, and keep going. Your path is yours to create.

If there's anything I've learned, it's that there's no need to wait for a perfect moment. The right time is now. You don't have to be ready, you just have to begin. Stay grounded, stay honest, and keep going. Your path is yours to create.

About the Pageant: Mrs Universe WA 2024–2025, presented by MyDream TV USA. Event Date: 13 October 2024.

Almost every woman I know at some point in their life has been abused, harassed, attacked, preyed upon, dirtied, sullied; an unwanted sexual proposal offered on the street, in a bar, on the job, in the back of a cab, in a hotel room.

A verbal attack, an emotional beating.

When I was younger, much, much younger, I gave a guy, a fashion designer, a blowjob so I could get the receptionist job at his swanky showroom.

I could not say no.

I needed a job, and he held all the cards and all the power.

I had no self-esteem; none, zero, zilch. And with no self-esteem comes a desperation. And what I learned and what I know: desperation breeds desperation.

It multiplies.

I buried that story, that experience way down deep. For years and years I never told a soul about what I did to get that job. It was buried next to other shameful stories; other guilt ridden experiences, other embarrassing things I did. And for years and years every time those stories bubbled up, I pushed it all down as far as I could, trying desperately to annihilate them; destroy them, keep them from daylight.

I wanted those stories, those shameful awful embarrassing stories to disappear, to be gone. And then the whole Bill Cosby abuse story surfaced and women were sharing their tales of horror, and I decided yes, it was time to share that story; the fashion designer story, and honest to God, my life, my heart, felt less burdened, less frightened, less damaged. I wrote the piece, Cosby and Effect. I was truly shocked at the effect, no pun intended, that piece had.

We no longer need to be loyal, or protect, the ones who abused us, hurt us, violated us.

I couldn't sleep last night when I read about Virginia Giuffre, the amazingly brave woman who came forward about Jeffrey Epstein and Prince Andrew. She was so courageous and spoke so powerfully, she had been abused her entire life. She died yesterday. She took her own life.

All of these stories, our stories, hers, mine, yours… the woman down the street, the girl at the checkout counter, the wife walking two, three steps behind her husband, the lady you never see who keeps her blinds closed, the older woman whose sunglasses hide the truth, all those stories need to be told; exposed to sunlight.

Those stories need to be out of our bodies because they drive a wedge between ourselves and the world, keeping us from being intimate and present and alive, and we all need to be out and about making a huge, massive ruckus in the world. Our world.

Those stories, the ones that are unbearable, tainted, stained, filled with bad men and yes, bad women and bad ugly vile humans, and bad choices and folks who didn't give a damn about our lives when we needed so badly, so badly, to be cared for; scary words that were spoken or whispered into our ear, words that scared the life out of us; those are the stories that need to be out in the world now, right now.

We can no longer keep them hushed, silenced, buried, buried in us; eating away at us, hurting us and harming us, making us sick; keeping us small and fearful and ashamed.

Those stories clutter our lives, every bit, head to toe, heart and soul.

Those stories need to be out of our bodies because they drive a wedge between ourselves and the world, keeping us from being intimate and by intimate I mean present and alive, and we all need to be out and about making a huge, massive ruckus in the world.

Our world.

So, to all the women… and yes, girls and boys and men who have come forward, and keep coming forward, wearing your courage and your brave out-loud: I thank you. I so deeply thank you. Your bravery and your courage is mighty fierce and gorgeous, please, never cover it up.

This piece discusses suicide. If you've been affected by anything in this article, the Samaritans are available free, any time, on 116 123.

There I was, casually scrolling through travel insurance quotes, when one particular question made me laugh out loud: "Have you ever been diagnosed with, struggled with, or taken medication for any of the following mental health issues?"

The first item on the list? Stress.

I mean… really? Who hasn't been stressed?

Honestly, some days I feel like a human browser with 478 tabs open, each one demanding attention, while I'm just moments away from crashing.

Running a business? Stressful. Travelling regularly? Stressful. Living and working with your partner 24/7? Let's not even open that can of worms.

And let's not forget the superhero mums out there. I can't even begin to imagine the daily balancing act. Hats off to you, seriously.

