My Journey

The trip began in Barcelona. We hired a van and drove across Spain to Portugal, then down through Portugal and across southern Spain before returning to Barcelona. In 10 days, we drove 3,500 km. It was a lot. We didn’t have enough time in any one place to truly be and breathe it in, as we were constantly on the move—a nice little test for our relationship right off the bat. There were tears, laughter, and plenty of singalongs. The journey from Barcelona to Ibiza, where we met 18 friends to celebrate our friends’ hens and bucks, proved to be quite a challenge. The airline left all the passengers’ luggage on a separate plane, so when we arrived in Ibiza, we had no luggage for 24 hours. We were lucky to get it back, and amidst the commotion, we made some wonderful friends who live on the island and have a farm—just one of the serendipitous moments travel often grants us.

From Ibiza, we travelled to Africa and entered another world in Morocco. The colours, art, and jewellery were unlike anything I had ever seen. Visiting a third-world country is always eye-opening. Seeing how others live and what they need to get by is humbling. Everything is laid out in front of you here; nothing is hidden, and this can be confronting. At times, I found it difficult to keep my heart open amidst the hounding and staring, but this was all part of stepping into their world, and I am grateful for the glimpse I received.

From the heat and red dust of Morocco, we travelled to Bulgaria, where the lush green mountains embraced us. Landing here was a breath of fresh air. We had the opportunity to watch our friends tie the knot. After the wedding, a few of us travelled to the village where our friend’s family is from and shared a wholesome dinner amongst their fruit trees.

A group of us continued to Croatia, meeting in Tisno for the Defected Music Festival. Here, we saw some of our favourite DJs live and in the flesh. We danced all night and rejuvenated ourselves during the day with the sun and the ocean. My heart fills with joy reflecting on our time here—the shared love, the lessons exchanged, and the deep connections formed. The next time we would see each other would be back in little ol’ Adelaide.

To the land of pizza, pasta, and paninis: Daniel and I made our way to Italy. First, we hired a car and travelled to the coast of Bari, where we indulged in smallgoods and found our feet among the Italians. Slowly eating our way through Italy, we travelled around Sardinia and then made it to Sicily. Our last stop was Calabria, where Daniel’s ancestors are from. While enjoying our last few relaxing days in Tropea, Daniel had a little surprise up his sleeve—he proposed! This beautiful moment is etched in my heart for life. We shared the news with family and friends and were blown away by all the love and joy they shared with us. But little did they know, we had more news to share.

The morning we climbed Mt Etna—an active volcano in Sicily—we received confirmation that I was pregnant. Life felt forever changed. Everything felt more meaningful and precious, and every conversation led back to the future and what it would look like with a baby in it. As we walked the streets of Italy, life had a different tone, knowing a little human was growing between us. There were a lot of big feelings to process during this time, but we were ready to come home and begin preparing for this new life together.

For me, it felt like everything was changing: my body, my energy levels, my mood, my desires, and my purpose. I already felt so far from the person I was in a matter of weeks. I began diving deep into the rabbit hole of pregnancy, birth, postpartum, and motherhood. I wanted to prepare myself. I wanted to be a good mother. I wanted to understand as much as I could while simultaneously surrendering and trusting my body’s innate wisdom.

Landing home, all I wanted to do was nest and go inward. My morning practice was reawakened, and I realised this was the missing piece while travelling. I missed this sacred connection with myself, but this time it was different. I spent every morning connecting with the life growing within me—reading to it, singing to it, and holding my womb with love and presence. At times I felt a little lost: no markers of my cyclical cycle to live by, no energy or desire to create my next offering; my purpose was changing. My ego moved through many deaths during this time as I began to let go of the grip of who I was, so I could make room for who I was becoming… Although, nothing could have prepared me for what was next.

In Ayurveda, they call it an early birth but it is more commonly known as a miscarriage.

This was by far the most heartbreaking thing I have had to go through. In the beginning stages, it didn’t occur to me what was actually happening. Part of me was in denial, but on reflection, I believe there was a part of me that knew. In TCM, when the body experiences any type of shock or trauma, it is said that the Shen—our Spirit—leaves the body and goes back to the heavens. I like to think that my Spirit left my body that day to take our little soul home. Since then, I have been on a healing journey of calling my Spirit back home to my Heart.

I was left empty—my heart, my womb, my body. I felt like I was a shell, with not even a ghost inside. Nothing else mattered. The day after, I tried my best to dissociate from the pain. I laid in front of the TV and tried to forget. But there was no escaping my reality. I was still bleeding and passing while my uterus was still contracting. I could hide from the world, but I couldn’t hide from myself. Facing my reality was inevitable. That night, before I went to sleep, I knew I couldn’t continue to avoid the pain, the feelings, the heartbreak—I made the conscious decision that the next day I would move through things differently.

