I've Been Hiding. But I'm Ready to Rise Again

I've Been Hiding. But I'm Ready to Rise Again.

Yesterday, I went for a walk to visit my brother's tree. It's autumn here in the UK and the trees are putting on their usual spectacular display before surrendering their leaves to winter. Beautiful shades of copper, gold and reddish brown surrounded me and I found myself thinking about my brother's hair when he was a little boy. Those same warm, autumn colours. It's funny how something as simple as the colour of a leaf can take you back decades in an instant.

My brother died by suicide. We adopted a tree in his memory, somewhere me and family, together or separately can go to feel close to him, to remember and sometimes just to sit with whatever is going on in life.

As I stood there, I felt a mixture of emotions that were difficult to untangle. Sadness for him, for everything he went through and for the life he never got to experience. But there was something else too. Disappointment. In myself, if I'm honest. I found myself thinking about a promise I made to him after he died and I realised that, in some ways, I'd stopped keeping it.

I remember visiting him in the funeral home and being overwhelmed by the heartbreaking reality that he'd reached a point where he couldn't see another way forward. His pain had become so great that he couldn't see the choices that might still have been available to him and standing there, I realised something that has stayed with me ever since.

I still had choices.

I had a life ahead of me. I didn't know how long it would be or what it would hold, but I had the opportunity to live it. I made him a promise that I would live as fully as I possibly could. Not just exist, not simply go through the motions, but really live. For him, yes. But also for me. Yesterday, I realised just how much I'd allowed fear to interfere with that promise.

But alongside the sadness and disappointment, something else began to stir. Something fierce. That part of me that has fought through difficult things before, that has refused to be defeated, that knows there's still so much I want to do with this life. I could feel that warrior spirit waking up again. Not in some dramatic, chest-beating, I can conquer the world kind of way. More like a quiet but unmistakable voice inside me saying, "Enough now. You've hidden for long enough."

I really have been hiding. Not literally, of course. I've still been going to work, seeing people, laughing and getting on with life. But there's a part of me that's been quietly retreating from the very things I say I want.

When I published my book, Embody Freedom, I had so many hopes for what would follow. I imagined speaking openly about it, connecting with more people, creating a 21-day body positivity challenge and developing courses that would take the message beyond the pages of the book. I wanted to create something that made a genuine difference and for a moment, it felt like everything was beginning to happen. There were messages. Beautiful, vulnerable messages from people who recognised themselves in my words. Women who felt less alone, who found comfort, encouragement or the courage to look at themselves differently. It was everything I'd hoped for and yet, instead of stepping forward, I started stepping back. The ideas didn't disappear. Neither did the passion. But fear crept in, quietly and rather convincingly.

Maybe wait until you're more confident.

Perhaps you need to learn a bit more first.

What if people judge you?

What if nobody's interested?

And perhaps the most uncomfortable question of all...

What if you actually succeed?

Because success would mean being seen. Really seen. It would mean taking up space, speaking openly and accepting that not everyone will like what I have to say. So, I convinced myself I was being sensible, taking my time, waiting for the right moment. But the truth is, I was frightened and there's a ridiculous irony in all of this.

I wrote a book about freedom, acceptance and learning to live more authentically and then promptly started making myself smaller. You couldn't make it up, could you?

But standing by my brother's tree, I also found myself thinking about the suffering that exists all around us. I see it every day. People facing unimaginable challenges, carrying trauma, grief, loneliness and uncertainty. People simply trying to survive circumstances they never expected to find themselves in. Then there are those whose suffering is almost invisible. The people who get up, go to work, smile, make everyone laugh, look after their families and tell the world they're fine. The ones who appear to have everything together but are quietly falling apart inside.

My brother was one of those people and perhaps that's one of the reasons this matters so much to me. I know that a smile doesn't always mean happiness, that functioning doesn't always mean coping and that we can never truly know what another person is carrying. I can't take away all the suffering in the world. I know that. But I want to make a difference. A real, tangible difference. I want my words, my experiences and the things I create to mean something. To reach someone who needs them. To help someone feel less alone, less ashamed or a little more hopeful.

I don't know exactly what that will look like. But I do know that I can't make the difference I want to make if I keep making myself invisible. So, something needs to change. I'm not suddenly going to become someone who confidently dances in front of a camera, posts videos every day and couldn't care less what anyone thinks. Quite frankly, some of that still makes me want to crawl under the duvet.

But I have taken a small step. I've ventured onto TikTok. Yes, me! While that might seem insignificant to some, for me it's about much more than joining another social media platform. It's about allowing myself to be seen. Showing up as I am, with my imperfections, my humour, my experiences and my tendency to overthink absolutely everything.

Here's a little example of just how much I'm trying to change.

After publishing my very first TikTok post, I noticed a spelling mistake. A SPELLING MISTAKE! Previously, that would have been enough for me to take the whole thing down, correct it and start again. Not because the mistake particularly mattered, but because I would have been worrying about what people might think. Would they notice? Would they judge me? Would they think less of me? But this time, I left it there. The world didn't end. Nobody burst through my front door to arrest me for crimes against the English language. More importantly, I realised that the message I'd shared was no less meaningful because of one imperfect word. It might seem like a tiny thing, but for someone who has spent so much of her life trying to make herself as small as possible and worrying about getting things right, it felt like a small act of freedom. Surely that's the whole point of Embody Freedom?

We don't have to become some polished, perfect version of ourselves before we're allowed to show up and be seen. I've realised that perhaps I don't need to overcome fear completely. Perhaps I just need to stop giving it the final say. I can be frightened and still take the next step. I can feel uncertain and still put myself out there. I can risk being judged or rejected without allowing those possibilities to dictate the size of my life.

I don't have to know where any of this is going. I just want to know that I gave myself the chance.

For my very first TikTok post, I chose Gabrielle's song Rise. At the time, it simply felt right. But thinking about it now, it feels rather fitting because maybe that's what this next chapter is about. Not reinventing myself or becoming some fearless version of me. Just remembering who I am, what matters to me and the promise I made all those years ago. I want to make that promise again. To my brother, but also to myself. Not because I owe him a spectacular life or have to achieve extraordinary things to honour him. His life mattered simply because he was here, because he was loved and because he was him. The same is true of mine.

I don't have to earn the right to live fully. I just have to allow myself to do it. The warrior in me hasn't disappeared. She's just been quiet for a while and standing beneath those autumn trees, with my brother in my thoughts and the world on my heart, I could feel her stirring again. I don't know exactly where she'll take me, but I know I'm not going back into hiding. I've still got a life to live, a voice to use and something to give to this world.

I'm ready to rise.