Or a NICU mum, yet I am both.

It has taken me six weeks to get into the space where I feel like I can finally write about my birth experience. Six of the most magical, difficult, consuming, exhausting, transformative and heart-expanding weeks of my life.

I am writing this with my daughter sound asleep on my chest — my daughter. For ten months I carried her, dreamt of her, but it wasn’t until she was here, in my arms, that I truly felt like a mother — and not just any mother. I am a mother whose birth did not go to plan. In fact, it couldn’t have gone any further off course if it tried. I am a mother who wears the scar of my journey and who has spent every day for the past six weeks moving between unimaginable joy and unimaginable grief. I know I am not alone in this. I have joined a group of mothers who are not only learning how to dance through each day with their babies but who are also learning how to hold themselves through a healing process they didn’t anticipate.

I am one mother's voice amongst many.

I didn’t for one second consider that I wouldn’t have a physiological homebirth. For the ten months I carried Ryla, I only ever envisioned one outcome — safely and calmly delivering my baby at home. I almost had an ignorant confidence when people would talk about the ‘what ifs’ or share their experiences of births that didn’t go to plan. When people told me you can’t plan for your birth outcome, I would politely smile, internally thinking that we would have our homebirth. I prepared my mind and body and followed every Instagram mum sharing their freebirth and homebirth experiences. It was my dream, and no part of me considered any other outcome.

At 41 weeks and 5 days, my waters finally broke, and we patiently waited for contractions to begin. At 41 weeks and 6 days, contractions started, and they were nothing like I expected. They were not gentle or spaced apart — instead, they were intense and only a minute apart. The TENS machine quickly went onto the highest setting and I mentally and physically entered a space I didn’t know I could reach, just to get to the other side. A minute on, a minute off. Time disappeared as I desperately tried every tool I had available to find relief. Minutes turned into hours and suddenly we were eight hours deep. At home, supported by my two midwives and my partner, I moved between the shower and the birthing pool, pushing for another two hours. Ten hours at this point and, despite being fully dilated, I couldn’t get her out. I was exhausted. I pooped and bled all over the house — literally all over the house — cried, moaned, and screamed. Instead of feeling empowered or connected to my body, I felt depleted and disconnected. I just wanted the pain to stop. It was at this point, fully dilated yet no closer to delivering, that my midwife said it was time to go to hospital.

Our drive to the hospital is a complete blur. It was 10:30 p.m. and Ben was doing his best to coach me through my contractions whilst getting us there as quickly and safely as possible. I genuinely don’t have the words for how incredible he was — and has been — through this whole experience. To see me in this state and to hold it together for the both of us... he showed up for me in ways I never thought he would have to. The 28-minute journey meant 14 contractions. My body developed trauma shakes due to the intensity of the ten hours of labour. I genuinely have no idea how we made it there, but we did, and I was quickly loaded into a wheelchair and rushed into a room of waiting doctors and nurses.

This part is very much something I haven’t fully processed, but I remember sucking on gas, attempting to push, being rushed into a room for an epidural, and the doctor declaring that I was no longer eligible for a vaginal delivery — that I was now a Category 1 C-section due to Ryla’s decreased heart rate. I was entirely reliant on my midwife and the doctors to make the best decision for me and Ryla. Within ten minutes of being declared Category 1, I was on the operating table being prepared for surgery.

As someone who hasn’t been to hospital since I was a teenager, I found this whole environment completely foreign. It was exactly the environment I had tried to avoid: sterile, cold, and bright. For decades I have prioritised my physical and mental health above anything else — investing in organic food, choosing low-tox living, and ensuring I was consciously aware of what I put into my body. I didn’t think I would end up here. I hadn’t prepared for this. Yet here I was, having major surgery to deliver my daughter safely into the world. I will spare you the details of the procedure itself, but for anyone who has had a C-section, you will understand the completely uncomfortable feeling of being fully awake whilst your insides are cut, pulled and manipulated. For me, this was all happening whilst my arms shook uncontrollably from trauma, and I was vomiting due to the medications I had been given.

Not exactly the peaceful homebirth I had envisioned.

Then I heard six words that will stay with me forever: Your daughter is limp and pale.

She was being taken to the resuscitation table to be resuscitated, and they were asking Ben to go and talk to her and hold her hand. She wasn’t breathing. My beautiful baby girl — who I had carried for ten months, sung to, talked to, shared almost an entire year connected to — wasn’t breathing, and there was nothing I could do. I was lying on a table, cut open, at the mercy of doctors, whilst my little girl needed me. I didn’t expect this.

I cannot tell you how long it took for her to cry; it felt like an eternity. But eventually, she did cry, with her daddy holding her hand. She was alive.

