The last two years have been the hardest since my dad was ill and passed in 2011.
There was the split.
The oncology visits.
The health scares that left me wondering if I’d even live long enough to watch my daughter grow up.
I had to learn how to be a single mum.
How to manage the house and the bills alone.
How to hide panic behind a smile.
Then came the job I hated.
The mounting stress.
The December drama that ended with me walking away—no job to go to, just a body running on fumes.
And if that wasn’t enough, the house flooded.
I had to move out for three months.
I job hunted from a place that didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I kept going.
Even when it all felt like too much.
Even when I didn’t know who I was anymore.
But somehow, through the cracks—I grew.
I met Joel.
The kind of love I didn’t think was real.
He helped mend my mind and heart and showed me that love doesn’t have to come with a price tag, a warning, or a bruise.
And Tilly—my girl.
She is growing into a beautiful, fierce little human.
She tests me, yes, but she lights me up.
She doesn’t know it, but she’s saved me more than once.
I’ve reclaimed my space.
My house.
My body.
And slowly, my self.
Gravethorn was born.
A haunted place, a healing place.
A quiet, fierce testament to the fact that my light and my darkness can coexist.
I lost people I thought would always be there.
But I’ve also learned who’s real.
Who’s stayed.
Who’s shown up.
This isn’t a comeback.
This is a reclamatio