Coming Home.
Welcome to the second act. It’s been a while. But I’m finally coming home.
PROLOGUE
The art of disappearing is something I’ve come to master over these past few years. I found that it is in the darkness, on the edge of breaking, that you find the light you’ve been searching for. And sometimes the only way forward is to take a step backwards. Sometimes you don’t get that choice, sometimes you are pulled back with such force that you have no choice but to crumble. But eventually, slowly, and with each breath that you take, you start to crawl back to the parts of you that have been hiding. Breath by breath, and step by step, you begin to heal. And the journey is rough, the darkness hard to navigate, but each day you find yourself closer to the top of that mountain. And one day, somewhere along the way, you raise your flag. You make it. And you know without a doubt, you were the only one that could ever save you.
This is the truth about my journey through that darkness.
The truth about where I’ve been, why I left, why I’ve returned.
And the truth about how I saved myself, and the places I went along the way.
This is also the truth about why I retreated, why I built up walls that kept me hidden, not only from the world but from the people I hold close. I hope this story brings understanding, hope, clarity, and insight into a mind desperate to save itself.
Rise and Seek was born out of a dream for healing.
Five years ago my life changed forever. When my world began to collapse over sudden health issues, my physical pain turned into mental agony. I became the most depressed and anxious I had ever been. My illness forced me to step away from my reality, my full-time job, my friends, and the life I was living. And I began to slowly lose everything I had spent my life working towards, including the person I had strived so hard to become.
My desire for personal and raw storytelling became a huge part of my healing process during this time. My art became my most reliable tool. Through it, I began to see the world differently. I wrote to save my life. And in the process, I created an entirely new one. I became obsessed with the impact that words could have on the world. And I began to explore it in its every capacity. Writing gave me a way of communicating with myself and the world around me. Rise and Seek became a space for me to share that. To share my reflections on the nature of life while I healed these wounds through storytelling. I wanted my words to bring peace to whoever needed them. But along the way, I stopped finding peace for myself. Eventually, my illness returned and for a long time I was physically unable to create, to write, the one thing that had saved my life. I could no longer rely on my art to heal me.
But I started to lose this peace a long time before I ever realised what was happening. I had never really made it through. Throughout this process, I spent a long time hiding the truth from myself, and from you. I left this space with so many unanswered questions and empty promises hanging in the air. But my health was hanging on the edge. I needed to take the time to heal.
Now, I can finally say with truth that I made it through. That my health is better than it’s been in a very long time, despite the challenges in the cards I’ve been dealt. After many years of clinging to the surface, I am finally in a good place and standing on solid ground. I am stronger than I have ever felt before. And I can feel it rising every day. The road is still long, and there is still a lot of work to do, but with this new strength I finally feel ready to return to myself, and to this world. And I want to start by sharing with you the raw, unedited version of why I really left, where I’ve been, and what I’ve learnt. And I want to start from the very beginning.
The Descent.
It was 5 years ago that I sat in a chair across from a doctor with a sad, solemn look in her eyes. It wasn’t a surprise I was here. I had spent many days worrying about the shadow they had found on my scans. I knew there was something on my brain, something that shouldn’t be there. But I could never have prepared myself for the reality that would follow. I told myself it was just a small, harmless mass. That the worst-case scenario would be needing to remove it with a large needle. I could handle that, and it would be fine. It would be fine. This is what I would tell myself over and over until I had no choice but to believe it. But as I sat there, seeing the shadows in her eyes, for a moment I realised this might be something a little bigger. And as the words slowly poured out of her, my whole life began to shift. “You have an Arachnoid cyst that’s pressing on the parts of your brain that control your vital functions — it’s pushing your brain out of your skull.” The words pounded through me while the world stopped and my lungs began gasping for air. “We’re getting a bed ready. We’re lucky you’re still here, but we’ll need to act fast to make sure it stays that way.” My heart came to a halt as I processed the weight of that sentence. The minutes that followed were a blur. Suddenly I was in a hospital bed, unable to go home, with nothing but my phone and a dying battery and the fear that began to rise. The fear that never stopped rising. My brain was being pushed out of my skull. The weight of the last few months started to burn in my lungs as the world closed in around me. The days I spent in pain, despair, and unexplainable suffering, started to become clear. There was a part of me that had always known somewhere deep down that something must be wrong, but I never let it rise to the surface. I buried it in denial and refusal to see my health for what it really was. But now, there was no escaping it. The lid had been lifted and I was drowning in every sensation, thought, and feeling I’d had in the months leading up to this moment.