Alive — but needing to go to NICU as she was on breathing support. But I couldn’t go. I was still on the table, being put back together. She was wheeled past me, and for the briefest moment, I was able to stroke her face — and then she was gone. I remember looking at Ben, telling him not to leave her side and to do skin-to-skin with her as soon as he could. I didn’t need to tell him; he already knew. But as a mother who felt so helpless, it was all I could offer in that moment. And then they were gone.

I didn’t see my daughter again for twelve hours.

Twelve of the longest hours of my life.

Twelve hours going in and out of consciousness.

Twelve hours of people coming in and out of my room giving me different medications.

Twelve hours of knowing that every minute apart was hurting us both.

And then I finally got to see her. So healthy and perfect, all 3.5 kilos of her. Off oxygen, breathing on her own, looking very out of place amongst the premmie babies in NICU.

I never thought that I would meet my daughter twelve hours after her birth, or that I would be wheeled to NICU and have to locate her in a room full of babies in plastic boxes. Plastic boxes containing little tiny fingers and toes, waiting to be kissed. It didn’t feel right — her being so separate from us. A necessary environment, but one that feels very disempowering. Despite knowing she was ours, I felt like I couldn’t pick her up or honour my motherly instincts. I had to ask permission to do things that felt so natural to me — as if she belonged to someone else. Under constant observation, with multiple opinions on what we should be doing — opinions that often contradicted each other.

Ryla spent eight nights in NICU. To the mums and dads of NICU babies — I had no idea what you were going through before I became a NICU mum myself. I had no idea how stuck in fight-or-flight mode you were, or how each day was purely survival. I had no idea how lonely it was, or how exhausted you were. I had no idea of the heartache you were surrounded by whilst trying to care for your little one. I had no idea how disempowered you must have felt. I had no idea of the depths you had to reach into to survive. But you did — and so did I.

Every day I was either wheeled or walked the corridors to the NICU room my daughter was in. Every day I sat by her tiny plastic box, only leaving to go to the toilet or when I was forced to eat. I held her tight for skin-to-skin and learnt to breastfeed her in a room filled with prying eyes, beeping monitors, and exhausted nurses. I cried throughout the day, grieving the experience we didn’t get to have, whilst also trying to find acceptance for the one we were having. I spent hours moving through the emotions of a traumatic birth and a birth that did not go to plan. I questioned my body and wondered if it had failed me. I asked myself if I could have done anything differently. I slept little, pumped religiously to encourage my milk to come in, held her close with a protectiveness I didn’t know I had — and in the walls of NICU, I became a mother. In those eight nights, whilst deep in grief, my heart was also bursting open with a new level of love. The love of a mother.

And then, after eight of the most difficult nights of my life, it was time to take her home.

This is where we get to experience joy.

I don’t think I have ever experienced the level of joy I felt when we exited the hospital into the fresh air as a family of three, with our daughter safely tucked into her car seat, carried by her daddy. On the drive home, we cried tears of joy. We were on our way home.

It has been six weeks since Ryla entered the world, and those six weeks have been a dance of surrender, grief, joy, and love. I find myself quickly scrolling past posts of other mothers sharing their positive homebirth experiences, trying to avoid the grief that I know will follow. But I have started to find acceptance in our story. Grief appears each day — triggered by a song, a post, or an innocent question — and when it does, I am finding space to allow the tears to fall. I often talk to Ryla about our experience and find myself apologising for the start she had.

She is my constant reminder of the importance of releasing our trauma. I don’t want our start to decide her future. We are working with a chiropractor, osteopath, and craniosacral therapist to help her release what her body is holding onto. She never leaves my side, and we spend our days baby-wearing, contact napping, breastfeeding on demand, and bed-sharing at night. I know that all of this is helping not only her nervous system but also mine — and together, we are learning how to regulate.

There’s nothing I love more than waking up to her little grunts as she nuzzles beside me, searching for her favourite thing in the world: my nipple. We find comfort in each other’s arms. I’ve come to accept the messy house, the piles of laundry, the all-day pyjamas, the breast milk-stained clothes — and a life that, for now, is focused on nothing outside of her.

I used to be a strong advocate for women not getting lost in motherhood, but before she arrived, I started to wonder — is getting lost in motherhood the point? (I explored this in a previous blog.)

Now that I’m here, I can’t imagine anything more magical than getting lost in it. I don’t know what day of the week it is or what’s happening in the world. I no longer feel like who I once was — and yet, I’m excited about who I’m becoming.

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A version of me that is being shaped by motherhood.
The most powerful and beautiful thing I have ever done.

I have had to grieve that we didn’t get our home birth, we didn’t get our delayed cord clamping, or our immediate skin-to-skin. Our start wasn’t warm or gentle; it was cold and harsh — but we are here.

