January feels sad.
Everywhere I look people are struggling with black moods and depression and I know better than anyone just how hard it is function in the dark.
My past is no secret, the post below has sat on my blog for quite some time but following a few conversations I've had with people this week it felt right to revisit it.
If you are struggling, I hope that it gives to the strength to carry on.
Mine is not a standard birth story but it is one that I have been trying to write for the last seventeen years, unable to know where to begin.
Even though I was in constant contact with my family I was living on a fragile deserted island and I couldn’t take anymore.
I've since been told that I'm the only person ever to survive jumping the 75ft from the top of that multi-storey car park
My leg injuries were explained to me by a doctor;
I was a dancer. I'd been dancing all my life. I danced through school and on to post sixteen dance training. I won a coveted place in the National Youth Dance Company. I was a dancer – full stop. It defined me. It made me me.
I'd been given another shot at things and although my progress has been slow and painful I had to decide to make a better life for my boy and me.