The Trio & Me

From trauma to triumph

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For almost forty years, my life was shaped by trauma — the kind that settles into your bones and teaches you to survive instead of live. But survival is not the end of the story. Not mine, and not my children’s. This blog begins in the year before I turn forty, the year I finally decided to change the ending. I made a choice: To right what I could, release what I couldn’t, and rebuild what was broken. To stop shrinking from my own life and start shaping it. To heal — deeply, honestly, and fully — not just for me, but for my three children who have walked through every storm beside me. They are my reasons to rise. My three small suns in a sky that has seen too many clouds.
  • 40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (23)

    40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (23)

    23. Study a course

    When I first wrote study a course on my 40 Things Before 40 list, I genuinely thought I would find some little 12-week course that sparked my interest. Maybe something creative, something practical, or something completely random that I had always wanted to learn. I imagined it being one of the easier things on the list — enrol, learn something new, get a certificate at the end and put a nice big tick beside it. I certainly didn’t imagine that those three little words would somehow turn into me enrolling in an entire Bachelor of Psychology (Honours).

    But as I started looking at courses, I kept coming back to the same thing. I didn’t just want to learn something for the sake of learning it. I wanted to choose something that meant something to me. Something that could help me, and maybe eventually help other people too. The more I searched, the more psychology kept appearing, and the more I thought about it, the more obvious it became why. A huge part of my 40 Things Before 40 list has been about healing. It has been about challenging myself, learning who I am, doing things alone, becoming comfortable in my own skin and figuring out what my life looks like when I’m not simply surviving it. Psychology somehow felt like another piece of that.

    I wanted to understand my brain. Not just in the emotional, therapeutic sense of understanding myself, but actually understand what was happening inside it. I wanted to understand trauma and memory, behaviour and emotions, triggers and responses. I wanted to understand why sometimes I could be completely rational and grounded, and other times the smallest thing could make my entire nervous system behave as though something terrible was happening again. I wanted to know why I responded to certain situations the way I did. Why I could lose myself in the smallest of triggers. Why my body could react before my logical brain had even worked out what was wrong.

    I live every day with trauma ingrained into parts of me. Having complex PTSD means that sometimes my reactions don’t make sense until I stop and trace them backwards. Some days are incredibly hard and others are an absolute breeze. Some days I can be triggered by a smell, by walking past a particular item in the supermarket, by the expression on a stranger’s face, a tone of voice, a sound, or something so ordinary that another person wouldn’t even notice it. Something can transport my nervous system somewhere my conscious mind wasn’t planning on going. Then, on another day, I can talk openly about trauma, hear incredibly difficult stories, reflect on things that have happened in my own life and be completely okay. That contradiction fascinated me. How could my brain cope with something enormous one day, yet be completely overwhelmed by something seemingly insignificant the next?

    Therapy has helped me understand so much of myself, and healing has already changed the way I experience my life, but I found myself wanting to go deeper. I wanted to know the science behind what I was experiencing. I wanted to understand what trauma actually does to us, why memories can carry so much power, why our bodies can remember things our conscious minds aren’t actively thinking about, and why humans develop the coping mechanisms that we do. I didn’t want to look at myself as a collection of reactions that needed to be fixed. I wanted to understand how those reactions came to exist in the first place.

    I kept asking myself whether I could truly understand my own healing if I didn’t understand my brain. Maybe I didn’t need to understand all of it to heal, but I wanted to. I have spent so much of my life asking why? Why did these things happen? Why did people behave the way they did? Why did I tolerate certain things? Why did I respond in particular ways? Why did I become fiercely independent in some areas of my life and incredibly vulnerable in others? Eventually, some of those questions shifted from why did this happen to me? to what did all of this teach my brain to do in order to survive? That was a much more interesting question.

    So, because apparently I don’t do anything by halves, instead of enrolling in a short course, I applied for a Bachelor of Psychology (Honours).

