{"title":"My Story","description":"\u003ch1\u003eThe Map I Drew Myself\u003c\/h1\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt always starts with coffee.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat first dark roast of the morning, held between both hands like something precious. The grind, the bloom, the pour — a quiet ritual that belongs entirely to me before the world wakes up and wants something. Living with fibromyalgia means some mornings arrive heavy, uninvited, and stubborn. But that first sip cuts through it. It says — \u003cem\u003eyou're still here. Start again.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd I always do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI never fit the mould they handed me growing up. The path felt borrowed, the platform never mine. The women around me seemed to know the rules of a game I hadn't been taught, and for a long time I tried to play it anyway. The mixed messages I received from poor role models in those early years left marks that took decades to understand — pain, havoc, and trauma that quietly shaped so much of what came after. They shaped who I am, but they never got to define me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCarl Jung believed that “the privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are” — that unless you take conscious responsibility for your life, your unconscious patterns will direct you, and you will simply call it fate. For a long time, that was me. Shaped by mixed messages and poor role models, running on patterns I hadn't chosen and couldn't yet name. But somewhere along the way, I stopped calling it fate and started calling it mine to change.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI learned, eventually, that the only way forward was to stop waiting for someone to hand me a map and start drawing my own. Today I travel this journey with my husband and daughter by my side, with wider family ties cut — because protecting my mental health meant making peace with who deserves a place in my life and who does not. I am still learning to heal, and that is enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIndependence wasn't a choice — it was survival. And somewhere between the struggle and the late nights fuelled by strong coffee and sheer stubbornness, I found myself. I went back to college, earned my Diploma in Social Sciences, then pushed further and came out the other side of University with a BA in Social Work and a 2:1. Not bad for someone who was never supposed to make it that far.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI became a mother at 17. No warning, no manual, no roadmap. My firstborn became my greatest teacher before I even knew I needed one. By 25, when my second arrived, I thought I knew a little more — and maybe I did — but I was still scribbling the map as I walked. There's no rule book for loving people with your whole heart when you're still figuring out your own. But I showed up. Every single time. And they were, and always will be, my whole world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSome of my most treasured memories live in ordinary kitchens — two mugs on a counter, no agenda, just warmth. Coffee has a way of making space for the conversations that matter.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur relationships now are a dance — complicated, beautiful, and sometimes bruising. My daughter is me in so many ways it takes my breath away. Restless, sensitive, hungry for the world. Watching her fly is one of the greatest privileges of my life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy son and I are in a harder chapter right now. The distance between us is something I sit with quietly, and I won't pretend it doesn't ache. But I hold onto hope the way I hold onto that morning cup — with both hands, carefully. \u003cem\u003eEvery story has two sides — and mine hasn't been told. Don't let someone else's words define me. Look beyond their narrative, form your own opinion, and see me for who I actually am — not who they've made me out to be.\u003c\/em\u003e They are both strong enough to stand their ground now. I know what that costs. I respect it completely. And whatever the distance, whatever the silence — I am so deeply proud of the people they have become. That pride doesn't waver. It never will.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFifty-two years. A remarriage. More soul-searching than I care to count. And finally — finally — I stopped performing for an audience that was never really watching anyway. In 2026 I founded Ember \u0026amp; Olive Coffee Co., built from everything I believe in — that warmth matters, that quality is worth it, that the right cup of coffee at the right moment can feel like coming home. It is the most honest thing I have ever built.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the business gets loud and the past gets heavy, I get on my bike.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe wind does something nothing else can. The fibro quiets. The noise falls away. On two wheels I am not someone's mother, someone's ex, someone's disappointment or someone's expectation. I am just a woman on a road, going somewhere, completely free. And when I come home, the kettle goes on, the dark roast comes out, and I remember exactly who I am.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFuelled by coffee and hope. Still drawing the map. Still riding toward whatever comes next.\u003c\/p\u003e","products":[],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0962\/0579\/9751\/collections\/original-DB87E564-5C7A-4202-8316-380460401BB9_3a04c07e-8a1a-4e57-86e9-8704d8277e44.jpg?v=1774112796","url":"https:\/\/www.emberolivecoffee.shop\/collections\/my-story.oembed","provider":"Ember \u0026 Olive Coffee Co.","version":"1.0","type":"link"}