Loving in a way I never thought possible.
Showing a strength I didn’t know I had.
Holding multiple realities at once with a compassion and understanding I rarely allowed myself before.

Motherhood is the most incredible thing I’ve ever done — and I want to keep getting lost in it. Because in the losing, I am finding.

So whilst my birth went nothing like I had planned, I am choosing to wear my scar proudly — a reminder of our journey, which, despite only just beginning, already feels like my greatest adventure yet.

I have spent my life surrounded by women who have dedicated their entire lives to being mothers, my own mother included. Since we have all grown up and left, I have watched her try to figure out who she is, what she loves, and struggle to put her needs before those of anyone else—not knowing where we end and she begins.

I have seen countless women fall prey to the self-sacrifice that comes with motherhood, without the tools or knowledge to hold or grow through the process. But what if it doesn’t have to be this way? What if we can allow ourselves to get lost whilst simultaneously welcoming in the new parts of ourselves? Can we nurture our babies whilst also nurturing ourselves?

I believe we can. And I also believe we are now in a position to better understand and support women through the metamorphosis of motherhood, encouraging these new parts of them into existence. We can be both mother and woman.

My whole life, I have dreamed of being a mother. I have dreamed of the day I would get to nurture someone into existence, and this journey has shown me that whilst I am nurturing her into existence, I am also nurturing parts of myself—the parts I have been cut off from, the parts I have been taught make me weak or not as worthy as the men around me. The softness of the feminine has been returning to my body now for several months, and it has made me realise that I still stand behind the controls of the masculine at times. The constant forward momentum, the need to achieve, to prove. Never in my life have I allowed myself such grace to take a step back, to nurture, to love, to care, to nest—and it feels intoxicatingly good. So good, in fact, that I want to continue drinking from this cup.

Never in a million years would I have considered a successful day to be one spent baking banana muffins, decluttering the house, and reading a book, but here we are. Now, this isn’t about becoming a trad wife or creating a homestead (although homesteading does sound very appealing); it is about feeling into the feminine and feeling value in that space.

The care, love, and attentiveness I am showing towards her, I am also directing towards myself—because I am the one carrying her. It took me creating a life to give myself permission to let go of the reins of control and allow the feminine to flood in.

For example, my body no longer works the way it used to. We once danced together, knowing exactly what stretches or exercises to do or what foods to eat. Now, I feel like every day is a constant inquiry. Each day presents new challenges: sleep deprivation, aching hips, sore boobs, and a waddle that seems to have sprung from nowhere. At times, I feel frustrated that I cannot move or get comfortable like I used to, and it is in those moments that I have to remind myself to be gentle, to surrender. After all, I am growing a life. Whilst parts of my body no longer feel like my own, I have never felt more connected to other parts. I hold my stomach every day, connecting with tiny baby movements, feeling incredibly grateful that my body is able to carry my daughter. The added weight I see in the mirror would have once made me self-conscious, but instead, it makes me feel empowered. The knowledge that I am creating a life makes the aching hips and sore boobs feel so small in comparison.

I have also never given myself permission to slow down or cocoon in the way I am doing, and in this process, I have met softer parts of myself. Like the fact that I enjoy nesting. I love cleaning, decluttering, reorganising, and preparing. It makes me feel good.

I have also realised that I hate business, which is incredibly ironic since my whole adult life I have desperately tried to create successful business after successful business. This time has made me realise it isn’t for me, and that’s OK. I don’t need to continue trying to achieve something that brings me little joy out of the hope that it would validate me to others. The irony that I have spent my whole adult life trying to make myself good at something I don’t enjoy. Instead, I get to focus on the things I do love: coaching, writing, and connecting with women. The whole boss babe energy isn’t for me, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders in accepting that.

I, Millee Johnson, am not a boss babe, and it doesn’t make me any less of an empowered woman.

I have also realised that despite being able to live comfortably as an boss babe, I am not very good at it! My expansion within that space has been limited, and I always thought it was because I was sabotaging myself, trying to keep myself small. I now realise it was so out of alignment. It simply isn’t for me. The jobs I have excelled in the most haven’t been when I have been the founder or the CEO; they have been when I have been able to focus on people or experiences. This is where I shine, and this is what makes me happy—not being the person with the weight of all the responsibility on their shoulders. So if you ever see me trying to be a CEO or Director of a business, you have full permission to remind me: girl, this isn’t for you.

This is one of the many gifts I am realising my daughter has given me at 38 weeks pregnant.

