About Me and the events that changed my life forever!

For those who don’t know me, I want to use this blog post to share a bit about the past four months of my life and introduce some concepts I plan to explore in future posts.

Before the accident, my life was a testament to drive, passion, and unwavering commitment. I thrived on the challenges of balancing professional roles, personal responsibilities, and ambitious projects. My days were filled with purpose and determination, and I approached every opportunity as a chance to grow, contribute, and make a meaningful impact.

As an award-winning Family Day Care provider, I was deeply honoured to be recognised as the 2023 Regional Winner of the Family Day Care Awards. This accolade was a reflection of my dedication to creating nurturing, innovative, and inspiring environments for children. I was also a finalist in two 2024 BEAM Award categories, recognising my efforts in business excellence and mentorship, and a nominee for the prestigious 2024 Women Changing the World Awards. These achievements weren’t just milestones—they embodied my passion for improving the lives of children and supporting the early childhood education sector.

Beyond awards, I was proud to balance my professional pursuits with a rich and fulfilling personal life. I led with a sense of purpose and determination, ensuring that my work resonated with the values of community, creativity, and care. From mentoring other educators to delivering innovative programs, my career reflected the belief that every child deserves the best possible start in life. Beyond Family Day Care, I found immense joy and purpose in my role as a Thermomix consultant. Sharing my passion for fresh, preservative-free cooking, I hosted daily live sessions that inspired families to embrace healthier eating habits. These sessions weren’t just about demonstrating recipes—they were about fostering a love for creativity in the kitchen and empowering others to make wholesome choices with ease.

In addition to my consultancy, I worked night shifts at a fast food restaurant, where my strong work ethic and positive attitude were quickly recognised. On weekends, I took on a second casual job, cleaning and maintaining a professional space. Balancing these roles alongside my other commitments demonstrated my ability to adapt and remain dedicated to everything I pursued.

Despite the demands of my professional life, I was intentional about cultivating a vibrant and fulfilling family life. Weekends were reserved for cherished moments with loved ones—beach trips filled with laughter, park outings where we soaked up nature, and social gatherings that strengthened bonds with friends. These experiences were a cornerstone of our family’s happiness and connection.

At home, I embraced a sustainable lifestyle, weaving self-sufficiency into our daily routine. I tended to a thriving veggie patch that supplied fresh produce for our meals and hand-raised livestock, teaching my daughter the value of care, responsibility, and respect for nature. I was constantly planning and dreaming of new self-sustainability projects that would further enhance our way of life.

Our home was a sanctuary of comfort and care, a reflection of the pride I took in creating a nurturing environment. Meticulously maintained daily cleaning routines ensured a space of peace and organisation, while a well-kept garden offered beauty and tranquillity. The ongoing renovations were not just about aesthetics—they were about shaping a home that reflected our family’s values and aspirations.

Every aspect of my daughter’s upbringing was thoughtfully considered. Activities were planned to blend fun with learning, ensuring she felt engaged and enriched. Whether we were crafting, cooking, or exploring the world around us, these moments were designed to deepen our connection and support her growth. My life was a testament to the belief that even amidst a busy schedule, there is always room to nurture joy, connection, and purpose in the things that matter most.

The 10th of October 2024

On the 10th of October 2024, while working my usual late-night shift, I experienced an accident that would change my life. That night, the absence of other staff left me as the only front counter team member, handling multiple responsibilities amidst a steady stream of customers. The floor, slippery from residue, became hazardous, and I slipped, hitting my head against the wall.

The sharp pain and immediate confusion signalled the severity of the injury, but I continued my shift, masking the discomfort with Panadol. In the days that followed, I struggled to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, driven by my innate determination to keep moving forward.

When my shift finished, I drove home and contacted the hospital, where I was advised that I likely had a concussion and should rest on Friday. I don’t recall much from Friday or Saturday during the day, but I returned to work on Saturday night, as I am not one to take sick leave unless absolutely necessary. I spoke to another astaff member about the challenges I faced on Thursday night, including the head injury, and asked if I could stay in a slower paced role during my shift that night to minimise my physical exertion and stress. However, as the shift went on, I began to deteriorate.

I struggled to concentrate, became dizzy, and found it increasingly difficult to perform my duties. At one point, another staff member instructed me to clean the dining room. Although I usually enjoy this task, I was unable to complete it properly due to my physical state. I felt disoriented, dizzy, and had blurred vision. Despite these challenges, I finished cleaning and, as my shift ended, I walked out of the store, relying on walls and counters for support due to my dizziness and nausea. Once I reached my car, I felt overwhelmed by the severity of my symptoms, including blurred vision, dizziness, and nausea, and I broke down in tears before driving to the hospital for further treatment.

I tried every day that week to get in with my GP without success, so I contacted a different clinic and was seen on Tuesday, the 15th of October. They sent me for an urgent CT scan, which fortunately didn’t reveal anything critical. Since the 15th of october, I have lost count on how many GP appointments I have been to, I have seen a concussion specialist/neurologist in Adelaide, and met with an occupational therapist to help reduce the strain of everyday tasks. At 5 weeks in, I was told that I was just at the beginning of this road to recovery. While that was daunting, it was also reassuring to know that most people did recover fully over time with the right care and support. The diagnosis was Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

I had been experiencing severe headaches, nausea, irritability, neck pain, dizzy spells, and extreme sensitivity to light and sound. My balance and memory were impacted, and I struggled with word recall and articulation. These symptoms were exhausting but ironically made sleep difficult. While PCS recovery varied from person to person, it was common for symptoms to persist for weeks or even months. I was eventually diagnosed with Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS).

The next 3 months

For the last 3 monhts now, I have been managing a range of symptoms: severe headaches, nausea, neck pain, dizziness, light and sound sensitivity, irritability, balance issues, and memory difficulties. Recovery had been slow, and while these symptoms are all normal for PCS, they were overwhelming and exhausting.

