Life, as always, marches on—unforgiving, unstoppable, and impatient. This year has brought waves of change, each one pushing me further from where I thought I was settled. And I’ll admit it: I haven’t embraced it as gracefully as I’d hoped. Change is uncomfortable, and I’ve resisted it more than I care to admit. It’s taken moments of sheer willpower, paired with quiet reflection, to begin understanding that resistance.
The most visible shift has been in my daughter. She’s just finished primary school, and while I couldn’t be prouder of her, I find myself emotionally unprepared for what’s ahead. The little girl who once clutched my hand at every zebra crossing is now stretching toward independence, preparing to walk a path that leads her further into the world—and a little further away from me.
Letting her walk the five-minute journey home from school alone felt monumental. I tucked an AirTag into her backpack and stared at her tiny GPS emoji inching toward home, feeling equal parts liberated and terrified. We’ve given her a mobile phone—but not without every safety feature switched on. There’s no part of it I can’t see. Social media? Absolutely not. Closed-door calls? Still a no. Not yet. And while she accepts these rules with a hint of begrudging grace, I can see her yearning to grow into herself. Her self-assurance leaves me in awe, but also a little unsteady—because she’s no longer my little child. I’m still learning how to let her go, just a little.
In the quiet moments, I wonder: would this transition have been so difficult with Isaac? He would have turned 13 this year. A teenager. I imagine the changes: puberty, crushes, the first signs of facial hair, late-night debates over curfews. All those firsts I’ll never get to witness. But in truth, I don’t think his growing up would have felt this hard—because with him, it remains a possibility, not a reality. It’s just a thought. With my daughter, it’s happening before my eyes.
Losing a child shifts your entire axis. It makes you hold on tighter to the ones still with you. It turns every moment into something you simultaneously treasure and fear. I’ve hovered over my daughter because I know the cost of letting go too much. But as I write this, I remind myself: what a privilege it is to witness her grow. I didn’t get that with Isaac. So, I’m learning to trust, to accept, and to breathe through the changes.
And somewhere in all of this movement, a strange kind of stillness has settled in me. Not peaceful, but necessary. A silence that forced me inward—to face the parts of myself I’ve neglected. There are physical and emotional changes I should have made long ago, but I was too busy fighting battles I never asked for. The fight for justice for Isaac. The exhausting, beautiful journey to bring my rainbow baby into this world. The burdens I carried for others, even when my own shoulders were already heavy.
I didn’t win every fight, but I showed up. And, those battles shaped me. They made me strong, yes—but also scarred. And while I’ve worn those scars like armour, I now understand they can’t be ignored forever. Especially when they begin to chip away at your health, your joy, your peace.
I’m not giving up. I’ll always fight for what’s right. However, I’ve realised that I can’t let those wars—won or lost—define the whole of my life. Isaac’s life wasn’t defined by his struggle to survive. His legacy has changed systems, inspired action, and brought hope to others. That’s what I carry forward. Not just the pain—but the impact.
So here I am—finally pausing, finally breathing. Taking a moment not just to reflect on what I’ve been fighting for or running from, but to consider what I truly need. I’m making changes—not just for the sake of those I love, but to honour myself as well. I’m tending to both my body and mind, making intentional shifts in how I move, how I eat, how I care for my emotional wellbeing. It’s not easy—change rarely is—but with patience and purpose, I’m learning that transformation, even when uncomfortable, can become a powerful source of hope.
And hope, I’m learning, is worth holding onto. So, bring on change!
Running for Isaac raises funds in memory of Isaac for the Evelina Children’s Hospital. If you would like to support please donate at: https://www.justgiving.com/team/running4isaac2022