The other gift of pregnancy has been having to ask for and accept help—not only from the people I love but from complete strangers too. I used to take such pride in my independence, feeling like this was an empowering action; however, I am now realising there is nothing more empowering than asking someone to help or receiving help that is freely offered. People opening doors, giving up their seats, carrying my bags—all of it would have once made me feel weak; however, now it makes me feel cared for. I also see how, when I was trying to be a founder or a CEO, I never asked for help, even when I was drowning. Whether this is a me thing or a pressure lots of founders and CEOs face, who knows, but what I see is that I have been carrying out roles, professionally and personally, that are heavy. Putting down that weight is both scary and freeing.

So whilst there are many out there who say you don’t have to lose yourself to motherhood, I am saying—let yourself get lost if it feels good.

Motherhood has proven to be a beautiful transition for me—from who I once was into who I am becoming. It is stripping away the parts of me that I have been resisting letting go of and, in the process, showing me new possibilities.

These final weeks are a mix of wanting her to arrive—mainly because my hips are so sore that sleep is impossible—but also wanting to stay in this space, in this blur. It isn’t often in life that we spend nine months transforming from the inside out, and while at times I have tried to resist the changes, the space of accepting is guiding me somewhere. I don’t know who I will be when she arrives, and I don’t know how my life will change, but I do know it will change.

The idea that motherhood doesn’t have to change who you are just hasn’t been my experience, and instead of fighting it, I am excited for everything it is showing me.

I know that in a few weeks’ time, the very core of who I am will change forever—it has already started to—and the surprise of not knowing what that looks like is something I am choosing to invite.

Will I flourish at motherhood? Will I be inspired? Will new ideas birth from this experience?

I have no idea.

But I am excited to find out.

And maybe that’s the whole point of motherhood—allowing myself to get lost so that parts of me can be found.

As women navigating life beyond 35, community is everything. Whether it’s about fertility, career shifts, or personal growth, we need a space where we can connect, share, and support one another. This chat is exactly that—a place for insights, questions, and meaningful discussions. It’s where you can share your thoughts and hear from others who are on the same journey.

Together, we’ll create a supportive community to inspire and empower each other as we navigate this exciting stage of life.

I can’t wait for you to join!

With love,

Millee

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1. Get the Substack app by clicking this link or the button below. New chat threads won’t be sent sent via email, so turn on push notifications so you don’t miss conversation as it happens. You can also access chat on the web.

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It felt like it happened overnight. Suddenly, I was ‘too old,’ not where I ‘should’ be, and ‘running out of time.’ I call it the scarcity trap.

But why? Why the sudden feeling of impending doom?

I had happily lived the previous 35 years mostly to the beat of my own drum. I had always been unconventional, and I embraced that way of living. Engaged twice, married and divorced before I was 28. Never owning a home or many possessions outside of what I could carry. Wandering the world. Connecting with people and allowing my multitude of passions to decide what direction I moved in. This was me. So why, out of nowhere, was I suddenly hit with this tidal wave of desperation?

The simple answer: society.

My whole life, society had been preparing me for this moment where, as a woman, I would begin to believe that my worth was diminishing. Every show I watched growing up reiterated this narrative, and every movie made about women of this age solidified it into my subconscious: once you hit 35, your value starts to decrease. Think Bridget Jones's Diary, Friends, and Sex and the City. I’ve recently revisited some of these shows to better understand why I, too, firmly believed that once I reached 35, I was running out of time.

While I deeply love these shows and movies, they are all littered with an air of scarcity. Scarcity about being in your mid-30s, and often even early 30s, and being single. The idea that you need to meet your partner before your mid-30s or you never will is strategically placed throughout. They highlight the notion that women 35+ are running out of time to get pregnant, with themes of a ticking biological clock always looming in the background.

We watch as our favourite characters deal with the pressure and anxiety created by this idea of running out of time. We see them compare their lives to those around them and grieve with them when they feel behind. Without realising, we see ourselves in them and embody this idea that once we hit our 30s, particularly our mid-30s, we should be in a relationship, starting a family, owning a home, excelling in our careers.

All of these shows and movies reflect societal pressures that women should achieve certain milestones—marriage, career success, children—by specific ages. In Western cultures, particularly, there’s an expectation that women’s lives should follow a certain path by their 30s, and I’ve been no exception to that pressure.

"The only thing worse than being 34 and single is being 34 and divorced." - Sex & The City

As I dove deeper into my research, I came across an article written by a male in the 50s that concluded women’s ‘shelf life’ began to rapidly expire after the age of 35. I also discovered that it has only been in recent years that we’ve replaced the term ‘geriatric pregnancy’ for women 35+ with the equally as flattering term ‘advanced maternal age.’ Ironically, ‘geriatric’ is most commonly associated with being ‘past your time.’ The use of such disempowering terms is often far more harmful to a woman than her age. The idea that she’s ‘too old’ places tremendous stress and pressure, when in reality, there are hundreds of reasons women face fertility issues, and age is a small percentage of this.