Now, don't get me wrong. These are all blessings. But let's be honest: just because something is a blessing doesn't mean it's not completely overwhelming at times.

So yes, I laughed at the question, but only because it hit a little too close to home.

The truth is, stress isn't just about the obvious tension headaches or restless nights. It's sneakier than that. Studies show around 50% of working women deal with stress weekly, if not daily. Juggling work drama, family demands, ageing parents, or even just keeping up with the group chat, it all adds up.

And stress can show up in ways you might not expect: brain fog, walking into a room and immediately forgetting why; stubborn belly fat, the kind that laughs in the face of workouts; cravings, especially those mid-afternoon carb-fuelled ones; mood swings, let's just say… approach with caution.

If you're a woman in midlife, this might all sound eerily familiar. Maybe you're wondering if perimenopause is creeping in. Maybe your doctor's run tests and said everything looks "within range", but you still feel exhausted, foggy, or just off.

Here's the thing: just because your cortisol levels are "normal" on paper doesn't mean they're not wreaking havoc. Chronically high cortisol can knock your hormones off balance, impacting insulin, testosterone, even oestrogen, and leaving you feeling like a stranger in your own body.

And then, because you feel awful, you get more stressed. And the cycle goes round.

But here's the good news: you can break it. I've been there. And I found my way back.

Before I share the three simple steps that helped me reclaim my energy, mood, and waistline, I want to say this clearly: stress and cortisol are not the enemy.

In fact, we're here because of them.

Imagine it: 2.5 million years ago, you're a cavewoman out gathering berries. Suddenly there's a rustle in the bushes. Your palms go clammy. Your heart races. Adrenaline kicks in. You're ready to fight or flee. That's cortisol doing its job, keeping you alive.

But the problem now? The "rustling bush" is your email pinging. The traffic jam. The looming deadline. The cryptic "We need to talk" text.

Modern life is full of micro-stressors. Our bodies react like it's life or death, even when it's just someone forgetting to take the bins out.

We need cortisol, to wake up, to function, but we don't need it 24/7. And yet, many of us are running on high-alert all day, every day.

At one point, my own stress became so overwhelming, I spent days in bed. I wasn't sad, I was just empty. No drive. No energy. Nothing. I'd officially gone from high-achiever mode to full-on burnout.

But I clawed my way back, and it started with these three simple steps.

Prioritise Sleep. Resetting my body clock was game-changing. I became strict with my bedtime, even on weekends. No phones in the bedroom. I created both a calming night routine and a morning ritual to ease into the day. Quality sleep helps regulate cortisol better than almost anything else.

Manage Stress and Build Resilience. Sure, breathwork helps. But for me, journalling was transformative. I also cut down my screen time significantly, which did wonders for my anxiety. But managing stress is just one side of it, building resilience is the key. That's where strength training came in. Lifting weights built not only physical strength, but mental resilience too.

Support Gut Health. The gut-brain connection is real. A healthy gut helps regulate cortisol and supports better mental clarity. I added more fibre-rich foods, probiotics, and prebiotics into my diet, and I felt the difference within weeks. Less bloating, better moods, and much clearer thinking.

Look, life will always have stress. That's a given. But feeling buried by it? That's optional.

Look, life will always have stress. That's a given. But feeling buried by it? That's optional.

You don't have to live in survival mode. You don't have to settle for feeling "meh" all the time.

It starts with closing a few of those mental tabs. One by one. Creating space to breathe again. To think clearly. To feel like you again.

Because you deserve more than just coping. You deserve to thrive.

Last year changed everything.

When I retired on 20 June 2020, I thought I was entering a season of peace. I pictured slow mornings and quiet afternoons in the deep southern suburbs of South Carolina. I had earned rest, or so I believed. But life, oh, life had other plans. You know what they say: we plan, and life laughs.

What followed were not just changes, but a cascade of transformations I never saw coming.

My brother died in my arms. Just weeks later, I became my mother's caregiver as she healed from a double knee replacement. Then my father passed. Amid my own heartbreak, my daughter gave birth to three beautiful grandchildren, 3,000 miles away. Her health began to fail, and I was on and off planes, crossing the country to help her through. All while neglecting my own health until my body finally gave out. I found myself in and out of hospitals, staring at the edge of something darker than I was ready to admit. It felt like a surreal film I couldn't walk out of.