    It sounded slightly ridiculous even to me. I had written study a course, not commit yourself to years of university. A psychology degree isn’t something I can neatly complete before I turn 40. It isn’t a quick qualification that I can frame, photograph and tick off the list. It is years of study. And the more I learn, the more I realise how much there is still to learn. There is every possibility that I’ll still be studying the human brain in some capacity in 10 years, 20 years, or on my deathbed — and strangely, I love that idea. I don’t want to reach an age where I decide I know enough. I want to keep questioning things, challenging what I think I know and discovering new ways of understanding people and myself.

    So I applied. And I was accepted.

    Then came the slightly inconvenient realisation that I actually had to do the degree.

    I took on a full-time study load while continuing to work full-time. I remained a mum to three children who still needed me regardless of whether I had an assignment due at midnight. I continued doing everything that comes with my career and the responsibility I carry there. I still made time for my kids, my friends and the people I love. I still went out. I still laughed. I still had adventures. I still took myself away alone. I still worked through therapy and healing. I still kept working my way through this 40 Things list. Life didn’t stop so that I could study psychology; psychology had to somehow squeeze itself into the life I already had.

    And there were definitely moments where I questioned my life choices.

    There were ridiculously late nights staring at a laptop when every sensible part of me knew I should have been asleep. There were weekends swallowed by assignments and journal articles. There were moments when I would finish a full day at work, come home and do all the things that needed to be done as a mum, and then open my laptop knowing that my day wasn’t even close to finished. There was an irresponsible amount of coffee involved. There were times when I was exhausted, frustrated and wondering why I hadn’t just chosen a nice little scrapbooking course like a normal almost middle aged women.

    But there were also moments where I would sit in front of something I was learning and think, Oh. That makes sense.

    Not necessarily because a textbook was explaining my life to me, but because I was beginning to understand human behaviour differently. I was learning how complicated we are. I was learning that our brains are extraordinary, messy, adaptive things. I was learning about development, perception, cognition, behaviour, counselling, culture and the countless factors that shape the way people experience the world. I started noticing things differently. I started asking better questions. I became more aware of how much we can never know about another person’s experience simply by looking at their behaviour from the outside.

    And somewhere amongst all of that learning, I was also proving something to myself. I worked ridiculously hard.

    I didn’t just want to pass. I wanted to know that I had given it everything I could. I studied when I was tired. I researched until things made sense. I rewrote things when they weren’t good enough. I pushed myself academically in a way I hadn’t done for a very long time. I had moments of doubt and moments where I wondered whether I had taken on too much, but I kept going.

    And the results came back.

    Three High Distinctions. Full marks across the three courses I enrolled in.

    I stared at some of those results in complete disbelief, because while I knew how much work I had put into them, there was still a part of me that wasn’t expecting to do that well. And I am so incredibly proud of myself. Not in an embarrassed, minimise-it-so-I-don’t-sound-too-proud kind of way. I am genuinely, unapologetically proud of myself.

    Because those grades aren’t just numbers on a university transcript to me. They represent nights when I could have decided I was too tired. They represent juggling motherhood, full-time work, study, healing and an actual life. They represent choosing to challenge myself at 39 when it would have been much easier to tell myself that university belonged to a different stage of my life. They represent discovering that my capacity to learn didn’t disappear because I got older, became a mother, built a career or accumulated responsibilities.

    More importantly, this wasn’t about proving that I was smart enough to study psychology. Somewhere along the way, it became about giving myself permission to remain curious about who I am.

    For so much of my life, my energy went into surviving what was happening around me. Then it went into building stability. Then raising children, building a career, keeping everyone safe, being responsible, being dependable and being the person who could handle things. Turning 40 has made me think differently about what I want the next part of my life to contain. I don’t only want to survive things or accomplish things. I want to understand. I want to keep growing. I want to keep learning simply because there is an entire world of things I don’t know yet.

    Maybe one day this degree will lead somewhere completely different professionally. Maybe I’ll continue working in spaces where understanding trauma, development and human behaviour allows me to advocate more strongly for children and families. Maybe I’ll keep studying far beyond the degree. Maybe parts of what I learn will simply make me a better mother, leader, friend and human being. I don’t actually know where it ends yet, and for once, I don’t think I need to.

    What I do know is that I started this because I wanted to understand myself more deeply, and already it has given me so much more than I expected.