As a mum, one of the hardest parts had been how my symptoms impacted my ability to parent. My daughter, like any child, makes constant noise, and I have found it incredibly frustrating and irritating. This is not improving, and I know I have a short fuse with her, which has been difficult. I am trying so hard to manage that.

I had been working with an amazing occupational therapist, which has been a big help. He suggested using a whiteboard to get my thoughts and to-dos out of my head and into a structured space, which had cleared up space in my head. He also recommended using Loop earplugs to help with sound sensitivity, which have been amazing—especially when dealing with going to the shops. Obtaining the absolutely darkest sunglasses I could find had also helped immensely with light sensitivity. However, even with the use of both of these, everyday mundane tasks were daunting, and things I never would have thought about irritated me immensely. From the washing machine, the dryer, to the constant road noise when driving, all of it felt overwhelming.

On the 2nd of December, I went to my GP, hoping to get some level of clearance to return to work in some capacity. Unfortunately, the GP advised that I wasn’t ready to go back. On Tuesday the 3rd of December, I saw the neurologist, who suggested I could try limited work in day care, but with significant restrictions. One of the effects of PCS is that my ability to make approprtiate judgement calls is affected, meaning what I saw as possible practical return to work a field I love and am dedicated to, I realy didn't think through very well. I thought that by simply managing the light and sound exposure I would be able to mange the other symptoms with ease also. Unfortunately others ie insurance don't see it this way therefore until I receive full clearance with no restrictions, I will not be able to obtain the necessary insurance to reopen my Family Day Care. Processing all of this took me over a week—it was a lot to take in. Therefore the week before Christmas I was forced to make a devasting and emotional decision to close my Family Day Care Service in Definitely.

Adapting and Growing

While I feel well-supported by my OT, neurologist, and psychologist, I am also left uncertain about the future and where to go from there. The consistent message from all of them had been that this would be a very slow process, and rushing it wouldn’t help. It was time to focus more on managing, documenting, and reflecting on my symptoms—particularly my sensitivities to light and sound—so I could minimise exhaustion and prevent further setbacks.

These sensitivities, among other challenges, are likely to become part of my “new normal.” While these difficulties might evolve over time, I’d need to keep adapting and learning how to manage them. These are not easy things to manage, and as much as I try to explain it, it's hard for others to truly understand the weight of these struggles. The extreme sensitivity to light and sound that I’ve experienced feels like my brain is constantly under attack. Simple things, like the light in a room, become excruciating. Even low-level lighting that most people would find comfortable feels blinding to me. It’s as if the light is amplified, invading my head and making everything feel fuzzy, disorienting, and overwhelming. On particularly bad days, just stepping outside into natural daylight can feel like stepping into a blinding spotlight, leaving me scrambling to shield my eyes from the assault. The sound sensitivity is equally as debilitating.

Everyday noises that most people wouldn’t give a second thought—like the hum of a washing machine, the buzz of a fluorescent light, the beeping of a microwave, or the roar of traffic—become a cacophony that feels like it's right inside my head. These noises aren't just irritating; they are physically painful. The constant ringing in my ears seems to amplify all other sounds, and even the softest noise can make my heart race. Going to the shops has been a nightmare—walking into a space with chatter, music, trolleys clanging, and the general buzz of activity can trigger a sensory overload that leaves me feeling anxious, dizzy, and mentally exhausted. It's a physical reaction that takes over my body, not just my mind, and I am often left needing to escape to a quieter, calmer environment just to reset.

People don’t realise how deeply these sensitivities affect daily life. It's not just about avoiding bright lights or loud noises; it’s about living in a world that constantly feels too stimulating, too intense. For example, a simple trip to the grocery store can feel like navigating an obstacle course—flickering lights, the blaring sound of announcements over the intercom, the high-pitched buzz of the fridge, and the general hum of activity can push me to my limit. It’s overwhelming and exhausting, and it takes all my energy just to make it through a task that others might do on autopilot.

Another part of the challenge is that these sensitivities don’t always align with how the world works. For instance, we live in a society that is designed with sensory overload in mind: fluorescent lighting, crowded spaces, background music in shops, and constant noise. These things are meant to be “background noise” for most people, but for me, they feel like a constant assault. Even something as simple as driving can trigger stress—road noise, the glare of headlights at night, or the sound of passing cars—it all piles up, making each task feel like a mental and physical challenge.

These constant triggers, even in familiar spaces, have made it clear just how much we take for granted. Everyday activities that once felt like second nature are now monumental tasks, and the energy required to get through them is draining. The mental load of constantly managing these sensitivities—whether by wearing sunglasses indoors, earplugs, or retreating to quiet spaces—adds another layer of exhaustion. And yet, it's the invisible nature of these challenges that makes them so difficult for others to grasp.

People don’t see the pain, the overwhelming mental fatigue, or the toll that constant overstimulation takes. It's hard to explain to someone how something so seemingly minor can make every interaction and task feel like a battle. It's not just about avoiding what’s uncomfortable; it’s about constantly managing and adjusting to the new way the world feels.

So, while I am doing everything I can to manage these sensitivities, it’s a process that requires constant adaptation. I have to be vigilant, patient, and understanding of my own limitations, which is not always easy. There are days when it feels like I’m making progress, and then others when everything feels just as overwhelming as it did in the beginning. But, despite the immense difficulty, I’m trying to navigate this new normal, learning how to manage what I can and accepting what I can’t. This journey isn’t easy, but it’s mine to navigate, step by step.

It was shocking to think that all of this had stemmed from what had initially been dismissed as “just a bump to the head.” I had no idea that something so seemingly minor could lead to such long-term and life-altering consequences.