When Amelia was born nearly two years ago—small, fragile, and far too early—my world shifted in a way I could never have imagined. I had no choice but to face the very thing I’d always carried deep inside me: my own story. I was born at 28 weeks, a time when neonatal medicine was still in its infancy. My twin brother, Nicholas, didn’t survive. And for most of my life, I’ve spoken about that loss, about being premature, and about what it meant—but I never truly embraced how much it had shaped me. Not until Amelia.
In those early days in the NICU, watching her fight to breathe, I saw a reflection of my own journey. But I also saw something else: purpose.
It was a purpose I think I’ve always had, quietly growing inside me, but I wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. I wasn’t ready to be the person who could turn pain into power, fear into advocacy, and grief into guidance. Last year, that all changed.
A Light in the Dark
Becoming a mum to a premature baby was the beginning of a new chapter—not just for me, but for my family. My husband Ryan has been my rock through it all. Watching him care so deeply, sacrifice his time, and stay strong even when we were falling apart gave me a renewed belief in the strength of love and partnership. Together, we’ve navigated trauma, sleepless nights, countless hospital appointments, and the emotional rollercoaster that comes with raising a medically complex child.
But Amelia—she is the spark that lit everything up. Her resilience, her determination, her joy even in the smallest of moments—it’s like watching a miracle unfold every single day. She has given me a reason to speak up louder, to write more honestly, and to build something that helps others feel less alone.
Why I’m Finally Ready
For years I thought I was just someone with a sad story. A premature baby who lost her twin. A girl who struggled to read until 13. A mum with birth trauma and PTSD. But those labels don’t define me anymore. What defines me is what I choose to do with that story.
And now, I choose to help. I choose to offer comfort, information, and solidarity to other parents walking similar paths—whether that’s sitting in a NICU feeling terrified, navigating neurodiversity in their family, or simply trying to hold it all together when it feels like everything is falling apart.
A Direction I Can Trust
My purpose has always been there—I just didn’t know how to recognise it. Now, I do. It’s in the words I write. The blogs I share. The podcast episodes I record. The conversations I have with parents who message me, desperate for someone who “gets it.”
Everything I do now is guided by a desire to make others feel seen and heard. To show them that it’s okay to struggle. That love, not perfection, is what matters. That there is always a way forward—even if you’re still figuring out the map.
Amelia and Ryan give me purpose. And through them, I’ve found a direction that feels right—one that I know I’m meant to follow.
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References:
Bliss – For babies born premature or sick: www.bliss.org.uk Sands – Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Charity: www.sands.org.uk Tommy’s – Research and support for premature birth: www.tommys.org
What gives you direction in life?
The bad and your parenting journey 