So what do you do when life keeps knocking the wind out of you?

You hold on.

For me, that lifeline was Camille, our Camille. You don't know her like I do. She's shared her story through her articles, but as a real living person, I know the truly loving, caring person she is. As both of us have been challenged by people, personalities, and circumstances, we've recognised a kinship. Survival and strength. It is truly a blessing.

When I was too sick to care or blind with worry, it was oftentimes her calm words that pulled me through it. Little by little, I began to reclaim myself.

I returned to the basics: nourishing food, check-ins with my doctor, honest rest, and clear priorities. Healing doesn't always come in grand gestures. Sometimes, it's in the quiet discipline of choosing yourself every single day.

I wanted desperately to fix everything for my daughter. But during my last visit, the truth finally settled in: this is her life, not mine. As hard as it was, I stepped back. Just like when you're teaching your child to walk or ride a bike, you have to let go. You have to trust. The little girl I raised is now the mother I believe she's becoming. I have faith in that.

In February, I arrived for the birth of my grandson only to walk into another storm. My daughter and her teenage daughter, Amythist, were locked in a painful power struggle. Amythist had isolated herself in her room, and my daughter was overwhelmed. And honestly? So was I.

Parenting teenagers is a different world. You can't meet them where they were, you have to meet them where they are. We, as parents, often see the defiant toddler, forgetting they're growing into full, aware human beings who carry knowledge, intuition, and a yearning to be heard.

So I didn't storm in. I didn't raise my voice or impose authority. Instead, I observed. I asked questions. Gently. Patiently. I offered small tasks and gave her the space to say yes or no. She resisted at first, expecting me to explode. But I never did. Instead, I showed up, inviting her along not for punishment or reward, but simply because I wanted her near me. I wanted her to feel wanted.

Eventually, trust bloomed.

We started talking. Not surface-level, but deep, meaningful conversations. Her insights stunned me. The vulnerability, the wisdom, this child, this young woman, was more aware than many adults I know. And I made a promise then: to protect this fragile bond until it was no longer fragile, but strong. Rooted.

What she wanted wasn't complicated, she wanted to be a child. Free to grow, to stumble, to feel joy and heartbreak, to learn how to trust and how to set boundaries. She didn't want to be a second mother or a keeper of responsibilities she never asked for.

So I showed her what honesty looks like by being honest myself. I owned my mistakes. I embraced my flaws. I let her see me, not perfect, but real. She's seen me fall and rise again. She's seen me say "no" to things that violate my peace. She's watching, always watching, and I'm teaching by doing.

Now, she's with me. She chose to come to South Carolina and try a new chapter. It wasn't easy for any of us, but she made the decision, and I removed the roadblocks.

And here we are. Week one of a new beginning.

There is never too much love for a child. Our children are not possessions to control, but souls to guide. We don't own them. We're here to love them. To hold them. And eventually, to let them fly.

We're happy. Truly happy. Each day is a new memory in the making. We keep her mum close in every way we can, because this isn't about replacing anyone. It's about expanding love, not dividing it.

From her first breath to her first steps, from preschool drop-offs to teenage heartaches, I've been there. And now, in this sacred space, I get to be there again. I trust that one day, my daughter will do the same. Just as I did. Just as my mother did before me.

This is the journey.

There is never too much love for a child. It takes a village, and every person who shows up with love in their hands and wisdom in their hearts is a gift. Our children are not possessions to control, but souls to guide. We don't own them. We're here to love them. To hold them. And eventually, to let them fly.

Some dishes, or styles, are synonymous with a particular country. Haggis for example is definitely from Scotland, and rice is definitely from China. But what of other famous exports to the world? Some have been adapted (and then adopted) and now hail from somewhere else, but others have been just out and out stolen. Let's find out.

American Hamburgers. Forming ground/minced meat into patties was a popular dish in late 19th century Germany (from, yes you guessed it, the town of Hamburg), it was only after being exported to the US that it ended up between two slices of bread.

Pizza. Is it American? Is it Italian? This battle has raged on and off for years, but both of these countries can calm down and keep quiet. Placing toppings on a flatbread type substance has been done for centuries in the Middle East. Sure, it wasn't a pizza as we know it today, but it fits the dictionary definition.