    There is something incredibly empowering about taking the things that once made me ask, What is wrong with me? and replacing that question with curiosity. What happened here? What did my brain learn? What purpose did that response once serve? What does the research tell us? And what can I do with that knowledge now?

    Maybe that’s another part of healing too.

    Not erasing what happened. Not pretending the triggers don’t exist. Not reaching some imaginary finish line where nothing ever hurts again. But slowly understanding yourself well enough that your reactions no longer feel like a mystery. Understanding that the brain that sometimes frustrates me is also the same brain that found ways to survive, adapt, learn, parent, lead, love, study and keep moving forward.

    When I wrote study a course on this list, I thought I was giving myself a little challenge. Instead, I accidentally gave myself the beginning of something that could stay with me for the rest of my life.

    I haven’t finished my psychology degree, so technically this one doesn’t have the same neat ending as some of the other things on my list. I can’t say done, never have to do that again. In fact, I’ve really only just started.

    But I did what I wrote on the list. I studied a course. Actually, I studied several of them.

    I worked full-time, studied full-time, raised my children, continued living my life and somehow came out the other side with three High Distinctions and results that I am ridiculously proud of.

    At 39, I decided that understanding myself was worth studying for. At 40, I’ll still be learning. And hopefully at 50, 60, 70 and beyond, I’ll still be learning too.

    Because perhaps this one was never really about completing a course. Maybe it was about proving to myself that there is no age where we have to stop becoming someone new.

    I may have slightly misunderstood the assignment. But I’m really bloody proud that I did. 3 courses down – 29 to go! 😅

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do before I turn 40 (22)

    40 Things to do before I turn 40 (22)

    22. Watch a sunrise and sunset in the same day each month

    This one began with the sunrise on my 39th birthday.

    I made a quiet commitment to myself that, at least once every month until I turn 40, I would watch the sunrise and the sunset on the same day. Some months, I’ve done it more than once. Not because I had to tick something off a list, but because somewhere along the way, these two little moments became something I genuinely needed.

    I have woken before the rest of the world – or at least before my little world has started moving. While everyone else is still tucked up in bed, I’ve slipped away and found somewhere to watch the sky change.

    There is something incredibly peaceful about being awake when everything around you is still. 

    No one needs anything from me. There are no emails to answer, no decisions to make, no responsibilities demanding my attention. For those few moments, I don’t have to be a mum, a boss, a student, a caregiver, or anything else. I can just be me.

    And I’ve used that time. I’ve sat quietly with my thoughts. I’ve cried. I’ve smiled. I’ve thought about the things I am grateful for and the things that still hurt. I’ve processed emotions I didn’t even realise I was carrying. Some mornings I’ve arrived with a heavy heart, and other mornings I’ve felt overwhelmingly grateful simply to be there – to watch another day begin.

    There is something hopeful about a sunrise. No matter what happened yesterday, the sun comes up again.

    Then, at the other end of that same day, I’ve stopped again. I’ve watched the sun disappear and reflected – not on my whole life or everything I still need to figure out, but simply on that day 

    How was today? Did I do something meaningful? Did I laugh? Did I connect? Did I take care of myself? Did I spend my energy on things that actually mattered?What am I proud of? What could I have done differently? What can I leave here, with this sunset, instead of carrying it into tomorrow?

    I think that has been the most beautiful part of this challenge. It has taught me to stop measuring my life only by the big things – the milestones, achievements, mistakes, losses and plans – and instead pay attention to the individual days that make up a life.

    A sunrise reminds me that I get to begin again.

    A sunset reminds me that I’m allowed to let things go.

    And somewhere between the two, I get another day to live.

    Each month, these have been private little moments that belonged entirely to me. No audience. No expectations. Just me, the sky, my thoughts and whatever emotions decided to show up.

    What started as something to put on my 40 Things list has quietly become one of the most healing rituals of my 39th year. Thirty-nine has been a year of letting go of so much – of trying to understand what has happened to me, what I have carried, what I want to keep carrying and what I am finally ready to put down.

    And I think this might be one I carry with me long after 40. 

