07/01/2026
A decade ago I crossed the world for a six-month placement in the UK.
People remember the photos—castles, cobblestones, rivers, pubs—and it really was magical.
But it was also my lifeline.
Behind the passport stamps was a young woman trying desperately to escape a violent partner and a cycle she couldn’t break while still on the same continent.
It took 17,000 kilometres.
It took an ocean.
It took a $10,000 loan and a quiet promise to myself that I deserved more.
Family violence can look like love until it doesn’t.
It can feel intoxicating at its best and terrifying at its worst.
It grips us in patterns of hope and harm, fear and longing.
It can reach across suburbs, states and lives—and sometimes even across countries.
Leaving isn’t a moment—it’s a series of choices, collapses, losses, rebuilds and slow breaths.
For me, going overseas was the door that finally shut.
For others, the door looks different.
But everyone deserves safe exits, safe futures and lives beyond survival. Here are some of my favourite moments but there were so many more. Thank you to my amazing friend Deb who nourished me back to wholeness