A tale of hope: From Numbness to now

A Tale of Hope: From Numbness to Now

"If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists. Whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience... I will dispense this advice now."

Writing this blog and founding WellNuts, is a huge step for me. I’m a natural leader but I don’t enjoy the spotlight - preferring to work in the background and shine a light on others. Like most people, I’m a clash of contrasts: an insecure extrovert, open about some things, completely guarded about others. For years, I couldn't show weakness for fear it would be used against me and this fear corroded my mental health.

This story isn’t a manual for wellness. It’s a personal reflection from someone who’s walked through mental ill health and slowly, gently, found a way to a place of peace and hope.

Many people close to me have no idea how dark things got. But here I am, writing these words and proving that mental health is a journey.

Why I’m Sharing My Story

Maybe you’re in your own darkness. Feeling stuck. Isolated. Like there’s no way forward. I hope by sharing my story, there might be a piece of inspiration or connection that helps.

No one leaps into wellness. Recovery isn’t always big or dramatic. You take one small step. And when it feels okay, you take another.

Sometimes that’s just sitting quietly in the sun or reminding yourself your worth isn’t up for debate.
Sometimes it’s saying no. Or yes. Or simply, not now.

My dark days

There was a time when I couldn't feel joy. My days oscillated between a fog of numbness and the sharp edge of anxiety. At my lowest, I felt worthless. Broken. Certain that everyone thought I was awful.

I measured myself through the eyes of others, especially those whose had something unkind to say. Their opinions shouldn't have mattered, but they became a deafening loop in my head. From the outside, I appeared "high functioning." I worked. I performed. I was dedicated to my family. But inside, I was empty.

I worked in a very “male” environment where female strength and position often drew hostility which compounded experience my of isolation and self-doubt, making it even harder to trust my own worth. Against this backdrop I had the courage to fight for others, but never for myself.

Now, with distance, I can say; I was imperfectly brilliant at my job. Innovative, caring, effective, fair, empowering, successful and I did it all with integrity.

But at the time, I couldn’t see it. All I could hear was (largely imagined) judgment. I internalised it, feeding the fear within me. I'd spent years in an abusive relationship where the key to staying safe was making others happy. But now I couldn’t make everyone happy and my anxiety grew. At the same time, my physical health deteriorated. As I battled chronic bleeding and pain, I decided to leave the successful career that I had once loved. I underwent a hysterectomy, I thought this would fix all my problems. It didn’t.

I poured myself into parenting, but it felt just as alien. I didn’t have a network of coffee mornings or school gate chats. My children’s additional needs demanded different parenting, and my fear of judgment grew stronger. When your child doesn’t fit “the norm,” people don’t always think of trauma or neurodiversity. They think “bad parenting”. Even those who understood, often acted differently: "I get it….. but I’d still rather my child didn’t play with yours."

My depression and anxiety deepened.

What little energy I had was saved for my husband and children and my world continued to shrink. Supermarkets, school runs, even answering a simple message became mountains I couldn’t climb. My husband, my rock, quietly took over everything.

Rediscovering Myself

Then came COVID. A terrifying time for many, but for me, lockdown was an unexpected lifeline. The pressure to show up disappeared. The fear of public scrutiny eased. Life shifted, slowed, quieted. It felt safer and I was able to think.

I didn’t want my life to stay this way. I didn’t believe I could change it, not really. But I decided to try. One small step at a time.

I began learning about self-reflection. I needed to understand why I was so fixed on the happiness of everyone else. Why conflict or disapproval shattered me. Why I could fight for others, for fairness but not for myself.

On the outside, I was outspoken, dynamic, full of ideas. But inside, I was desperate to be liked. Desperate to belong.

I was chasing a feeling of safety. That realisation become my key to unlocking recovery.

I started saying, “I’m safe. Other people’s happiness is not my responsibility.” I whispered it. I repeated it. Eventually, I started to believe it.

I started meditating; imperfectly, sporadically. I started unpicking why I gave others’ opinions more weight than my own, even when they stood for things I didn’t believe in. I practised imagining one anxiety-triggering scenario each morning, walking myself through it with perspective and logic. I read for ten minutes a day, starting with a book on ecotherapy, because the usual "just go exercise" advice felt impossible

I built a tiny, personal toolkit:
A bath.
A nap in the garden.
Ten minutes watching the birds and being mindful.
A breathing exercise.
A chapter of a book.

I didn’t do it perfectly. But I did enough to feel a shift.

I tried journaling. I wanted to do it daily, but I couldn’t stick to it. But writing down how I was feeling, even once in a while, felt really cathartic. If writing feels too much for you, you could try speaking your thoughts aloud. Record them on your phone or into an AI app. I found that just hearing your own voice can bring clarity and help you to recognise progress.

A Different Kind of Goal Setting

Fear of failure was deeply entangled in my need for safety. Failure didn’t just hurt — it felt dangerous, giving people ammunition to judge me. This would lead me to avoid trying or when I did, I would take it to an extreme. I would set myself up to fail without realising it, then punish myself for falling short and spend hours rehearsing how I would defend my “failure” to others.

I had to change. I slowly stopped focusing on what I should do and started choosing things that brought me joy (or in the early days, less pain). When I managed to do something, I tried to notice and celebrate it. Even small steps counted.

I learned to make my goals person-centred, and strength based. Not what others said I should do but rather what I liked and was capable of.

My first step was: just notice. Notice my triggers, my responses, my internal voice. Don’t try to fix or silence it. Just observe and then be curious about what drives it.

Slowly, step by step, the pressure eased.

My progress wasn’t linear, it never is. Some days I moved forward. Some days I stumbled. But I stayed on the path.

Slowly, I reconnected, with myself, and eventually, with others. I went back to work, finding a role that let me be creative, kind, and felt meaningful. I found my place. I’m still on the journey. Learning to believe that I’m okay even valuable, just as I am.  It is a work in progress but I’m also beginning to recognise that I don’t need everyone’s approval to feel safe. I continue to notice, reflect, and grow improving my mental health one step at a time.

If any of this feels familiar, please know you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

Wellness can’t be switched on. You don’t have to leap into it. You just have to step. Gently. Patiently. Messily. And slowly move from numbness to connection.