    🤍 K 

  • 40 things to do before I turn 40 (21)

    40 things to do before I turn 40 (21)

    21. Go skinny dipping

    For most of my life, I have hated my body.

    I’ve picked it apart in mirrors. I’ve wished parts of it were smaller, smoother, different. I’ve battled weight gain, struggled with weight loss, and spent far too many years believing my body needed to look a certain way before it deserved to be loved.

    But the relationship I have with my body goes much deeper than what I see in the mirror.

    This body has been through trauma. It has experienced sexual abuse and physical abuse. There have been times when my body hasn’t felt like it belonged entirely to me, and times when I have blamed it for things that were never about how it looked, and times it was used for others enjoyment. I haven’t always cared for it the way it deserved to be cared for. Sometimes I have punished it, criticised it, hidden it and wished it could simply be different.

    But lately, I’ve been trying to change the way I see it. Because this body has also done some pretty incredible things.

    This body has grown and carried babies. It has held the people I love tightly in its arms. It has comforted children, wiped tears, worked ridiculously long days and kept going when I thought I had nothing left. It has danced. It has laughed until it hurt. It has loved deeply. It has carried me through some of the hardest moments of my life and somehow continued moving forward.

    It might have scars, softness, stretch marks and imperfections, but every part of it tells a story. And maybe loving my body isn’t about finally getting it to look the way I once thought it should.

    Maybe it’s about finally appreciating everything it has already done.

    So, somewhere on my 40 Things Before 40 list, I wrote:

    Go skinny dipping.

    It sounded cheeky and adventurous when I wrote it. Something slightly outside my comfort zone. Something that would make a good story one day.

    And wow… it was certainly an experience in itself.

    But standing there, completely exposed, there was something unexpectedly freeing about it too.

    No hiding behind clothes. No carefully chosen angles. No sucking my stomach in. No worrying about whether something was flattering. Just me – exactly as I am.

    And for once, instead of immediately finding something about my body to criticise, I made a different choice.

    I chose to let it exist. I chose to appreciate it. I chose to be grateful for it.

    And somewhere between taking my clothes off and taking that plunge, something shifted.

    It wasn’t suddenly believing my body was perfect. It wasn’t magically undoing decades of insecurity or pretending that I will never have another day where I look in the mirror and struggle with what I see.

    It was simply deciding that I don’t want to spend the next forty years at war with the body that carried me through the first forty.

    I want to look after her now. I want to move because it feels good. Nourish myself because I deserve care. Wear the clothes I love. Swim without worrying about how I look getting out of the water. Take the photograph.

    And apparently… occasionally swim completely naked. Because this body is mine.

    After everything it has survived, everything it has created, everything it has carried and everyone it has loved – I think it’s about time I started loving it too.

    Turns out I took off a little more than my clothes that day. I left behind a little piece of the shame, too.

    I’ve also shifted the music on my social media for the next 20 items on my 40 list – to be all of my favourite songs. Starting with my favourite band – the Cranberries, I love all of their songs (they may feature again in the next 20 items 😅)

    (Tried to post a photo that was ok to send into the world 😅)

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do.. Before I turn 40 (20)

    40 Things to do.. Before I turn 40 (20)

    20. Go on a solo holiday

    This one was the most challenging, but oh, was it one of the most rewarding things I could have done.

    For almost 19 years, my life has revolved around being the best mother I could be. Whilst at times that title has slipped, and I haven’t always been the mother I wanted to be, one thing I have always done is be there. I have been with my children every single day. I’ve been a part of every single part of their lives – the big moments, the little moments, the chaos, the cuddles, the celebrations, the hard days and everything in between. Being a mum has never just been a part of my life; for so long, it has been my life.

    On the rare occasions when my kids weren’t around, I filled that time with social contact. I kept myself busy, surrounded myself with friends and made sure there was always someone around. In fact, in 19 years, the longest I had ever gone without being with either my children or a friend was 18 hours. And that was tough. I had become so used to being needed, surrounded and connected that the thought of being completely alone felt almost foreign.

