Why Disorder?
Why Disorder?
Why Not Response?
Why Not Adaptation?
For so many who have experienced complex trauma, the word disorder can feel like a label they’ve carried since childhood. “There’s something wrong with you,” the world tells us, and after hearing it long enough, it becomes easier to accept.
But what if that’s not the truth? What if your brain isn’t broken or malfunctioning but brilliantly adapted to ensure your survival in a world that felt unsafe?
The RAS (reticular activating system) is the part of your brain that fuels hypervigilance—constantly scanning for danger to protect you. But did you know that this same part of the brain is also responsible for seeking opportunity? Yes, the very system that alerts you to potential threats is also wired to seek out possibility, potential, and growth.
Through processing and healing, you can begin to choose how you want to use this incredible brain. What if the skills you’ve developed through survival—skills like awareness, adaptability, and strength—are the building blocks for evolving into someone with an evolved, skilled set of tools for life?
You’ve adapted to survive; now you can adapt to thrive. The power is in your hands. Healing isn’t about “fixing” something broken, but about unlearning old narratives and embracing the wisdom you’ve gained along the way.
Your brain isn’t the problem. It’s been your ally. And with healing, you get to reclaim your power, tap into your potential, and rewrite your story.
Blame
The Futility of Blame
I was chatting with someone recently about how each generation believes they’ll do better than the one before. Many parents strive to provide a better life for their children—more comfort, more opportunity, more protection from hardship. But in doing so, they sometimes shield their children from the realities of life, creating a different set of struggles.
It made me think of The Living Years by Mike & The Mechanics—a powerful reminder of how short time is, how much goes unsaid, and how we often don’t understand the weight of generational patterns until it’s too late.
Blame is everywhere. It runs through generations, through cultures, through our conversations. We blame parents for our struggles, governments for our hardships, and past generations for the state of the world. We blame partners, colleagues, strangers. And in doing so, we unknowingly pass down the habit—teaching the next generation to point fingers rather than seek solutions.
But what does blame really do?
It might feel justified. It might even feel like control. But in reality, blame stifles progress, poisons relationships, and keeps us trapped in cycles of resentment. It divides rather than unites. It silences rather than heals. It keeps us looking backward when what we truly need is a way forward.
Many of us have been shaped by a culture that externalises responsibility. If something goes wrong, someone must be at fault. But the more we focus on assigning blame, the less we focus on change. Responsibility is not the same as blame. When we take responsibility, we reclaim our power. When we stay in blame, we hand our power away.
None of this is to say that harm doesn’t happen. That suffering isn’t real. That people aren’t left carrying the weight of another person’s actions. Some wounds are caused by others, and acknowledging that truth is part of healing. But staying in blame forever binds us to the pain. Justice is important. Accountability is essential. But healing is something no one else can do for us.
Blame shuts down communication. It fuels division. It breeds resentment. And resentment doesn’t just live in the mind—it settles in the body like poison. It keeps us tethered to what hurt us rather than freeing us from it. If we truly want to heal, we must release the grip of resentment. Not for those who harmed us, but for ourselves.
Blame—whether directed at others or ourselves—shuts down communication. It fuels division. It breeds resentment. But when blame turns inward, it takes an even deeper toll.
Self-blame can feel like control, like taking responsibility. But instead of leading to change, it often leads to shame. And shame doesn’t make us better—it makes us feel unworthy of being better. It silences us. It keeps us small. It convinces us that we are our mistakes.
“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” – Brené Brown
Self-blame and shame are deeply connected, often reinforcing each other in a painful cycle.
1. Self-Blame: Turns Pain Inward
When something goes wrong, instead of recognizing external factors or acknowledging that mistakes are a natural part of life, self-blame makes it personal. It turns an event into a reflection of who we are. Instead of thinking, “I made a mistake,” we think, “I am a mistake.”
2. The Birth of Shame
Self-blame, when left unchecked, evolves into shame. While guilt says, “I did something bad,” shame whispers, “I am bad.” Over time, this internalised belief can become part of our identity, shaping how we see ourselves and the world around us.
3. The Impact of Shame
• Emotional paralysis – Shame makes it hard to take action or change because we believe we are inherently flawed.
• Hiding and isolation – Shame thrives in secrecy. The more we blame ourselves, the less we reach out for connection or support.
• Self-sabotage – If we believe we are unworthy, we may unconsciously reinforce that belief by pushing away opportunities, relationships, or success.