“Tom has a theory that homosexuals and single women in their thirties have natural bonding: both being accustomed to disappointing their parents and being treated as freaks by society.” - Bridget Jones Diary

Which is why I became curious about how we can change this narrative.

As a coach and mentor, I’ve been working with women for years on their self-worth, identity, self-expression, and alignment. Yet, it seems that very few women, if any at all, are exempt from this pressure around being in their 30s—and more specifically, 35+. Every empowered woman I know has faced this feeling at some point, and I’ve come to realise the way we can change the narrative is to talk about it. To be in community with one another. To listen to each other. To support one another and take away the shame and guilt that women feel about not being at a certain place at a certain stage in their life.

I also think it’s important to highlight that women really do just get better with age. A woman at 35 is far more empowered than a woman in her 20s. She has lived. She has healed. She has experienced. I know personally, I spent my 20s chasing validation outside of myself, placing my worth in the hands of others. It’s only been in my 30s that I’ve started to stop seeking that validation outwardly and instead find it within. I’m more comfortable in my skin in my 30s and more empowered to use my voice. I’m done with people-pleasing, and perhaps this is why society has continued this narrative for so long—to push us down and put us in our place so to say.

But you can’t push down a woman who doesn’t feel shame—and there’s absolutely no shame in aging. The more we rewrite this narrative, share our stories, and support one another, the less power this outdated idea will have over us. There’s nothing ‘too old’ or ‘too late’ about a woman in her mid-30s. In fact, she’s just getting started.

And as Samatha from Sex & The City said “You've got to grab 35 by the balls and say, "Hey, World, I'm 35!”

I’d love to hear from you! What societal pressure have your experienced around age and milestones?

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As we enter a new year, it’s hard not to feel the pressure to set unrealistic goals or expectations. However, in my 36 years, I’ve learned that the reason most people never achieve these resolutions is exactly that: they’re unrealistic.

They’re created in a hurry, a frenzy to declare something to the world, but more often than not, they aren’t aligned with our vision or values. Caught up in the frenzy, we forget to reflect and end up declaring we’re going to be a boss babe or set up a new company—even if those things aren’t necessarily what we want.

We live in a culture that tells us to set our bars high but then also berates us when we don’t get there.

But what if there was another way?
A way that was more aligned with new beginnings?

That’s why I’ve created a free guide to help you reflect and set intentions in a way that feels aligned with your values.

Every new beginning I’ve ever had has involved closing one chapter and birthing something new. Reflecting on what no longer serves me and aligning with what does. It doesn’t happen through declarations alone but through a gentle process—one that supports my nervous system and creates space for the new.

One thing I realised last year was that I wasn’t taking action aligned with my values. In fact, I didn’t even really understand my values. Instead, I was operating on auto-pilot, just trying to achieve, but many of the things I accomplished weren’t bringing me satisfaction—all because they weren’t aligned with my values.

I began working with a mentor who helped me dive deeper into understanding my values. By values, I don’t just mean surface-level words like freedom or community. I mean the deeper meanings beneath those words.

• Why do I value freedom? Because it allows me to make decisions based on how I feel that day rather than what I have to do.

• Why do I value community? Because connecting with people and working toward a common goal makes me feel alive. It lights me up and inspires me.

When I understood my values—my why—it became so much easier to take actions aligned with where I wanted to go. Instead of struggling, things began to feel easier. Instead of second guessing my decisions I had a metric I could use to see if they were aligned. The things I accomplished and the choices I made felt right.

In the process, I also chose to celebrate what was and what is. Not forgetting that each step has led me to where I am today. There’s no rush to become a ‘new’ version of myself—just a desire to evolve. To take the wisdom of the past into the unfolding of the future.

This is the energy I’m taking into 2025. No more ‘new and improved.’ Just reset and aligned.

This FREE guide is filled with reflective exercises and powerful questions to help you uncover your values and create a vision that truly aligns with you.

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If you choose to complete it, I’d love to know what came up for you. Share and connect as we continue to evolve together

.

With love,

Millee x

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The problem with your 30s
Is that everyone has an opinion about where you ‘should’ be.
The comparisons you experience in your 20s move from how you look or how much male attention you get
To whether you have a partner, children, a home, or how successful you are in your career.
Society tells you it is no longer acceptable to still be ‘figuring it out,’
Meaning you can’t help but compare yourself to others or feel like you are behind.

You no longer seek validation or outsource your worth to your relationships,
Yet you feel the scarcity to meet someone and start to build a life.
You are strong and clear in your values,
However, the pressure around the timelines you are ‘meant’ to hit increases your need to tick them off.