And I was alone. I was living overseas, away from my family and suddenly my health was hanging on the edge. What was supposed to be one of the best chapters of my life become a living nightmare. There was chaos all around me. Flights were being booked, plans were being made, choices were being given, and medical decisions were being offered. But my mind was no longer there, I was lost somewhere outside of it, drifting, and out of control. Everything was happening around me, and I was trapped in a frozen moment, as though it wasn’t really me that was in the middle of this storm. And I stayed trapped for a very long time.
I was drowning in physical and mental agony as the months dragged on. The nightmare got worse, and hospitals became my home. I didn’t only lose the life I had built around me, but I lost the life within me, too. My body began to fail me and I could no longer hold myself up. I lost my ability to walk, to write, to do the simple things I had taken for granted. As my illness took away everything I knew, I began to slowly disconnect from a life I had become so attached to and I went through a grieving process to let go of that old life. And that grieving process took me on one hell of a journey. Suddenly my whole world had changed, and I was in a lot of pain.
In the months that followed there were times when I tried to convince myself I was better than I actually was, that I had made it through. And there were times I felt worse than I really was, overtaken by a different type of illness within the darkness of my mind. I tried many times to return back to a life that I thought I could live, but every attempt seemed to push me further back. And it became harder each time to keep trying. And that’s when I disappeared. I felt so lost in my attempt to navigate a new life, that I began to confuse grieving with failure. I was trying to fix what I no longer had but I was pouring from an empty cup. I was trying to bury my pain when more than ever I just needed to heal.
I would try to return, sometimes for days or months at a time. I would consume myself in my goals, pouring myself into this space as it became the lifeline to my future. But the truth is that nothing was clear. My goals weren’t goals, they were gasps for air disguised under the mask of anything I could grab onto to hold myself up. I didn’t know what I truly wanted because I didn’t know who I was during this time. I was still going through a process of figuring that out and I would get so lost in trying to be something, that I became a version of myself that wasn’t true. I was being guided by a mind that was desperate for a rescue. I tried to be who I thought I was supposed to be, but each time it became harder to play the role. So I would stop and retreat for months at a time, only to do exactly the same thing all over again. I was trapped in an endless cycle of an existence that didn’t feel like mine. But still, I would continue to hit the wall as though hoping that one day one of those hits would be big enough to crack it completely. I was walking so close to the edge, I wasn’t sure if I was rescuing myself or giving up anymore. I realised eventually, it wasn’t a rescue I was staging. I had lost all sense of sanity in who I was or what I was doing because I was carrying the weight of my pain around with me, unable to move on.
And when my illness returned again, this weight only got heavier. I was so lost and confused. I realised I had never made it to the other side, my health had never really healed. I wasn’t just grieving the life I had lost before, I was grieving the life I was continuing to lose. I was grieving a future I had become so attached to. Any sense of myself I was trying to build, was yet again crumbling. And I didn’t have the strength to keep fighting. These were the hardest years of my life, and I was watching them slip past me while I sank further and further away from the life I was so desperately clinging to.
After months of severe resistance, I finally accepted my life and my health for what it was. It took me a long time to make peace with saying goodbye to who I was before, because I knew on the other side of that resistance was an internal knowing that I didn’t fit there anymore, no matter how hard I wanted to try. My health wasn’t a reality I could escape from. This was a hard truth to swallow — one I had been avoiding for a very long time. The change that I needed was unbearably painful, but I knew with it came growth. And I needed to grow to heal.
So I took the steps I needed to begin healing my body and mind. This meant I had to close the door on a lot of things in my life that were no longer serving me or helping me grow. I spent a long time grieving those parts of me while I navigated the loss. But the lessons I’ve learned in doing so, and the pain I experienced throughout, have taught me so much more about myself than anything else ever has. I had to face the darkness head-on. I was pulled back by a force that crumbled me, but I had a choice to fight it. To rebuild, to rise again and face the parts of me I was keeping buried. And I had to do this alone, away from the world. I knew if I didn’t, I would continue to hurt not just myself, but those around me. I had to save myself so I could exist again. So I could be present again. And I was the only one that could do that for myself. So I went within.