    So this year, as part of my 40 Things to Do Before I Turn 40, I decided to do something completely out of character. I went away by myself. Just me. I booked a tiny home in the middle of the Noosa hinterland, with no children, no friends, no responsibilities and absolutely no plans. And honestly, I had no idea what I was going to do with myself.

    The first night, I cried. I missed my babies. I felt uncomfortable, lonely and probably a little bit ridiculous for voluntarily putting myself in a tiny house in the middle of nowhere. And because I am an avid horror movie and true crime watcher, my imagination ran wild. Every noise became suspicious, every shadow looked sinister, and I spent a fair amount of time wondering why I had thought this was a good idea.

    But eventually, I let myself feel it. I let myself miss them. I let myself feel uncomfortable. And then I parked it there. Slowly, I began to unwind. And somewhere between the quiet, the rain and the complete lack of responsibility, something shifted. I started to really enjoy being there.

    I went to the markets by myself and bought beautiful, fresh local produce. I ate so many delicious things. I smiled at the locals and people-watched for hours. I slept in. I watched the rain from my bed and even saw a rainbow. I sat in silence, listening to the trees and the rain, and sometimes I played music and simply enjoyed the little house around me. I wandered around the property, patted cows and showered outside in the rainwater shower. I spent afternoons in the plunge pool enjoying a few wines. I made sourdough every day. I read, I wrote, I baked and I explored the local area. I had no agenda, no schedule and nowhere I needed to be.

    And it was beautiful.

    I realised how rarely I actually stop. How often my mind is thinking about the next thing that needs to be done, the next person who needs something from me, the next responsibility waiting for me. Even when I have time off, I am usually still doing something for someone else. This time, there was no one else to think about. There was just me.

    And for once, I had nowhere I needed to be. No schedules. No responsibilities. No one needing anything from me. Just me.

    Most importantly, I remembered that there is a version of me that exists outside of being a mum, a friend, an employee, a partner and everyone else’s support person. A version of me who loves slow mornings, fresh bread, reading, writing, exploring, cooking, rain, quiet and doing absolutely nothing. A version of me who doesn’t need to be productive every second of the day. A version of me who can simply exist without having to give something to someone else.

    This experience gave me something I didn’t realise I needed: the chance to simply be with myself. To connect with a part of me that has always been there, but is so often pulled into the needs of others. I didn’t go away because I wanted to escape my life. I went away because I wanted to experience myself outside of it.

    And perhaps that was the most rewarding part.

    I learnt that being alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely. Sometimes, being alone is where you finally get to hear yourself. Sometimes, the quiet gives you the space to remember who you are beneath all the roles you carry.

    And honestly? It was wonderful.

    I highly recommend taking time for yourself, even if the thought of it makes you uncomfortable. Step into the discomfort. Sit with the loneliness. Let yourself miss the people you love. And then see what happens when you give yourself permission to simply be.

    Because sometimes the things that scare us the most are the things that give us the most.

    This is something I want to do more of. Not because I love being away from the people I love, but because I am learning that I deserve to spend time with myself too.

    Maybe this is what turning 40 is really about – not becoming someone different, but finally making space for the person you have always been.

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do before I turn 40 (19)

    40 Things to do before I turn 40 (19)

    19. Learn to make bread

    So, this item on my list doesn’t hold quite the same significance as some of the previous ones. It’s simply on my list because it was something I wanted to try and do this year.

    One of my favourite things to do is go out for breakfast. I enjoy social interactions so much more over a coffee and a slice of sourdough than I do on a night out drinking. This year, I’ve also been consistent with regular self-care each month, treating myself to solo breakfast dates. And whenever I’m at breakfast, my order is almost always the same: toasted sourdough and a coffee.

    So, learning to bake my own sourdough felt like a natural addition to the list.

    I went to a sourdough workshop with a good friend of mine, where together we learned all the tricks to making the perfect loaf. We left with our bread ready to complete its rise at home, along with our own starter to continue making loaves ourselves.

    Mine has affectionately been named “Dumble-Dough” – for all the Harry Potter fans out there, you’ll understand. 😅

    By the time my loaf had completed its cold fermentation and was finally baked, two days had passed. My oven was a little too hot, so the loaf came out slightly crispier than intended, but honestly, it was still a great end to the process – and I enjoyed every last crumb!

