Starting Again, Again

There’s a quiet moment, sitting on my favourite rock, taking in the early morning light. Hues of pink and orange dust the landscape and the moon still lingers in the sky. The air smells of pine and eucalyptus, and even the dogs seem to know it’s not quite time to stir. It’s in that hush that I think, I feel, here we are… Starting again, again.

I’ve done it before. Several times. I’ve reinvented, rebuilt, re-evaluated. Sometimes because I had to. Sometimes because something in me simply refused to settle.

In my twenties, I dropped out of uni, worked a few random jobs in retail and hospitality, and in 2012 opened a nightclub from scratch with my mate Boogie Dave, who’s still at the helm today. A very naïve 24-year-old thrown into an underground world of music, madness and all-nighters. It was chaotic. Exhilarating. Exhausting. Full of laughter, heartbreak, and too many stories to tell.

Years later, that same drive took a softer form. I opened a yoga studio, born from a longing for calm, connection, and a wish to share my love of wellbeing with the world — or at least with Brindley Place. I dreamt of meditative mornings, quieter minds, and helping people return to themselves. Instead, it became one of the most stressful, painful and traumatic chapters of my life. InterYoga lasted seven months, closing its doors in March 2020 under government-imposed lockdown.

During that time, I became pregnant and had my first daughter in 2021 and our second little girl joined us in 2024. Before moving to Portugal, I’d reached the point I thought I’d been building toward. A house I loved, a kind and patient husband, two beautiful children, and work that didn’t feel like work. I was teaching yoga classes I felt deeply connected to, stage managing alongside people I admired, and freelancing for festivals I truly aligned with.

And yet, after all that building and unbuilding, just when it felt like I’d made it, I, no, WE, let it all go. We did what most people only talk about after their third glass of wine. We packed up and left.

Now I find myself in a small Portuguese village surrounded by mountains, granite and grasshoppers. A place where time moves differently. The nights are dark and filled with stars and the days are spent in nature learning the ways of the land. It’s idyllic. But once again I’m standing on new ground. Filled with passion and uncertainty, but this time, with my husband and children beside me, the risk feels deeper, but so does the meaning.

Here, we’re building something special. A life and a business that align with what we truly need – for our family, and for humanity. Wild Calm. A small off-grid retreat space where people can come and simply be. No productivity hacks. No pressure to perform. No to-do lists. Just food that tastes like food, sleep that truly restores you, and the kind of stillness that helps you remember who you are.

Life here isn’t easy. The simplicity we longed for takes work. Chopping wood. Fixing leaks.

Learning new systems (and new words). There are days it all feels like a lot. But the land holds us. The neighbours bring eggs and advice in equal measure. The children spend their afternoons outside, barefoot and content, with the kind of freedom I’d half-forgotten was possible.

It feels true. Real. And holds a deep sense of relief.

Starting again isn’t glamorous, and it certainly isn’t as zen as my Instagram might make it look. It’s vulnerable and humbling. There are moments of deep peace and moments of complete overwhelm. But each new beginning has taught me something about trust. About the beauty in uncertainty. About the courage it takes to walk towards what feels true, even when it means leaving everything familiar behind.

I don’t miss my old life. It was certainly sad and difficult to leave, and there are certainly moments and people and places that I miss. But I was so very ready for this, and I feel deeply, gut-wrenchingly grateful. Grateful for the mountains. Grateful for the stillness. Grateful for the space to breathe and begin again, again.

Maybe that’s what this chapter is about. Not starting over as if from scratch, but carrying forward all the versions of who I’ve been and letting them soften into something new. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe life isn’t about getting it right once and for all. Maybe it’s about starting again, again. Each time a little wilder, a little wiser, and a little closer to oneself.