The Space Between Who I Was and Who I’m Becoming

A cheeky young dingo brings a spark of life to the stark Nullarbor Plain, its curious presence a delightful contrast against the barren backdrop.

There are moments in life where everything feels like it pauses — not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, almost unnoticeable shift.

The past couple of months have felt like that for me.

Rod and I packed up the car and drove across Australia to Western Australia — my home state — with three of our five teenage girls. We wanted to step away from the noise of everyday life and spend time with my family on the farm.

I knew Dad’s health had been declining with Alzheimer’s. At the time, he still recognised us — our faces, our names — and still carried that cheeky sense of humour that has always been so him.

The drive itself was slow but magnificent.

The coastline, the long stretches across the Nullarbor — quiet, expansive, grounding.

I didn’t take many photos. I never really do. I tend to live in the moment, and sometimes that means I don’t capture it — but maybe that’s the point. Some things are meant to be felt, not stored.

🤍 

The Gift of Being There

We had the most beautiful week with Dad.

Getting him up and moving on his walker, coffee and ice cream (non-negotiable), sitting together, talking — or just being.

He chatted with the girls, raising his eyebrows at their new tattoos (which gave us all a laugh), and told us that if he was ever going to get one, it would be of a dog.

Which dog? We’re still not sure. But it made perfect sense in that moment.

Even with Alzheimer’s slowly taking parts of him, there was still so much of him there.

Those small, ordinary moments — they feel incredibly big now.

✨ 

When Life Shifts

After six weeks away, feeling recharged and full, we made our way home.

And then everything changed.

We got the call that Dad had deteriorated.

He passed away the day after we arrived back in Queensland.

So we turned around again — this time flying back to Western Australia for his funeral and celebration of life.

And what a send-off it was.

I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude — for my family, and for the community of Yallingup and Dunsborough who came together to honour him.

There’s something incredibly powerful about community in moments like that. It holds you when you don’t quite know how to hold yourself.

Knowing he’s now with his twin somehow brings me comfort.

I like to think I’ve got dual archangels watching over me now.

Lucky me.

🌿 

What This Has Taught Me

This time — the travel, the stillness, the loss — has given me space to reflect on where I’ve been and where I’m going.

I’ve spent so many years doing what I thought was the “right” thing.

Building a career. Showing up. Holding it all together.

And while I’m deeply grateful for that life, I can also feel that I’m no longer the same person who built it.

Right now, I’m not rushing forward.

I’m focusing on being home for our girls — especially the youngest three as they move through their final year of school. Supporting each of them as they step into their own lives.

I’m leaning into my partner, my family, and this slower, more intentional way of living.

🎨 

Creating Without Pressure

And I’m creating.

Not perfectly. Not strategically. Just… creating.

I’ve been playing with mixed media — canvas, acrylic, watercolour, alongside my digital work — and there’s something so freeing about it.

It’s messy. It’s unpredictable. It’s very much a reflection of where I am right now.

Also — I’ve learned that fluro pink paint travels a lot further than expected… it’s currently made its way across most of the house, much to my family’s amusement.

I like to think of it as unexpected interior design.

💫 

A Different Way Forward

I don’t have everything figured out.

But I do know this — I want to create a life that feels aligned.

One where there’s space for family, for creativity, for connection.

Where I can share honestly — not because I have the answers, but because maybe in the sharing, we find pieces of ourselves in each other.

If you’re here, reading this — maybe you’re in your own version of this space.

Somewhere between what was and what’s next.

And if that’s the case, just know — you’re not alone in it.

I’m walking it too.

xx Meg