    I’ll definitely continue making loaves in the hope of eventually achieving the perfect one. I’ve already learned that it’s going to take a fair amount of trial and error, patience, and plenty of practice. But I’m up for the baking challenge as the year continues, and I might even share a loaf or two along the way!

    For anyone wanting to give sourdough making a go, I’d say go for it.

    It’s been a real “trust the process” exercise – one that requires patience, consistency, and a willingness to slow down. And perhaps that’s part of what I’ve enjoyed most about it.

    Not everything on my list has to hold some deep or life-changing significance. Sometimes, it’s simply about trying something new, enjoying the process, and finding a little joy in the everyday: a slice of sourdough and a cup of coffee!

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to be.. Before I turn 40 (18)

    40 Things to be.. Before I turn 40 (18)

    18. Step out of my comfort zone, and say YES!

    This year, I knew I wanted to have fun along the way while completing my 40 Things Challenge. I knew there would be triggering moments. I knew some of the things on my list would take me into places that felt very real, very raw, and at times, uncomfortable.

    But I also wanted to make sure there were plenty of moments of joy along the way – things to look forward to when life felt a little heavy.

    So, I decided to say yes.

    Yes to the birthday invitations. Yes to the dress-up nights. Yes to the social invitations I would normally find an excuse to avoid.

    A big part of who I am has always been about finding peace. And for me, peace had slowly started to look a lot like becoming a bit of a hermit.

    My downtime became time with my kids – watching movies, playing board games, and doing all the things they love. And somewhere along the way, over the last few decades, I lost a little bit of myself. I put me aside in an attempt to be the perfect mum. To be honest, the last almost 20 years has been solely focused on my kids, I don’t know who I am without them.

    So saying yes wasn’t just about having fun.

    It was about finding me again. And boy, have I had some fun. ❤️

    I’ve hit the nightclubs in ridiculous dress-up outfits, gone to the theatre dressed in costume, celebrated birthdays, and shown up for so many of the beautiful moments that the people closest to me have shared.

    Things I might once have talked myself out of. Moments I might once have missed. Things I know I did miss, mostly intentionally.

    There’s still plenty more to come, but now, almost halfway through my 40 Things Challenge, I can honestly say that I’m finding my way back to myself.

    And I’m loving every moment of it. ✨

    🤍 K

  • 40 things to do.. before I turn 40 (17)

    40 things to do.. before I turn 40 (17)

    17. Raise awareness for homelessness

    This item on my list is one that sits very close to my heart because homelessness has shaped so much of my life.

    When I was 16, I was kicked out of home. The reasons aren’t something I’ll share here, but what I can say now – through the lens of adulthood and after years of therapy – is that I was not the child people believed I was.

    For a long time, I carried the label of “the delinquent.” The truth was very different. I was an A-grade student who spent my spare time volunteering, donating where I could, and trying to make a positive difference in my community. Like most teenagers, I made some reckless decisions from time to time, but I was, at my core, a good kid trying to survive circumstances far beyond my control.

    At 16, with nowhere else to go, I found myself moving between homeless shelters and youth accommodation. Despite everything, I kept studying. I worked hard and earned a place at university. But trauma doesn’t disappear just because an opportunity comes along. Not long after starting uni, I found myself surrounded by the wrong people and eventually on the wrong side of the law. I was only 17.

    Homelessness wasn’t a chapter that ended there. It became a recurring theme throughout my life.

    To date, I’ve lived in 42 different homes.

    I’ve packed my life into bags and boxes more times than I can count. I’ve lost almost every possession from my childhood. I have no physical reminders of my life before I turned 18 – only fragments of memories, and trauma has a way of making even those feel blurred around the edges.

    That’s one of the things people don’t often understand about homelessness. It’s not just about not having a roof over your head. It’s the constant uncertainty. It’s never feeling settled. It’s losing your sense of belonging. It’s carrying everything you own, over and over again, while trying to build a future.

