The years that followed were full of searching. I jumped between jobs and places, learning as I went. I discovered bits and pieces of myself, my unique abilities, my patterns, my difficulties, my traumas, but I still felt different. At different points in my 20s and 30s I came across these names or labels or diagnoses that helped me understand parts of me: high sensitivity (HSP), Asperger’s (ASD), ADHD. Some felt close, but none quite fit. None explained what it was like to live inside my experience.

Eventually, I learned that my brain just works differently, and not always in a good way. I experience things like aphantasia (no mental imagery), SDAM (a lack of personal memory recall), anosmia (no sense of smell), and something I once called an eating disorder, but now just recognise as a persistent hunger—literal and metaphorical. It’s a list of things that can be hard to live with. Hard to create a life from. Hard to socialise with.

Now in my 40s, things are changing. I’m in the middle of rearranging things—creating a life that actually makes space for me, and for my children too. I’ve left behind people and structures that weren’t safe or kind. I’ve also stopped identifying so much with my trauma, or with the idea that I need to be defined by any diagnosis or difference, even my neurodivergence. I’m still different. But I’ve let go of needing to explain myself through a label.

What matters to me now is building something meaningful, from where I am. With the tools I have.

What is Thriving Different

This site grew out of that process. Years of trying to make sense of life, and myself, and why things can feel so overwhelming at times. What I’ve found, in all this mess, is that meaning helps. Connection helps. And having someone to speak with—someone who won’t try to fix you, or push you into a system you don’t belong in—can be quietly life-changing.

I don’t offer traditional coaching. I won’t hand you a list of exercises or techniques and send you off. What I offer is space—space to be heard, and space to explore, together, what’s going on beneath the surface. Sometimes it’s a call. Sometimes it’s written. But it’s always grounded in honesty, depth, and presence.

Writing has been with me through most of the chaos in my life. I’ve had more blogs than I can remember. Most of them were born during moments of trying to process something—motherhood, grief, trauma, transition. I write because it helps me put things in order. It helps me breathe. I don’t always know who it’s for, but I still write. Even now, I’ve decided to share what I have to say here in case it offers something to someone else. The blog is open and free—take what speaks to you.

This is a space for people who want to talk, think, process, and just be, without needing to explain everything. You don’t need to be a certain way. You don’t need to have it figured out. You’re already enough.

And I’m glad you’re here.