Chinese Fortune Cookies. Many know this one, but if you didn't, it's an American thing. Possibly created by Chinese (maybe even Japanese) immigrants in California, but definitely hails from the USA.

Italian Spaghetti and Meatballs. Italians made it, but they created it in NYC, thereby making it an American dish.

French Fries. Remember when Americans were a bit upset with the French for some reason, and started calling them Freedom Fries? Fun times. They need not have bothered because they actually come from Belgium.

Japanese Sushi. It took a while for the process of fermenting fish to arrive in Japan (about a thousand years in fact) from what is now Cambodia and Thailand. The Japanese perfected it, but they didn't invent it.

French Croissants. The 'kipferl', a crescent shaped pastry was born in 13th century Austria. It wasn't until the French got a hold of it and added loads of butter that we get what we have today.

Italian Caesar Salad. Another dish created by a native of the country we all think it's from. We even have an actual nailed down date: 4 July 1924. Nope, not American, it was born in Mexico, after Caesar Cardini ran out of ingredients and had to make a sauce on the fly for his restaurant. You'd be pleasantly surprised at how many dishes have been created this way.

Japanese Tempura Batter. Portuguese missionaries brought this to the shores of Japan in the 16th century as they had been doing this back home for ages.

British Battered Fish. Speaking of which, the good ol' fish and chips isn't British, it's Jewish, and the practice has been around for about 500 years. The British added beer into the batter a couple of hundred years later, because of course they did.

Italian Tomato Sauce. A bit of a cheat this one as tomatoes were not known in Europe at the time and had been imported from South America. Plus the first recorded instance of tomato sauce comes from Spain. This one is virtually impossible to nail down. Write in if you can add to this mystery.

Swedish Meatballs. The Ottoman Empire came up with this, a variation of Turkish Köfte, and it found its way to King Charles XII of Sweden whilst exiled from his homeland. He brought himself and this dish back home, and I guess everyone was happy about it.

American Hot Dog. Just like the hamburger, hot dogs are German, hence why dogs are called frankfurters (after the German town). Oh, and Wieners are from Austria. And, yes, Oscar Mayer was German.

Belgian Waffles. Greeks came up with these a few thousand years ago, although the word waffle comes from the Dutch word 'wafel' for the honeycomb pattern. Definitely not Belgian.

Italian Pasta. It was Arab traders who brought this to Sicily in the 8th century. Durum wheat grows perfectly in the climate there, and very quickly spread across the country.

American Apple Pie. As the saying goes, 'As American as Apple Pie', in actuality is English. Oh dear.

German Sauerkraut. Long before Germany was actually Germany, the Chinese were fermenting cabbage. Suan Cai is definitely not German.

Japanese Katsu Curry. This one is convoluted. Katsu comes from the British curry, which in turn comes from the Indian curry, which in turn comes from the British invasion that made Indian curries what British curries are today that Katsu comes from. Yeah, I think we just divided by zero.

In a world filled with remarkable women, many of whom are mothers, I am beyond proud to say that mine is the absolute best. She is not just my mum; she is my hero, my inspiration, and the strongest person I have ever known.

Raising children is no easy feat, but raising twins? That's a whole new level of dedication. My mother not only survived raising my twin sister and me, but she did so with a grace and strength that continues to astound me. She was our guiding light, our unwavering source of love, and the woman who showed us what it means to be selfless, courageous, and kind.

But my mum's strength isn't just in her love, it's in her survival. Life has thrown more challenges her way than most could endure, yet she has emerged victorious every single time. She survived not just one but two brain aneurysms, a condition that has a million-to-one survival chance. The odds were stacked against her, yet here she stands, the sheer power of an unbreakable spirit.

At 81, when many would prefer the comfort of an armchair, my mum set her sights on an adventure. It was her dream to climb Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales, and so she did.

And live, she has. Even in her eighties, she continues to defy expectations and redefine what it means to embrace life fully. At 81, when many would prefer the comfort of an armchair, my mum set her sights on an adventure. It was her dream to climb Snowdon (Yr Wyddfa), the highest mountain in Wales, and so she did. With determination in her heart and a twinkle of excitement in her eyes, she conquered that mountain alongside me, proving that age is no barrier to chasing dreams. That moment, standing together at the summit, looking out over the breathtaking landscape, was one of the most profound and humbling experiences of my life. It was a reminder that with courage and perseverance, anything is possible.