I started to get clear about who I really was and how my mind played the biggest role in shaping everything that my life currently was. I uncovered the true depths of how much of myself I was hiding behind the walls within my mind. I used these walls to block out the pain, but they became walls that were pushing away everything and everyone around me, too. Through protecting myself, I was destroying myself. But I knew that if I had built those walls, I could also knock them down. So I began to crack the foundation.
My mind was my biggest tool against my illness, my health, and the life I so desperately needed. So I spent my time developing and refining the tools necessary to reshape my inner world so that I could finally feel in control of my life. In doing this I was taking back the control I had felt robbed of when my health became an issue. I was healing every single part of me that had felt broken over the past 5 years.
During this time, I developed a strong sense of what I valued most — my health, and my creative vision. And I began to explore the world again, venturing to places I felt like I was seeing for the first time.
This is when I rediscovered art as my most reliable tool. As my health got better, I fell back in love with storytelling. It was once again the biggest tool in my healing process. I wrote essays, articles, poetry, and reflections, started writing a novel and began putting words down wherever I could. And as I wrote, I saw the world shift around me. I began to see everything differently and with a new sense of clarity. I saw a light in the darkness, a spark of hope after so much despair. I remembered the power of writing in its raw form, and what it could bring into the world. Writing without force, or the need for it to be anything other than the hope it already brings. And now that I’m here, I want to explore it in every way. I know with unrelenting certainty, that this is what I must do in this life. I have always wanted to write, but my purpose for doing so became lost alongside me.
It was my collapsing health that led to the disintegration of my entire life. But it was also the gift I had been given to become who I was meant to be. So while I’m learning to accept the unknown of the future, and the uncertainties that lie ahead, I finally feel ready to bring my story to life. Without expectations, promises, or misplaced intentions, but simply the need to share my words with as many as possible.
I’m finally happy and even grateful for the pain I experienced over these past few years, for constantly reminding me of the importance of my health and of my life. Through my journey of resistance, acceptance, and change, I finally began my transformation.
It was here that I began to learn about my brain, the illness that took control of it, and the power it holds to heal itself. I learnt about all the ways the brain has defied doubts and proven the impossible time after time. The way it can bounce back and reshape itself after facing incredible odds. And I began to trust that I had everything I needed within me to heal completely, to beat those odds, to overcome everything that had happened to my brain, my health, and my entire life. Slowly, with time, patience, and determination, I began to build a toolkit for expanding my mind, radicalising my health, and finding my way back to myself. And eventually, I began to heal. Piece by piece, I began to rebuild the foundations of myself and my health. And I became the strongest, happiest, and healthiest version. There are still days where I stumble, days where my health starts to fail me. But I have the tools now to stay afloat. To make sure I don’t fall to the edge. And I will carry them with me wherever I go in the uncertainty that life takes us.
I developed these tools through reading books, absorbing knowledge in every possible way, taking courses, and studying the mind. I managed my anxiety and learnt how to sit with and breathe through pain. I developed a daily writing practice and began to explore the importance of self-conversations. I sat with myself more times than I can count and learnt to understand and accept everything my body was going through. I learnt how to control my mind, how to heal it, and how to use it to change my life. I submerged myself in cold water and began to explore the boundaries of my mind and its capacity to control the inner workings of my biological functioning. I pushed my body and mind into expansion. And I initiated my brain into a process of rewiring, healing, and transformation. I regained parts of myself I had been told would never recover. I learnt how to redevelop my speech, improve my memory, enhance my cognitive abilities beyond my impairments, and I retrained my body to function entirely on its own, despite the doubts. I walked. I ran. And I swam my way back to freedom. I untapped potential that was always inside of me. I learnt about the breath and the power it channels within our bodies. And I uncovered an entire world within me that was always there, waiting to be explored. My mind was the key, and slowly, after months of suffocating beneath my own pain, I unlocked the door to freedom.