Your biological clock is ticking, or at least that is what you are constantly told,
Yet you are so disempowered when it comes to your own fertility.
Celebrated your whole life and told you were a ‘good girl’ for not getting pregnant,
Now expected to magically make it happen without any guide or understanding of your own body.

You are neither here nor there.
You are in between—
The stage of life where things start to feel real,
Where you cannot help but feel a sense of loss about what you don’t have,
Whilst you also celebrate the life you have built.

Strong in who you are,
Whilst fighting against who you are not.
Accepting what is,
Whilst grieving what could have been.

The problem with being a woman in her 30s is
That you start to know who you are
And accept who you are not.
You stop people-pleasing
And start prioritising your happiness above all else.

You become strong in who you are,
And that can be intimidating for others.
You care less about how you look
And more about who you are as a person.

You have fewer friends than you did in your 20s,
Yet the friends you have are intentional—they are your family.
You have made enough mistakes to have learnt,
And you choose to show up for yourself time and time again.

The problem with being a woman in her 30s is
You feel empowered,
And an empowered woman
Is a force to behold.

If my words found a home within you, please share with a sister.

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Landing, or at least trying.

We have been in New Zealand for just over two weeks and officially in our home for one. The concept of home still hasn’t really hit, as I am so used to temporary. Temporarily living somewhere, temporarily being in a country, moving from place to place. The idea that this is our home for at least the next year is hard for me to integrate right now, but I know that over time it will feel more and more like ours.

In an attempt to land in this space, we have spent the week scouring Marketplace—who knew it could be so addictive? I have replaced my mindless scrolling on Instagram with desperate searching for bedside tables, rugs, couches and plants. Who knew you could get such a big dopamine hit from beating others to the deal and securing yourself a bargain in the process?

Yesterday, we left the house to pick up two beautiful wooden bedside tables for $20 NZD—who wouldn’t be excited?—and ended up coming home with not only the bedside tables but a huge cactus for our front porch. The cactus was another steal at $20; however, we did end up spending $70 on a new pot and potting mix, making it not such a bargain. But it certainly brought us a lot of joy, especially as Connie and Caroline, our double cactus, now sit proudly at our front door.

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This week has been filled with many things, and first and foremost has been relief. Ben had never been to the town we have landed in to call home, nor did he have any idea what it was like. He blindly trusted me when I told him he would love it, and thankfully, he does. I am glad I also love it too. It is easy to romanticise a place when you aren’t living in it, but we have found joy in every moment of getting to know our new home. The quiet, the calm, the slower pace of life. We have found ourselves constantly in awe of the beauty that surrounds us.

Our little two-bedroom bungalow is nestled between the mountains and the sea. Despite having neighbours, we cannot get over how quiet it is—or perhaps we have just gotten so used to noise. If we listen closely enough, we can hear the birds in the trees, the sheep on the mountain, and the sound of the ocean all at the same time. A melody we didn’t know we needed but one which has dropped us both into a peace I haven’t known for a while. Whilst our house may be small, our garden is huge, and as I sit here and write, I can picture our daughter running around in the grass beyond the window, and this is how I know we have found home.

It hasn’t been easy packing up our lives and moving to the other side of the world, but not doing it would have been worse. To sit and wonder about the what-ifs is not a place I like to dwell. I prefer to move into the curiosity and to see what might be. We had so many people trying to place their own fear-based narratives on our move. Why the place we chose, why this house, why this, that, and the other. It would have been easy to let other people’s fears become our own, and I am so proud of us for staying aligned in our truth and choosing to scratch our curiosity. It has led us here, at six months pregnant, to a new home, a new town, a new country (for Ben, at least), and with newness comes expansion. We do not expand in our comfort zones; we must step outside of them to meet parts of ourselves, and I am proud of us for doing this together.

This is where our baby will be born, and already that feels so nurturing. We had our first midwife appointment the other day, and I am so grateful that in NZ, you have one midwife for your entire pregnancy, birth, and post-partum journey. We spent 1.5 hours getting to know our lovely midwife, and she made us feel so calm about our choice to hopefully home birth with her by our side. Our weekend was spent wandering around our local farmers' markets, walking along the beach, and pottering in our garden. I have spent years dreaming of this moment, wondering when it would come, and at 36, it is here.

Societal timelines would tell me that this is late in life to have my own space, but I am here to remind you that there is beauty in living life by your own design. In trusting your intuition. It has led me on a beautiful journey, which has rooted me here, for now. Your 30s, as a woman, can be difficult to navigate with so many opinions and ideas of what you should be doing, but there is one thing I like to remind myself, and my clients, when this arises: Ask yourself, are the people giving you those opinions living a life that aligns with you? More often than not, you will find that they don’t. So, this is your little reminder to not let the fears, advice, or opinions of others who aren’t aligned with your values or vision stop you from living the life that you want. Scratch your own curiosity, honour yourself, and trust that it will lead you somewhere magical. I say this as someone who has practised this for a while now, and every time I honour myself, above all else, it leads me to joy.

