Opening Reflection
For much of my life, I believed my story began with the things that happened to me.
The death of Baby Michael.
The loss of people I loved.
The years of caring for others.
The disappointments, the betrayals, the moments when life seemed to ask more of me than I believed I could give.
But as I began to look more closely, I realised my story began much earlier.
It began before I had words.
Somewhere along the way, I learned that it was safer to wait than to reach out. Safer to freeze than to fight. Safer to hope someone would notice than to believe I could ask for what I needed.
I didn’t know this was happening.
I thought this was simply who I was.
Then, seventy years into my life, a man walked into the home I had spent decades of my life working to be self sufficient. Looking back, I can see there were moments when my boundaries were crossed. Today I can say, “I should have asked him to leave.” At the time, that possibility didn’t seem to exist inside me.
That realisation became the beginning of this book.
This is not a story about blame.
It is not a story about proving anyone right or wrong.
It is the story of slowly uncovering the invisible patterns that shaped my life, understanding how they were formed, and discovering that healing is not about becoming someone else. It is about finding the self that has been there all along, waiting patiently beneath the fear.
This is the story of coming home.