Before I left, I wasn’t in a good place. But I had built up this wall around me, of needing to be this idealised version of myself I had made up in my mind, that I refused to let myself feel my own pain. And the only way to do that was to hide from my truth. But I had nowhere to run anymore, and nowhere left to hide. The only place left for me to go was inwards. And these were the tools that saved me from an edge I could never return from. These are the tools that saved my life. And I want to share them through my writing. I want to share every step, big and small, that helped me rescue myself. There is so much inside of me waiting to pour out. Because I know if I can heal myself and overcome mountains, you can too. And if you can do it, the rest of the world can do it too. And the potential of that ripple across oceans is what ignites the fire within me. To start breaking down barriers and unlocking the limitations that are holding us back. Because there is a whole world of potential out there, on the other side of our mountains. And it all starts with healing.
Our bodies are more than what we see. Our body and mind are the keys to everything that happens around us. They absorb and feel everything. And if we don’t take care of that, if we don’t put our health first, we’ll always be stuck in that place we so desperately want to escape from. And the key to it all is so simple. We can heal. We can transform. And we can start again. We just have to take the leap.
The Ascent.
In the darkest depths of my despair, I felt numb. Utterly and completely broken, and numb. But out of everything I have learnt over these past years, the biggest lesson was realising that there was nothing broken that needed to be fixed. It is not about fixing yourself, it is about helping yourself. Healing the parts of you that hurt too much. I fell into that darkness with a lot of anger and frustration, pain and tears that turned into numbness because it felt like too much weight to carry. But I made it out. I made it through. And feeling those things, that’s what eventually pulled me to the surface. It was only once I took down the walls and let myself feel, that I began to fight to survive.
The pain, the struggle, and the frustration are good. They mean you care enough to fight for yourself. If I could share one thing from what I’ve learnt through pain and healing, it’s that you do get through it. Even when it feels impossible and you feel like the world is closing in on you. You will face all of it, and you will get through it. It’s not too late to start fighting. To start trying and learning how to help yourself, how to let yourself heal. No matter where you are right now and how much you feel, it’s not too late for any of it. And nobody can tell you how, or when, but it will get better. What you feel and what you’re going through — you will get through it. But only if you are willing to try. I spent so long resisting trying because I didn’t want to admit what was really wrong. And I would still be stuck there, frozen in time and pain, if I never took that first step. If you are willing to face it and walk through it, you will emerge on the other side of it. And you might still feel some of that pain, but there is another side of it. A better side. The road to get there isn’t easy. It can feel like it won’t ever end. It’s long, hard, and often you’ll find yourself stumbling along it utterly blind. But you always keep going. Because you know the view at the end of that road will be worth every second of the fight it took to get there.
There’s a lot to learn along the way. And I wish someone had given me a map of the way out when I was crawling through the dark. But there is never an easy route forward. If there was, we would already be there. All we can do is keep going, keep learning in our own way, keep growing and discovering what it takes to make it on this ride. And sharing what we learn as loudly as we can, with whoever needs to hear it.
I realise now, that I am not my mind. I am the one in control. And I have the tools to bring myself back to this in every moment. We all have these tools waiting to be discovered. And I am ready to make that seen.
That is why I’m here. That is why I’ve returned. To continue to heal through writing, and in doing so, hoping to help you heal, too.
I am here to be a voice. To be the voice that I needed when I was a girl lost in the madness of a mind trying to save itself. And over the next few weeks, I am simply going to write. Some of my words might blur into one as they come pouring out, some of them might be heavy to carry, and some will be words you might not want to read. But to move forward in life you have to release the past, release the parts of you that hurt to make room for the rest of you to shine through. You have to face the parts you don’t want to face and look them in the eye. This is a long process and one that will hurt a lot along the way. But there is purpose in the pain. It is in the discomfort that you realise your greatest desires and passions, what truly drives you forward. It’s the discomfort that gives you the courage to change. It’s the storm that clears the way for the life you have been waiting to live.
So I’ll be here clearing the storm while I navigate the waves until the light pours in.
I have no idea where the storm will lead, but I know it will be an adventure beyond my wildest envision. Because I am finally the one steering the wheel.
I write to make sense of it all. As much of it as I can.
I hope my words bring peace to some, and help you find your inner fire to embark on your own path of transformation and healing.
I’ll see you soon,
m.a
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