• Perfectionism and people-pleasing – To compensate for shame, we may overcompensate by trying to be “perfect” or constantly seeking approval.
To stop the cycle, we must shift from blame to understanding. Instead of asking, “What’s wrong with me?” we can ask, “What happened to me?” Instead of punishing ourselves for struggling, we can offer ourselves the kindness we would extend to a friend.
Because healing doesn’t come from blame. It comes from self-compassion.
If we want to heal, we must recognize that mistakes and struggles do not define us. We must replace self-blame with self-compassion. Because healing doesn’t come from punishing ourselves—it comes from understanding ourselves.
If we want to create change, we must model something different. We must shift from blame to understanding, from division to connection, from resentment to responsibility.
• Instead of blaming, we can seek understanding
• Instead of resentment, we can seek healing.
• Instead of passing down blame, we can teach accountability and self-awareness.
Because the next generation is watching. And if we show them how to move forward without carrying the weight of blame, maybe—just maybe—we start to change the cycle.
Understanding Trauma
Understanding Trauma, Disconnection, and Vulnerability to Manipulation
One of the most important yet misunderstood aspects of trauma is how it disconnects us—from ourselves and from others. And this disconnection doesn’t just leave us feeling isolated; it also makes us more vulnerable to manipulation, including grooming, coercion, and abuse.
A common misconception is that trauma only refers to catastrophic events—accidents, assaults, war, or extreme abuse. But if we define trauma as the impact an event has on our nervous system, we can start to see a much bigger picture. Everyday experiences—criticism, financial stress, being bullied at work—can also shape how we feel about ourselves, how we relate to others, and how we cope.
When our suffering is dismissed—when we hear things like, “Lots of people get criticised at work, but they don’t all drink because of it,” or “Everyone struggles financially, but they don’t all become hermits,”—we internalise the idea that our pain is an overreaction. Many people learn to mask their struggles because minimising their pain only makes them feel worse. But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.
How Disconnection Makes Us Vulnerable
Unprocessed emotional energy doesn’t just disappear; it gets stored in the nervous system. Over time, this can lead to external coping strategies like substance use, comfort eating, gambling—or internal strategies like avoidance, people-pleasing, and emotional shutdown.
When we are disconnected or dissociative, our internal body awareness (interoception) becomes muted. This means we miss subtle cues—our own instincts, gut feelings, or physical sensations that might alert us to danger.
This is exactly what grooming tactics exploit. Manipulators look for people who are distracted, self-doubting, unsure. They rely on the fact that when we’re disconnected from ourselves, we’re less likely to notice red flags—or to trust ourselves enough to act on them.
Why This Matters for Protecting Children and Families
In our work, we regularly see people in therapy who have been groomed, bullied, or abused—both as children and as adults. Many of them didn’t recognise the warning signs at the time. Not because they weren’t intelligent or strong enough, but because disconnection from their own internal signals made them more susceptible.
Breaking this cycle requires prevention. And prevention starts with awareness.
This is why we created STAND: Parents as Protectors, an online workshop designed to support parents and caregivers in understanding these patterns—how trauma impacts connection, how disconnection creates risk, and how to recognize grooming behaviours before they take hold.
When we understand trauma for what it really is—the way it shapes our nervous system and our sense of self—we gain the power to reconnect. To trust ourselves. To keep our children and families safe.
27th March 2025 by Deborah J Crozier
The Dorsal Space
There’s a place beyond exhaustion, beyond sadness, beyond fear. A place where the weight of everything drags you down so completely that movement feels impossible. Where the black cloud of doom doesn’t just hover—it swallows.This is dorsal collapse.
It’s not just being “stuck.” It’s being buried. The slippery slope leads straight down to a cell in the ground—darkness, dirt, doom. You sit there, still, waiting. Because moving is too frightening, too impossible. Better to wait for the last flicker of light—the one that belongs to a world above you—to blow out. Then, at least, the waiting ends - ease comes.
In that stillness, there’s a battle. A fight in your mind with those who claim to understand but don’t. People who see you, but not really. They underestimate -, assuming you are weaker than you are. Or they overestimate -, assuming you can just push through, that you’re capable of more than you are in that moment. Either way, they don’t truly see you. Judgments & assumptions—whether wrapped in criticism or false encouragement—don’t help. They push & when you’re teetering on the edge, that push can be the final one.
