As soon as I watched my mum take her last breath at 63 years of age, I kept saying over and over again: “Life is too short.” Too short to not just live it. Too short to waste a single second. And certainly too short not to make the most of every breath I take.
A year later, my eldest son tried to take his own life at 11 years and 1 day old. The question that looped endlessly in my head was: “How can I help him want to live?”
Fast forward another 15 months, and my brother, Andrew, died by suicide. Now, the thought that echoed was: “If life is too short, why would anyone shorten it themselves?”
The following 10 years have been a constant cycle of unraveling and rebuilding my beliefs. Again and again. Each wave reshaping the existential beliefs I hold about life and loss.
I’m writing a book about these years. But for now, I want to share why – at 48 years old – I’m handing my keys back to my landlord, making myself homeless, with nowhere permanent to live.
I want to truly surrender to what unfolds in front of me.
I read The Surrender Experiment by Michael Singer about 7 or 8 years ago. I understood the concept, but as a single mum of four neurodivergent children, I felt like a horse at the starting gates on a race course – unable to get out but ready to go. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been grateful for my home. I know many people are truly homeless, not by choice. I’m deeply thankful I had help renting homes where my family was safe during those years.
But now, as I empty rooms, I say goodbye to hard memories – memories I want to forget: my son’s self-harm, suicide attempts, the quiet grief soaked into the furniture. This was a family home. But there is no longer a family that needs it.
My two sons now live with their dad because they want to be in the city (I don’t!). My other son has found a room to rent to grow into his independence. And my daughter, just finished with uni, has moved in with friends to begin her new life.
And whilst all is quiet and my children are all stable I want to truly feel freedom while I can – because I have learnt that life can throw you curve balls when you aren’t looking.
In January 2025, I travelled to Bali alone for nearly 4 months (extended from 3). I wasn’t supposed to go alone – my partner ended our relationship five days before we were due to leave. But I went anyway.
I’ll never forget standing in the Dubai airport transit lounge, looking down at my bum bag and realizing: I am only responsible for my passport and the backpack on my back. What unfolded was a deeper learning about my own needs, my own life, and how important it is to live it fully.
To live and experience the playground that is life – the slides, the roundabouts, the swings – each moment a chance to rebuild, a reminder that I matter too. After a decade of heartbreak, my existential beliefs are now a compass:
I choose to celebrate life.
Because while there’s breath in my body, I can help others – but only if I help myself first.
As I cleared out the house – from the kids’ old trampoline to the last fork in the cutlery drawer – I came across one of my son’s suicide notes (sobering, scary, heartbreaking) and the talk I wrote for my brother’s funeral (a story of a life ended too soon).
This letting-go process has been healing, but terrifying. Three weeks before I’m meant to leave, I’ve already sold my car. I’m borrowing my son’s car for now (ironic, since I still pay the MOT and insurance!) – but he moves out soon.
After that, I’ll have:
- A motorbike
- A 14-year-old Yorkshire terrier
- A small pile of belongings
No washing machine. No sofa. No iron. No permanent bed.
And, as of now, no van to live in. My dad is reluctant to sell his motorhome so we can buy one I can live in off-grid – but I keep surrendering, trusting it will all work out.
Eventually, I manage to list my dad’s motorhome for sale (you have to love him – reluctant but willing to help me however he can). It’s not selling quickly, and then a friend tells me about a van that’s exactly what I want: fully off-grid, big enough to live in, and even has a rooftop – perfect for beach views or my surfboard!
The owner is away for 10 days, so I wait. I surrender. I trust. I listen to my inner knowing. If it’s meant to happen, it will.
Exactly two weeks before I move out – at 3pm – my dad’s van sells. We go to view the new van. We buy it at 4pm. It all works out.
Now, I have a van (which I loooovvve) to live in, and I plan to pet sit along the way so I can occasionally stay in homes while travelling.
Could I have been anxious and started looking for a van sooner? Yes.
But I chose to surrender.
To trust that the right van would find me.
And it did.
That doesn’t mean it’s perfect. I know the van life and pet sitting will come with challenges. But to me, those challenges are just another swing or roundabout on the playground I call life.
Trauma has taught me that I can breathe through anything — and that feelings pass. Meditation and the power of regulating my breath has taught me that we are more than the lives we see in front of us – and shown me the power of surrender, of freedom from attachment, of release.
I believe in Post-Traumatic Growth. I know my body has been in survival mode far longer than I care to admit. I believe that where I am now is the product of where I’ve been.
Nothing could ever be as hard as the moments I’ve already lived –
Watching the horror of my son try to take his life.
Seeing my loved ones’ pass too early in life.
So anything beyond that – even the uncertainty of where I’ll sleep next – feels like freedom.
I trust I’ll be looked after. And as long as I don’t resist pain or my own feelings, I know all will be well.
Would I change what I’ve been through?
Yes, in a heartbeat – for them.
I wish they were all happy and alive.
But am I a better person for what I have been through?
Yes, without doubt – for me.
I’m happy to be alive.
And with every breath, I send love and light out to the world – for all those who feel trapped and not free, in their bodies or their minds.
Because we are, as always,
Stronger Together
Love