At times I found myself searching. Searching for help… for answers… for someone to hold me… hold the pain… Searching for a tattoo that could describe and honour what I had been through… a psychic… a healer… a therapist… someone to tell me why. But what I found was that I just needed to be still. I needed to turn away from the world and all the noise and tune into myself—to listen, to be present with every feeling, every thought, and let it flow. As much as I wanted to press the fast-forward button, I couldn’t rush myself through this grief portal. I had to trust the unfolding. I had to trust that one day I would be stronger, that one day I would be okay again. It was going to take time to rebuild myself.

That first week after the miscarriage, I was completely broken. I remember feeling so far from myself, and at times, I felt absolutely insane, paralysed by the grief and the loss. Some days I would lay motionless for hours, stuck in time while the world continued to live on. During this time, I was feeling everything to its depths, so when sadness came along, I was the sadness, I was the grief, I was the heartbreak. I couldn’t separate myself from the emotions—I was so deep in it. The darkness was consuming and lonely.

The turning point came when I sat down in ceremony a week after the miscarriage. It was so simple, but it was everything I needed. On my altar, I had a cutting of a plant we had gotten during the week, which to me represented our little soul, and I took my time to connect with it. I held it in both hands in front of me as I would a baby and shared everything that was on my heart—everything I dreamed of saying. I felt myself surrounded by a loving presence. I felt supported by Spirit; I was no longer alone. I was being guided and shown that this would become a blessing one day, to have trust, and that it was time to let life in again. When I felt ready to close the space, I noticed there was a shift. I felt lighter. I felt like it was easier to breathe. I felt like I could finally see the light and beauty in things again.

Just like a mother who gives birth full term, I was floating between worlds—the veil was thin. During this time, I was as fragile as a newborn baby. Home became my sanctuary, and the garden became my safe place. I began to treat myself like I was in the postpartum phase and nurtured myself intently for the first 40 days. Every morning became a ceremony where I would meet myself in prayer, holding my cup of cacao and singing songs that brought light back into my heart. Naturally, I retreated from the world, and I found myself planting seeds of hope throughout our garden. This was a time of rest, slowness, and letting go.

After reaching breaking point multiple times, I realised I could no longer bear to hold this on my own. I needed help. I remember this point vividly. I gave up my identity of being ‘the strong one’ and ‘the helper’ and welcomed the thought of someone else supporting me. My loving partner did an incredible job of supporting me as we walked the unknown territory of loss and grief, but a part of me craved to be held by the Feminine.

Just like a mother who gives birth full term, I was floating between worlds – the veil was thin. During this time, I was as fragile as a newborn baby. Home became my sanctuary, and the garden became my safe place. I began to treat myself like I was in the postpartum phase and nurtured myself intently for the first 40 days. Every morning became a ceremony where I would meet myself in prayer, holding my cup of cacao and singing songs that brought light back into my heart. Naturally, I retreated from the world, and I found myself planting seeds of hope throughout our garden. This was a time of rest, slowness, and letting go. I tried to move through this process to the best of my ability with grace. After reaching breaking point multiple times, I realised that I could no longer bear to hold this on my own. I needed help. I remember this point vividly. I gave up my identity of being ‘the strong one’ and ‘the helper’ and welcomed in the thought of someone else supporting me. My loving partner did such an incredible job at supporting me as we walked the unknown territory of loss and grief, but a part of me craved to be held by the Feminine.

I have found it to be true that healing is not linear. It is not one size fits all. It is not one method or practice. It takes fine-tuning and deep listening. It requires stillness and presence. It’s learning to flow with your needs and honour your boundaries. It is slow and cannot be rushed. It is the feminine, in all her glory. She has shown me the healing ways of being soft and gentle with myself and that it’s within the simple and subtle moments that you will find what you seek. I have found hope in Mother Nature as she has shown me that beautiful things can bloom from the darkness if you can learn to love what you can’t see. I now sit and share with you from the place in-between, no longer in the black void of emptiness but still a long way away from being in full bloom. I am now much stronger than I was, and I’m not afraid to wear our loss on my heart for all to see.

Return… to… Being… A pathway that nobody would consciously choose, but it has gifted me with time to truly ‘be’ with myself and understand who ‘I’ even am. It broke me into a million pieces, but within the rebuilding of myself, I found a love like no other… True Love… Self-Love… From tragedy, I have experienced the most beautiful homecoming, to my body, to my heart, to my connection with Spirit. I now look at my fellow sisters, mothers, and grandmothers and I can see the depths of their love and their heartbreak. It’s been empowering to give a voice to this invisible journey of loss and grief that so many of us go through. If you have made it this far in listening to my story, I thank you with all my heart. This has been healing for me to write and put into words and now by sharing this with you I have never felt more seen and understood. I appreciate you and the time you have spent reading this.