Dorsal is not just a state of mind; it’s a lens that distorts everything. Every thought & emotion is covered in dirt. If snapping out of it were an option, it would have already happened. Because this place is a painful hell, not a choice.
Yet, decisions that shape the lives of people in this state—our most vulnerable—are made by those who have never been here. Politicians, policymakers, systems built on theory, not lived experience. The result? More panic. More despair.
This has to change.
We need lived experience insight at the heart of decisions that affect real people. Before it’s too late for the next person who finds themselves here.
Climbing out of this place isn’t about ‘thinking positive’ or ‘trying harder.’ It starts with something much smaller, something that barely feels like movement at all. A breath. A sound. The smallest shift in weight. A moment of noticing that you are still here.
Reconnection begins in tiny moments, often ones that don’t even feel like progress. The feel of your feet on the ground. The warmth of sunlight through a window. The vibration of your own voice, even if it’s just a hum. These are the threads that begin to reattach you to life.
The world above, the one that once felt impossibly far away—doesn’t have to be climbed in one leap. It’s a slow re-emergence. A remembering of self. And perhaps most importantly, it’s not meant to be done alone.
Because when someone truly sees you—without judgment, without expectation—something shifts. The cell in the ground starts to feel less like a prison & more like a place you passed through on your way back to yourself.
#TraumaInformedTRUST
The Human Cost of Benefit Cuts: Why Compassion Must Come First
Cuts to benefits for people struggling with mental health issues are more than just financial decisions—they are attacks on survival, dignity, and humanity. For those reliant on the system, simply hearing that benefits may be cut can send their nervous system into survival mode. The body perceives a direct threat: How will I eat? How will I keep my home? How will I manage my condition without stability?
For many, the stress response is immediate. Adrenaline surges, thoughts race, sleep is lost, and the world feels unsafe. When you are already living with mental health challenges—depression, anxiety, PTSR, ( post traumatic stress response), complex trauma—uncertainty isn’t just uncomfortable; it’s catastrophic. The system that was meant to provide stability instead fuels panic, pushing people deeper into dysregulation, despair, and in some cases, crisis.
For some, work isn’t just difficult—it’s unbearable. It’s not a case of “not wanting” to work, as political narratives often suggest. Many simply cannot function in environments that disregard their needs, trigger past traumas, or strip them of dignity. Assuming they even feel able to attend an interview, they face scrutiny, judgment, and systems designed to weed them out rather than support them.
And what about the wider impact? The harm doesn’t stop with the individual. When adults are in survival mode, children feel it. Families fracture under the weight of poverty. The stress of financial insecurity seeps into relationships, mental health, and even physical health. A child growing up in a home where survival is the main focus learns deep, unconscious lessons about their own worth. I am a burden. I do not deserve ease. Life is struggle. These beliefs shape futures, limiting opportunities and reinforcing cycles of poverty and distress.
Why does a Labour government—historically positioned as the party of workers and social support—choose to ignore this harm? Why take from the poorest instead of addressing the systemic inequalities that keep people trapped? Why strip humanity down to numbers on a spreadsheet while ignoring the lived reality behind those figures?
True leadership requires compassion, not just policy. It means recognising that people are not statistics, and that the value of a life cannot be measured in pounds, shillings, and pence. It means understanding that economic policies have real, human consequences—that stripping support from the most vulnerable creates suffering that ripples across generations.
A just society does not punish people for needing help. It does not push people deeper into distress in the name of efficiency. It prioritises people over profit, humanity over bureaucracy, and care over control. Because the measure of a society is not how it treats its most powerful—it’s how it treats its most vulnerable.
Adolescence, Grooming & Disconnection: Why STAND Has Never Been More Urgent
For the past ten years, I’ve been trying to share STAND: Parents as Protectors – a program designed to help parents, caregivers, and professionals recognise grooming behaviours, build confident boundaries, and reconnect to the instincts that protect both themselves and their children.
I’ve been invited to speak about this work at the NSPCC in London, the Home Office and other safeguarding spaces.
Every time, the response has been the same; ‘this is excellent’, ‘this is important’ ‘I can see how this contributes to prevention’ – but – we don’t want to scare anyone’! People nod in agreement, acknowledge the risks, and express concern about the rising dangers children face. And yet, safeguarding only seems to become urgent when its already too late.
The reality is, child exploitation, grooming and manipulation are deeply uncomfortable topics. No one wants to imagine that their child – or any child – could be at risk. Parents and professional alike often assume.