    When I saw the “Sleep in Your Car for the Night” challenge on social media, I knew it was something I wanted to do with my children. Not because one night in a car could ever replicate the reality of homelessness – it can’t – but because it could start a conversation.

    Housing insecurity has touched their lives too.

    Between us, my daughters have lived in close to ten different homes. I wasn’t able to give them a childhood in one forever house, and for a long time I felt guilty about that. But what I have tried to give them is something just as important: a home built on love, safety and consistency, no matter what address was written on the mailbox.

    I’ve worked incredibly hard to make every house we’ve lived in feel like home. To be their constant when everything else felt uncertain.

    We laughed. We squeezed into the car together, wrapped up in blankets and each other. We even extended the challenge by limiting ourselves to just $10 for dinner, snacks and breakfast. Cup noodles certainly didn’t compare to our usual meals, but sharing the experience reminded us how quickly simple comforts become luxuries when your choices are limited.

    At the end of it all, we reflected on just how fortunate we are.

    We may not own a house. We rent. We still understand the anxiety that can come with housing insecurity. But we also know that home isn’t defined by bricks and mortar. Home is the people beside you. Home is love, safety and belonging.

    If there’s one thing I hope people take away from this, it’s that homelessness doesn’t discriminate. It affects children, teenagers, families, people with jobs, students, veterans, survivors of abuse, and people escaping violence. It isn’t always visible, and it isn’t always the result of poor choices. Sometimes it’s simply the outcome of circumstances no one should have to face.

    If you have a safe place to sleep tonight, you’re more fortunate than you might realise. And if you’re in a position to help – whether that’s donating, volunteering, supporting local organisations or simply showing compassion – please do.

    Because everyone deserves more than just a roof over their head.

    Everyone deserves a place to call home.

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (16)

    40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (16)

    16. Keep a plant alive

    When I first wrote my list, I was thinking about all the things I wanted to experience, the things I hoped to achieve, and even the things I had never quite managed to do. Some were big, life-changing goals. Others were much smaller little victories that, for one reason or another, had always escaped me.

    Keeping a plant alive fell firmly into that second category.

    I’ve always loved greenery. There is something about walking into a home filled with lush foliage that instantly makes a space feel calm, welcoming and alive. I wanted that feeling in my own home, but no matter how many times I tried, my plants never seemed to survive.

    I’d start with the best intentions. I’d water them, admire them and imagine my home slowly becoming an indoor jungle. Then life would get busy. I’d forget to water them, lose interest for a while, and before I knew it they had outgrown their pots, been neglected for too long, and there was nothing left to rescue.

    Eventually, I gave up.

    Instead, I filled my home with artificial plants. They looked beautiful, required no effort and, over the years, I spent a small fortune collecting high quality ones.

    Then, two of my children began struggling with constant allergies. We focused on treating what we thought were seasonal allergies before eventually discovering they were reacting to dust. They started on allergy desensitisation, and are getting monthly injections. What I hadn’t realised was just how much dust all of those fake plants were collecting, and whilst I was treating the allergies, I unknowingly was neglecting the actual cause. 

    No matter how often I cleaned them, they were impossible to stay on top of. Every leaf, every stem and every arrangement seemed to trap dust. As much as I loved how they looked, they were making our home less healthy, not more.

    Determined to find another solution, I bought a propagation station and started with cuttings and bought a couple of mature plants. I intentionally chose varieties that could grow happily in water or were forgiving if I forgot to water them—something I knew I needed to account for with my ADHD. And surprisingly… it worked.

    A couple of plants became several, and then dozens. 

    Now my home is slowly filling with real plants that I’ve nurtured myself. I’ve researched varieties that help improve indoor air quality and are well suited to households managing asthma and allergies. More importantly, I’ve kept them alive.

    Every new leaf feels like a tiny achievement.

    To anyone else, “keep a plant alive” probably seems like an odd thing to include on a ‘bucket’ list. It isn’t climbing a mountain or travelling the world. It won’t make headlines. But sometimes the smallest goals become the most meaningful because they represent growth in ways that only you truly understand.

