There’s a quote in my book that says, “This too shall pass (but holy f**k).” And if I could sum up my mental health journey in a sentence, that would be it.

Not long ago, I found myself paused mid-panic, frozen in a moment of anxiety and grief so overwhelming it felt like someone had hit the emergency stop button on my life. Four months of what I can only describe as being stuck in the “nearly fell off my chair” feeling. You know the one, school days, 10 years old, swinging back on your chair just a wee bit too far, that split second where your whole life flashes before your eyes? Yeah. That. But on repeat. With no pause. For months.

This wasn’t a little wobble. This was a full-body, soul-shaking, mind-spiralling lifequake.

The lifequake

One moment I was fit, focused, flourishing, telling my wife I’d never felt happier. The next, I was broken, bewildered, and bricking it. Something from my past came barrelling into my present like a bull in a mindfulness shop, and just like that, I was robbed. Robbed of joy, peace, sleep, creativity… all of it.

I ended up in therapy for a year. Shout out to therapy, by the way, an unsung superhero in the mental health universe. It didn’t fix me overnight (spoiler: that’s not how this works), but it did give me space to breathe, to cry, to unravel, talk and stitch myself back together, one emotional session at a time.

Therapy helped me realise that I wasn’t broken, I was just lost. And sometimes, getting lost is exactly what we need to find something new.

From glimmers to sunkicks

Therapy introduced me to the idea of glimmers, those small moments of safety, calm or joy that remind you you're not completely falling apart. The smell of freshly baked bread. A ridiculously large crisp. A Taylor Swift lyric.

These glimmers became my lifeline. And over time, they turned into something bigger, what I call sunkicks. That surge of warmth, joy, or sheer relief that sneaks up on you like a hug from behind. Glimmers are the spark. Sunkicks are the fire.

So I went glimmer hunting. Not in the grand, Instagram-worthy sense. I’m talking about listening to my kids laugh. Rewatching Detectorists. Eating potato croquettes. Breathing.

Turns out, life isn’t about avoiding darkness, it’s about learning to find the light, even if it’s just a flicker.

The wellness industry won’t save you

I threw the whole wellness kitchen sink at it, meditating, journaling, yoga, turmeric, goat-scented candles (okay, maybe not goats). But what helped most wasn’t trying to be well. It was allowing myself to be unwell. To sit in it. To not fake a smile.

Because pretending isn’t healing. It’s hiding. And trust me, I’ve done my share of both.

What changed? I stopped “trying” to be happy and instead decided to let joy in. I gave up chasing happiness like it was a runaway bus and started noticing it walking beside me all along.

“It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.”

Taylor Swift’s Anti-Hero slapped me in the face with its brutal truth. I realised that despite my kindness, humour and glittery heart, sometimes the person hurting me most… was me.

It was a humbling realisation: I’m not always good for me.

And so I went to work. Not in a hustle way. In a healing way. I went to my own inner Dead Letter Office, digging up the forgotten parts of myself, the thoughts I hadn’t addressed, the feelings I’d buried deep under “I’m fine.”

I let them out. I wrote them down. I let therapy work its slow, steady magic. And I made peace with being confidently lost.

A word on therapy (aka wizardry)

Therapy isn’t just for crisis mode. It’s for clarity. It’s a mirror you didn’t know you needed. My therapist didn’t hand me solutions, she helped me see what was already inside. The little kid version of me who just wanted to feel safe. The grown-up me who forgot he was allowed to ask for help.

Therapy helped me stop being at war with my own brain. It gave me permission to feel the hard stuff without judgement. And eventually, it led me back to glimmers.

So, what now?

Now, I live differently. I keep a Glimmer Tracker. I say no to things that deplete me. I let go of people who aren’t good for me. I cry when I need to. I laugh, loudly and often. And I remind myself, daily, that being lost isn’t the opposite of being found, it’s how we get there.

If you’re in it right now, if life feels dark, messy, or totally upside down, I see you. You’re not broken. You’re just mid-chapter. And maybe, just maybe, your own glimmer is about to show up.

Keep your eyes open. When you catch them, they catch you.

Not the book I planned, but the one I needed

I was writing a completely different book before. One with diagrams and structure. Then BAM! Anxiety crash-landed like an unexpected guest who empties your cupboards and makes you question your existence.

So I started writing Confidently Lost. Not because I had answers, but because I needed to feel less alone. It’s a book about teetering on the edge, surviving the chaos, and eventually - slowly - finding my way back to joy. Not the big, flashy kind. The tiny, glimmery kind.