- “I would know if something was wrong”
- “My child would tell me”
- “This only happens in ‘vulnerable’ families
‘There is no one more vulnerable than those who imagine they are not’!
Manipulation thrives in silence and self- doubt. Grooming is designed to go unnoticed – both by the child and the adults around them. It works by eroding trust in internal signals, creating confusion, and shifting boundaries so gradually that by the time danger is recognised, harm has often already occurred.
And so, safeguarding conversations get pushed aside. They feel too alarmist, too heavy, too ‘far removed from daily life. Until a high-profile case hits the news. Until a parent realises too late that their child has been interacting with someone unsafe. Until the harm has already been done.
Netflix’s new mini-series ‘Adolescence’ has sparked intense conversations about bullying, misogyny, and the dangers young people face – online and in real life.
The show follows the story of a 13-year-old boy accused of murdering a girl in his school, raising unsettling questions about peer influence, manipulation and emotional disconnection.
For many, this series is a wake-up call. But for those of us working in child protection, it’s a familiar reality.
I created STAND: Parents as Protectors in 2015 after supporting adults who had experienced childhood abuse. I saw first-hand how trauma disconnects people from their instincts, making them more vulnerable to manipulation and harm. I also recognised the urgent need to equip parents and caregivers with the tools to protect their children before harm occurs.
What I’ve learned over the past decade is this:
Safeguarding isn’t just about learning red flags – It’s about reconnection.
When we are disconnected from ourselves, from our instincts, from subtle signals that something isn’t right – we become easier to manipulate and the same is true for our children.
When children (and caregivers) become emotionally disconnected – whether due to trauma, stress or social conditioning – it leaves the vulnerable to;
- Grooming and Manipulation
- Toxic peer pressure and harmful online influences
- Confusion around boundaries and self-worth
A disconnected child may struggle to recognise when something feels off.
A disconnected parent may second-guess their instincts when something doesn’t seem right
This is how manipulation thrives – by creating doubt and overriding inner warning signals.
That’s why STAND: Parents as Protectors doesn’t just focus on identifying grooming behaviours. It also teaches;
- Reconnect & Regulate – so they can guide from a place of awareness
- Recognise internal cues – strengthening instincts that protect against manipulation
- Practice confident boundaries – modelling safety for children
- Reduce risk of manipulation – by fostering strong, self-trusting children
- Identify grooming behaviours – recognising tactics and common behaviours used to exploit vulnerability
Because real safeguarding isn’t about living in fear. It’s about building connection, awareness and trust – so that when something isn’t right, we recognise it and act before it’s too late.
For the first time, STAND: Parents as Protectors is being delivered as a six-week workshop, combining everything I’ve learned about safeguarding, trauma and reconnection
Join us for the Live STAND: Parents as Protectors 6 Week Workshop
Thursday Evenings 6pm-8pm
Starts: 1st May 2025 – Ends 5th June 2025
Venue: A Positive Starts Safe Learning Space – 8, Sandbed, Hawick, TD9 0HE, Scottish Borders
Contact Us to Register Your Interest
Online Workshop Available Soon
The Body Keeps the Score: A Real-Life Experience
In 2018, I was in a road traffic collision. A speeding van hit my stationary car as I waited to turn into my driveway. The impact knocked me unconscious, and I suffered a head injury.
A truck driver who witnessed the crash blocked the road and climbed into the back of my wrecked car. Though I have no memory of him, I later learned that he held my head up and spoke gently to me, reassuring me that help was on the way. Fire crews cut me from the vehicle, and I was taken to the hospital. My first clear memory was waking up in A&E with my family beside me.
A few days after returning home, I was resting in the living room when I saw someone in a high-vis jacket walk past the window. I didn't recognize him. My husband answered the door and brought him in, saying, "Someone's here to see you, Deb."
I had never seen this young man before—until he spoke. "How are you?" he asked. The moment I heard his voice, emotion overwhelmed me. "It's you," I said. Suddenly, the memory returned—not his face, but the feeling of him holding my head, whispering, You're going to be okay. Hang on in there.
Until that moment, I had no conscious memory of him. But my body had remembered.
Bessel van der Kolk's The Body Keeps the Score explains how trauma isn't just stored in our minds—it's held in our nervous system, our senses, and our bodies. My experience was proof of this. The sound of his voice unlocked something my rational mind couldn't access, bringing back not just the memory, but the safety and reassurance he had given me in that moment of crisis.