    For me, these plants represent consistency. They’ve taught me that I can build routines, learn from past failures and create an environment that brings both beauty and wellbeing to my family. More than that, they’ve helped transform my house into a home. 

    🤍 K 

  • 40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (15)

    40 Things to do.. before I turn 40 (15)

    15. Celebrate Christmas in July 🎄

    My 40 things to do before I turn 40 list includes moments that are less about “doing” and more about creating space for connection, tradition, and meaning – and this was one of them.

    Whilst our Christmas last year was wonderful, in the middle of the South Pacific on a cruise ship where we were waited on, we ate and drunk far too much (and didn’t have the clean up!) there truly was no better way that we could have spent our Christmas together. We did, however, reflect that it felt different – beautiful still, but just different. Because we were away over Christmas, we didn’t get the chance to have our usual home Christmas with all its familiar traditions, decorations, and rhythms. 

    This year, that reflection led us to celebrate Christmas in July instead, intentionally recreating those rituals in a different season.

    We leaned fully into the experience across the month. We baked all the Christmas goodies, spent time decorating, put our Christmas tree up, listened to Christmas music, did arts and crafts, and made a point of watching Christmas movies together. The house felt festive, and there was something really grounding about slowing down and intentionally choosing to recreate those familiar traditions outside of December.

    There was also, of course, plenty of food – probably too much (the usual “December” feelings of overindulging) – but it added to the sense of celebration and togetherness. More than anything though, it became a month focused on intentional family time. In the middle of everyday life, it created space for connection, laughter, and shared experiences that we might otherwise rush past. 

    We also invited our friends over to share in the Xmas joy – A time for reconnection, that is often reserved for December, but why not celebrate anytime. It made us really think about how important social connections are, and how blessed we are to have the very best people in our village. 

    We ended our Christmas in July celebrations with a simple Secret Santa. Each person bought just one gift for someone else and received one in return. No pressure, no big expenses, just something thoughtful and personal. It kept the focus on giving and connection rather than anything excessive or stressful.

    What I didn’t expect was how meaningful it would feel to recreate Christmas outside of December. It wasn’t about replacing the “real” thing, but about extending it – giving ourselves another opportunity to slow down, reconnect, and enjoy the traditions we usually rush through at the end of the year.

    Celebrating Christmas this way has become something I’ll genuinely cherish, and I can see it becoming a tradition we continue every July going forward.

    🤍 K

  • 40 Things to do, before I turn 40 (14)

    40 Things to do, before I turn 40 (14)

    14. Bake a cake

    This one probably sounds like the simplest item on my list – and in many ways, it was. But it earned its place because it was something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

    When my girls were little, our weekends were often spent baking. We’d make cupcakes and cakes for the endless tea parties and picnics that filled our days. I loved those years, the weekends spent just being, having nothing to do except eat cake and drink juice from tea cups. They weren’t about creating perfect treats; they were about creating memories, and they became some of my favourite moments of motherhood.

    Somewhere along the way, though, those moments quietly became memories.

    By the time my son came along, life looked very different. I was raising three children on my own while working full-time, and weekends became less about making memories and more about catching up. There were groceries to buy, washing to fold, floors to clean, lunches to prepare, and a never-ending list of jobs waiting to be ticked off before Monday arrived.

    Without even realising it, the little things that once brought me so much joy were replaced by responsibility.

    That’s why “Bake a cake” made my list.

    It wasn’t really about the cake at all. It was about giving myself permission to slow down, to put the to-do list aside for a couple of hours, and to choose joy over productivity. It was a reminder that not every moment has to be useful or efficient. Sometimes, it’s enough to simply enjoy it.

    So we baked.

    The kitchen was an absolute mess. I think I managed to use almost every bowl and utensil we owned. We licked the batter from the spoon, scraped the bowl clean, laughed at our mess, and then sat together and simply ate cake.

    And honestly, that’s exactly what this challenge has been teaching me.

    Sometimes, reclaiming yourself doesn’t happen through the big, life-changing moments. Sometimes it happens in the smallest ones – in flour-covered benches, sticky fingers, shared laughter, and a slice of homemade cake.

    🤍 K