My mother is not just an extraordinary woman; she is a force of nature. She has given me love, wisdom, and a lifetime of memories that I will cherish forever. She has shown me what it means to never give up, to always find joy in the little things, and to embrace every challenge as an opportunity to grow.

To my mum, my rock, my inspiration, you truly are a mum in a million. And I am endlessly grateful to call you mine.

I have a new mantra called 'Get in the f*cking water, Julie.'

My history has placed boundaries and blocks on me that are now no longer useful. Motherhood and grandmothering made me a watcher, not a participant and I found myself thinking I'm bored (not dull, happy with dull), but bored.

Through circumstances (age, illness) I had withdrawn from the simple things that made me feel alive, rain on my face, cold on my nose and the feel of water on my body. Little things that energise and clear the grey spaces in my brain to make way for laughter.

I had withdrawn to be consistently comfortable. In that comfort, I found the enemies of older life's enjoyment creeping in, negativity, cynicism, resentment, rage, grumpiness, selfishness, and tentacles of dissatisfaction.

Where solitude became loneliness, dullness became boring and what were once positives became negatives. Products of too much navel-gazing and all of my creation.

So… here I am, breaking a boundary about covering up that served me well as a young girl and kept me safe that I no longer need, haven't needed since I left home at 17.

I dropped the dressing gown of death at 7:30 in the morning braving it up to 'GET IN THE F*CKING WATER JULIE.'

I have this feeling that ageing is not for the faint-hearted, and if I want to enjoy it I think I have to continue to be a bit brave to retain my sense of self.

It doesn't have to be big things or even many things (I have accepted I'm not going to be a movie star or climb Mount Everest), it's the little things, boundaries, and comforts that I need to cross or push against occasionally to still feel like… me.

I have this feeling that ageing is not for the faint-hearted, and if I want to enjoy it I think I have to continue to be a bit brave to retain my sense of self.

Is anyone else finding this or do you have a magic pill? If you do I'll have a dozen bottles emptied into a caramel frappe with a good splash of grog, any grog will do.

I'm a terrible swimmer.

When my grandma was just a young girl, she left everything she knew behind. She escaped from China during the civil war with nothing but the clothes on her back and a heart full of hope. She didn't know what the future held. She didn't speak Malay. She couldn't read or write. But she carried something far more powerful, an unshakable determination to build a better life.

When she arrived in Malaysia, survival became her daily battle. She worked tirelessly, taking whatever jobs she could find, often going to bed hungry so that my mother could eat. She ate just one meal a day so that my mum could go to school. She believed that if her daughter could learn to read and write, she could break the cycle of struggle. That was her dream. Simple, yet profound.

My mother carried that same fire inside her. When she had me, she knew education was my key to independence, just as it had been hers. But opportunities didn't come easy. She worked 16-hour shifts, seven days a week, pouring everything she had into making sure I had a future with choices.

I remember those long afternoons when I would come home from school, drop my bag by the door, and head straight to her small laundry shop. The scent of detergent filled the air. The hum of the machines never stopped. I would help her fold freshly washed clothes, feeling the weight of each neatly stacked bundle, not just of fabric, but of sacrifice. This was more than just work. It was the foundation of everything she was building for me.

There were times when I wished she had more time to sit with me, to ask about my day, to simply rest. But even as a child, I understood that this was her way of loving me. She wasn't just earning a living, she was rewriting the future for both of us. And because of her, I became the first woman in our family to graduate from university.

My education was never just mine. It was the sum of the sacrifices made by the women before me. It was the price of their sleepless nights, their empty stomachs, their endless resilience.

My education was never just mine. It was the sum of the sacrifices made by the women before me. It was the price of their sleepless nights, their empty stomachs, their endless resilience. Their struggle paved the way for my success.

For years, success was defined by those who had access, access to elite networks, expensive branding, and glossy professional photoshoots. People who looked like us, who came from families like ours, weren't often represented in the narratives of success.

