Possible Chapters = Constantly Writing

Book Chapter Idea's or blog post titles -

1. The Glass Coffin: A Study in Fragile Survival

A piece about the Snow White image, childhood trauma, ND wiring, perimenopause collapse, and the moment she realised she wasn’t failing — she was protecting what little she had left.

2. Shards: What Breaks and What Tells the Truth

A piece about the shattering — not cracking — and how the fragments revealed the pressure points of her life. Trauma, masking, hormonal collapse, and the evidence left behind.

3. The Lighthouse: Walking the Curve Toward Clarity

A piece about the moment her life flipped from clouded to visible. The long walk around the lighthouse, the coastline revealed, the storm mapped, the rocks finally seen.

4. The Jigsaw: The Piece That Never Fit

A piece about adaptation, childhood trauma, ND wiring, and the realisation that she wasn’t the wrong shape — the puzzle was. Perimenopause removed the ability to keep contorting.

5. The Field, the Fence, and the Backpack

A piece about the day she realised she was carrying the marriage, the emotional labour, the invisible load. The field as the first truth, the fence as the boundary she never had.

6. The Purgatory Room: The Architecture of Avoidance

A piece about the room that wasn’t a sanctuary but a holding cell. ND overwhelm, clutter as pressure, and the moment she stepped out and saw herself clearly.

I think the beginning of this book has to start where the damage started — not with the event itself, but with the misunderstanding that followed. I thought childhood trauma would make me bigger, stronger, something bear like. I thought I would rise. But what actually happened was quieter, stranger. I became the girl who picked up everybody’s pieces. The jigsaw that never fit. The one who held the room together until she fell.

There’s a piece of paper I keep — Snow White in a glass case. I didn’t understand it when I tore it, from the vintage book,  but I do now. My glass case was never grand or magical. It was small, fragile, easily fractured. I wasn’t protected because I was precious. I was protected because I didn’t have much to function with. The slightest thing could crack me, and often did. The shards tell their own story. They always have.

And now, with the oestrogen gone and the brain damage already done, I finally see the architecture of myself. I haven’t failed. My make up changed. The scaffolding that held me upright for decades has fallen away, and I can see the moment it happened, the moment everything shifted. I have clarity now. I’ve gone around the lighthouse. I can see the coastline, the storm, the rocks. I can see myself.