Trauma isn't just about what we consciously remember. It's about what our bodies hold onto—and that's why healing has to go beyond words.
True Acceptance
In a world full of differing perspectives, beliefs, and experiences, one of the greatest challenges we face is learning how to truly accept both ourselves and others—without judgment, without the need for agreement, and without losing ourselves in the process.
At its core, true acceptance is about recognising that our experiences are valid, and so are others’. It’s about understanding that just because someone hasn’t walked our path, felt what we’ve felt, or seen what we’ve seen, doesn’t mean our truth is any less real. And equally, their reality—shaped by their own life experiences—is just as valid as ours.
Many of us have spent years feeling the need to explain, justify, or prove our perspective—especially when faced with people who don’t see the world the way we do. There’s a deep frustration that can come when someone dismisses our lived experience, as if reality only exists in the way they perceive it.
But the real shift happens when we no longer need that external validation. When we approve of ourselves, we no longer require others to approve of us. We stop seeking agreement as a form of self-acceptance. We recognise that difference doesn’t mean invalidation—it just means uniqueness.
This is the foundation of a truly person-centred approach:
• I don’t need to change your mind to feel secure in my own.
• I don’t need you to see what I see in order for it to be real for me.
• I can hold space for your experience without it threatening mine.
One of the hardest lessons is realising that people can only hear a message when they are ready to receive it. No amount of explanation, logic, or passion will force someone to see what they’re not yet open to seeing. This is especially difficult when it comes to people we love—our children, our family, our friends.
It’s natural to want to wake people up, to help them understand what we’ve come to know. But just like you can’t plant a seed in frozen ground, you can’t force awareness before someone is ready. And trying to do so often leads to resistance, not understanding.
Instead, the most powerful thing we can do is embody what we believe. When we stop needing to convince, we actually create more space for others to become curious. People feel drawn to self-trust. When we sit firmly in our truth without pushing it on others, they may begin to wonder, What do they see that I don’t?
True acceptance isn’t about agreement—it’s about respect.
It means recognising that someone else’s experience doesn’t have to align with ours in order to be real. It means listening without the intent to change someone, just as we hope they will listen to us without the intent to change us.
This approach is the foundation of healing, growth, and meaningful connection. It’s what makes people feel safe. And in a world that often demands conformity, offering that kind of acceptance—to ourselves and to others—is a rare and powerful thing.
As you move through the world, notice where you feel the pull to prove or convince. Ask yourself:
“Do I need them to see it my way in order for my truth to remain true?”
If the answer is no, then you’re already embodying what it means to be truly person-centred.
And that, in itself, is enough.
Lets not forget - Everyone wants and needs to be seen and heard - When it comes to listening to other peoples their perspectives - making sure we are not leaving ourselves out of the judging...
Survival & The Power of Trust
During the early days of COVID, I remember watching people pile their trolleys high, pushing ahead, grabbing what they could. There was no eye contact, no pause, no thought for the person next to them. It was survival mode in its rawest form.
And I understood it. Fear does that to people. When we feel unsafe, our nervous system narrows our focus—what matters is what’s directly in front of us. Protecting ourselves, protecting our families. The rest becomes background noise.
But survival mode doesn’t just show up in times of crisis. I see it everywhere—people always trying to get ahead, cutting corners, justifying it with phrases like “I’m a hustler” or “I’m just playing the game.” These words make it sound clever, like a strategy. But in reality, they often mean stepping over others, taking more than what’s needed, and calling it winning.
What’s fair about that? What’s human about that?
When survival mode runs the show long-term, it erodes trust. It teaches us to expect that others will take advantage if given the chance. And that belief—that we have to take before we’re taken from—keeps us locked in a loop of disconnection and fear.
At A Positive Start, we work differently. We are a grassroots Community Interest Company, built on trust, fairness, and community. All of our work is underpinned by the trauma-informed TRUST framework, ensuring that everything we do creates safety, connection, and genuine support.
Without truth, there is no trust. Without trust, there is no safety. And without safety, there is no healing.
That’s why we use a three-tiered trust based donation pricing model, supported by all of our therapists. Because healing shouldn’t be a privilege for the few—it should be accessible to those who need it most. And when we trust in each other, we build something far stronger than fear.
We build belonging.
And in the end, that’s what real survival looks like—not stepping over others, but standing with them.