Which is exactly where I am right now.
Joy.

Before we left the UK, Ben’s dad bought our baby girl a seagull cuddly so she would have a connection to our seaside town in the UK. When we pulled up to our new home, we were greeted with a sign that we are exactly where we are meant to be. Five seagulls sit proudly on top of our gates. A reminder that no matter where you go, you can always find a bit of home.

So we are here, landing in our new home. The home with the seagull gates.

With love,
Millee

"The only impossible journey is the one you never begin." – Tony Robbins

My mind has been a maze of wanting to be and wanting to do. Time feels like it is running out around us, and I still feel like I have loops open. I know it isn’t goodbye; it is simply see you soon, yet the other side of the world is, well… the other side of the world. I haven’t had the capacity to write or to say much during this time. I have found myself spending so much time avoiding, and now that there are 5 days left, it feels like it is all spilling out.

To be 36 and moving back to my home country, with the man I love, to start our family and set down some roots feels both sweet and sour. Sweet knowing that for the first time in 10 years, I no longer have to worry about visas or restrictions and that I can create a home, and sour in the sense that it feels like the nomadic life I have lived for the past 15 years is coming to an end.

Despite sometimes feeling like I am behind or that I have not hit the same milestone timelines as my peers, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I have lived a lot of lives, and this is simply a new chapter.

If only I could pack my beloved pregnancy pillow.

Boxes to finish packing.

Bags to weigh.

Clothes to donate.

People to say goodbye to.

Moments to cherish.

Bills to sort.

Food to eat.

Gifts to give to friends.

Phone numbers to organize.

Internet to connect.

Mattresses to buy.

Plane seats to select.

Taxis to book.

An unwanted cold to get rid of.

A baby blessing to have.

Content to create.

Yet I don’t want to create.

Overwhelm at its finest.

A list so long that it runs through my mind over and over again.

The dance between doing and being.

The desire to stay yet the excitement to leave.

10 years since I have had my own home.

A place to plant my feet.

The sadness of goodbye.

Met with the sweetness of hello. 

One chapter ends. 

A new one begins. 

A home.

22 weeks pregnant with a kicking baby.

Never has adulting felt so real.

This is 36.

I have given myself a little break, and I recognise that I needed to take a step back. Allowing space for creativity isn’t something that comes naturally to me. I have more of the struggle mindset that encourages me to persevere even when my reserves are empty. This is the very mindset I am trying to change and one which I champion all women to let go of. I know that rest and space create inspiration, yet I still find myself trying to keep up with the pressure to constantly produce, just another self-inflicted way for us to burn out. To show up constantly and create, create, create in order to keep the algorithm happy.

Like so many women, my thirties have felt like a ticking time bomb. A never-ending list of things I was meant to achieve by now that I haven’t. For me, it hit the hardest just before my 35th birthday when I started to compare myself to other people my age. Their levels of success and home ownership turning me green with envy. Perhaps it is the pressure of the invisible ‘time clock’ that hits women particularly in our mid-thirties, but it seems like our thirties are a time when, despite still being so young, we feel like we are running out of time.

I have spent a lot of my thirties feeling this way, like time is running away from me. I have, at times, convinced myself that unless I achieved something significant soon, I would have missed my opportunity. Whilst rational me knows this isn’t true, mid-thirties me tries to convince me that it is. Weighed down by the pressures of society and the milestone timelines that everyone so desperately seeks to tick off. I know that this is heightened for me by the idea of being irrelevant. To think that I might go through life without making any significant impact is something that has bothered me since I was little. I recently found a diary entry I wrote when I was nine, which I appropriately titled… Thoughts.

As I sit here and reminisce, I am forever asking myself, ‘What am I doing here?’ But really, what are we doing here? We are useless without cause. I mean, why here? Why not Mars, Venus, the Moon? Why here? To make mistakes and to hate ourselves and others after? To learn? So I will sit here forever more and find my purpose of existence. My reason for being here.

Twenty-seven years later, and 36-year-old me still battles with these questions: the idea of identity, impact, purpose, and cause. I no longer believe that purpose lies outside of myself, but instead, how I choose to purposefully show up every day. I am glad that it is Earth and not the Moon; however, some of the same sentiments remain. We are constantly making mistakes and learning as a result, and me overcommitting to show up on here when I was already operating from an empty tank is one of those lessons.

Let’s hope I learn.