My grandmother had no photos of the life she left behind. My mother never had the luxury of professional portraits capturing her journey. Their sacrifices weren't documented in magazine spreads or celebrated in history books. But they shaped everything I am today.

Now, technology is shifting that power. With AI, I can create visuals that reflect the reality of people like me, entrepreneurs, dreamers, and builders who need access, not approval.

That's why I feel such a deep connection to my work. It's about removing barriers, breaking down walls, and rewriting the definition of success so that it no longer belongs only to those with the right connections or the right resources.

The women who embrace AI today will be the ones shaping how it's used in the future. We have the chance to redefine representation, to make sure our stories, our struggles, and our legacies are seen, not just by the world, but by the generations that will come after us.

Just as my grandmother did for my mother. Just as my mother did for me. Just as I will do for the women who follow.

When an author I respect, Sophie Hannah, describes this book as "unbearably gripping and suspenseful", and all the other reviewers write along the same lines, indicating that there is a twist at the end, I couldn't wait to order this one from the library.

The book begins with Angus and Sarah, the twins' parents, sitting in a solicitor's office discussing Angus's inheritance of a Scottish island, complete with the lighthouse keeper's dilapidated cottage. It is a big undertaking to move from London to a Scottish island, to a house which will need much renovation, but the two of them need a fresh start and, together with their daughter and the dog Beanie, they move from London to their new home.

Sarah gave birth to identical twins seven years ago. They were christened "The Ice Twins" by Sarah's dad, because they were born on the coldest day of the year, with ice-blue eyes and blonde hair. Fourteen months ago, one of them, Lydia, died in a tragic accident, and the remaining twin, Kirstie, suddenly claims to be Lydia, that her parents had identified the wrong twin at the scene of the accident.

The twins were so alike that it was really difficult to tell them apart, so from birth, Sarah would paint one nail of each with a different colour of varnish. As they grew older, she would dress them in different colours. Kirstie was always the outgoing one, with Lydia being quieter and more reserved. They also had different favourite toys, and now Kirstie is taking on more and more of Lydia's characteristics. When Sarah takes her to her new school after they have moved to the island, Kirstie throws a tantrum and refuses to stay there unless her teacher calls her Lydia. In order to keep the peace Sarah re-registers her under her twin's name. When Kirstie's teacher says that she has noticed a change in personality, and traits in Kirstie which belonged to Lydia, Sarah's worries become more real.

Angus and Sarah have had difficulties in their marriage since Lydia died; both of them have had affairs which didn't last, and find it hard to move on. Hints are given that Angus knows something about the death that he isn't telling, and Kirstie/Lydia becomes stranger and stranger, claiming that Lydia/Kirstie appears to her and they play together. She refers to herself as "we", and Sarah goes along with her to keep her calm, but after seeing a psychologist begins to have suspicions about Angus, coming to the conclusion that he abused Kirstie. He is always cuddling her rather than Lydia, and things come to a head when Sarah accuses him.

The twist at the end caught me by surprise. S.K. Tremayne, real name Sean Thomas, has written several psychological thrillers, and I for one can't wait to order another one from my local library.

Throughout the book we are uncertain as to which twin survived, our opinion vacillating from one to the other. Intertwined with the drama of the characters is the drama of the uncertain weather on the island. The twist at the end caught me by surprise. S.K. Tremayne, real name Sean Thomas, has written several psychological thrillers, and I for one can't wait to order another one from my local library.

About the Book

A year after one of their identical twin daughters, Lydia, dies in an accident, Angus and Sarah Moorcraft move to the tiny Scottish island Angus inherited from his grandmother, hoping to put together the pieces of their shattered lives. But when their surviving daughter, Kirstie, claims they have mistaken her identity, that she, in fact, is Lydia, their world comes crashing down once again.

As winter encroaches, Angus is forced to travel away from the island for work, Sarah is feeling isolated, and Kirstie (or is it Lydia?) is growing more disturbed. When a violent storm leaves Sarah and her daughter stranded, Sarah finds herself tortured by the past — what really happened on that fateful day one of her daughters died?

Genres: Psychological Thriller, Mystery, Fiction.

The Ice Twins can be purchased from Amazon and your local book stores.