The Body Remembers
Trauma has a way of embedding itself deep within us, not just in our minds but in our very cells. As Bessel van der Kolk so aptly explains in The Body Keeps the Score, the physical body carries the echoes of past experiences, even when the conscious mind cannot recall them. I understood this concept intellectually, but it wasn’t until a serious accident that I truly experienced it.
Life has a way of teaching us the lessons we need most. When we are disconnected, we often fail to notice them, unable or unwilling to pay attention. And so, those lessons persist, growing louder and presenting themselves in different forms until we are ready to listen and learn.
Unbeknownst to me then, this same lesson would pop up again a year or so later in a different way, when I was unexpectedly reunited with Katy-Kopy Kat, a much loved doll lost on the airplane crash. I share the experience in my new e-book, ‘When I’m Gone: Reclaiming Safety, Trust & Hope after Trauma. -A Shameless plug - I know right! It’s due for release 2nd Feb - available on Amazon.
I digress.
I’d had a great day having collected two new computers for our upcoming silver surfers project at A Positive Start when we were starting out at Liddesdale Road. It was all very exciting. I’d set the PCs up and then enjoyed a productive meeting with the lovely Mary Hemingway, a financial advisor and friend, joined by my husband Andrew who, as always had come along straight after work to offer his support.
As Andrew and I headed home that evening in our separate vehicles. I was ahead of my husband, as I waited in the middle of the road to turn my car into our driveway, a speeding van lost control and ploughed into me at over 60 miles per hour. The force of the impact crushed my car and sent me spinning down the road. During the chaos, my head smashed against the metal hook of the car seat, causing a serious head injury and knocking me unconscious.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, a lorry driver who had witnessed the accident sprang into action. Seeing the danger, he parked his truck across the road to shield me from oncoming traffic. Crawling into the tiny, crumpled space at the back of my car, he held my head, which was bleeding heavily. While the fire service closed the road and worked to cut me free, this young man stayed with me, holding my head steady and speaking to me softly for hours. I remember none of it, but my husband, Andrew, who witnessed the accident, and was in complete shock told me how this stranger had shown such care and courage in the moments that followed.
After being rushed by ambulance to the Borders General Hospital, and put back together by the amazing staff in A&E, I was eventually discharged. I was resting at home, physically bruised and emotionally fragile. I still had no memory of the accident or the young man who had stayed by my side, but the shock of what had happened lingered in my body.
One afternoon, as I sat in the living room, I noticed a flash of yellow hi-vis pass by the window. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, and I didn’t recognize the figure walking up the path. But when the man stepped inside and spoke, I was overwhelmed by a surge of emotion I couldn’t explain.
I had no conscious memory of him, but the moment he spoke, my body remembered. Tears welled in my eyes, and gratitude poured out of me as I realised this was the young truck driver, Cammy who had stayed with me during the accident. Somehow, his voice had etched itself into me, even though my mind had no recollection.
We talked, and I learned more about the kindness and calm he had offered me in the chaos. It was humbling and awe-inspiring to realize how deeply we can be impacted by someone’s care, even when we aren’t fully present to experience it in the moment.
The Power of Connection
This experience reminded me of the remarkable connection between the mind and body. The body doesn’t forget. It holds memories of pain, fear, and, as I learned, even comfort and safety. That truck driver’s voice, his presence, had been a lifeline for me, and though I couldn’t remember it consciously, my body had held on to the feeling of being cared for in a moment of crisis.
This isn’t just the body keeping the score—it’s the body keeping the moments that matter. It holds the fears and the gratitude, the wounds and the healing. And in moments like this, it reveals just how much of our story is stored within us, waiting to be uncovered when we’re ready.
Thank you for taking time today to read a a little bit about my experience, I hope you found it interesting. If you enjoyed reading this and would like to read more - you can pick up a copy of my ebook on Amazon, due for release on 2nd February, pre-order your copy here. 👇
https://www.amazon.co.uk/When-Im-Gone-Reclaiming-Safety-ebook/dp/B0DTMZ8JXB/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=32JRAEJM7W7AV&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.E4zP53hd8daUIf7xEfyNMw.SyxO-Jsg0mtzEwx5FKXwwHIQlhPIpjrZioDfZkGO8MQ&dib_tag=se&keywords=when+im+gone+-+reclaiming+safety%2C+trust+and+hope&qid=1737628647&sprefix=when+im+gone+-+reclaiming+safety+trust+and+hope%2Caps%2C78&sr=8-1