As someone who has lived quite a nomadic life, I had forgotten the emotional toll moving takes. The mental preparation to say goodbye to the life I have known and hello to the one I am creating. I have also never made such a big move with another person. The decisions involved in moving have always been my own. Knowing that Ben is moving away from everything he has ever known has heightened my awareness to make the most of the time we have. To be present with the people we love and to close this chapter properly. To soak in the slow mornings and lazy afternoon walks. To be here, now.

So we have 14 days to sell the rest of our stuff, say goodbye to friends and family, and prepare ourselves for the big move. We are committing to taking three check-in suitcases between us and our carry-on luggage. A fresh start as a family of three. We have recently started to feel our girl kick, which might just be the most surreal thing I have ever experienced. To know she is in there was one thing; to feel her moving around is another.

Whilst I initially felt disappointed in myself for not sticking to the 30 days, I am now grateful that I listened to what I had capacity for. That I honoured myself when my cup was empty and gave myself the space to fill it. After all, that is my responsibility, and if there is one thing I want to teach my daughter, it’s to honour herself above all else.

So this is a fun, juicy little thing I am introducing on my Substack: an Ask Millee section. As someone who is deeply reflective and who loves to give advice, it makes sense to open this space up to questions and provide a platform where we can dive deeper. This particular question is one close to my heart:

“How do you communicate with your partner when they are being defensive?”

This is something Ben and I have had to navigate in our relationship, and we are both really happy with the solution we have found that works for us. The number one thing to remember is that you are not going to get your point across when someone is being defensive! Why? Because they are feeling attacked, and the last thing they want to do is drop their defences and let you in. I like to think of a dog when it has its hackles up when I consider how I feel when I am being defensive. I am not thinking rationally; all I am feeling is attacked, and I shift into a space of trying to protect myself.

So what do we do when we find ourselves dancing the dance of defensiveness? We stop and give each other space. Staying and trying to force our way through is exhausting and messy when really, with a little space and time, we are able to cool down and return to the conversation. One thing we always do before we give each other space is that the person who isn’t on the defensive makes the person who is feel heard and loved. We acknowledge what the other person is experiencing and ask if we can return to this later. We then remind them that we love them.

Why? Because this creates a safe space for us to depart from and return back to.

The reason we dislike arguments so much is that we push each other with our need to be right when really all we are doing is making each other feel less heard and less safe, which takes us longer to reach a resolution.

This happened for us the other night when Ben was feeling defensive about something I was trying to communicate to him. I saw how quickly he went into defence mode, so instead of trying to push him, I let him know that I could see he was feeling attacked, which wasn’t my intention, and asked if it was OK for us to return to the conversation a little later. I reminded him how much I loved him and how much I appreciated his willingness to communicate with me.

Less than thirty minutes later, we were able to have an open, honest, walls-down conversation where we both felt seen and heard.

Defensiveness is often just a lack of warning. When someone isn’t prepared for what we are trying to communicate, it can lead them to put their walls up.

This is what works for us. We are big on communicating and ensuring that both of our needs are being met. This requires patience and a willingness to explore what that looks like for each person. It isn’t about who is right but how we can navigate situations together.

Remember, every relationship has its ups and downs, and it’s in those moments of vulnerability that we truly grow together. Embracing defensiveness as a signal rather than a barrier can transform your conversations into opportunities for deeper connection. So, the next time you find yourself or your partner on the defensive, take a moment to pause, breathe, and choose empathy. By doing so, you not only foster understanding but also create a safe space where trust can deepen. 

With love,

Millee x

1. I can either please everyone else or choose to please myself.

2. My nervous system is my responsibility.

3. Life gets to be easy; I complicate it when I denying parts of myself. 

4. There’s no badge of honour for choosing to struggling.

5. When I compare myself or feel triggered by another woman, it's a chance to ask, "What am I not giving myself?"

6. Clarifying my values and working from a values-based system is essential.

7. It is my job to reframe the thoughts my inner critic likes to try and make me believe. 

8. Friendships/relationships can change when I implement boundaries. It hurts at first, but it makes space for people who are more aligned.

9. Societal timelines are designed to make us feel "less than." I either get to let me dictate how I feel about myself or I can ignore them and stay in my own lane.

10. Communication in relationships is key. I make time to connect with my partner, aligning with our values, vision, and future.

11. My wants and needs are just as important as others’, and it’s up to me to express them.

12. Asking for help was hard at first, but it gets easier.

13. The most spiritual people I know are those who say "hi" to their neighbours, pick up rubbish, thank their barista, and choose kindness, despite their circumstances.

14. When someone is defensive, it's often because they feel attacked. I choose compassion over being right.

15. I won’t get my point across if the other person is defensive. I give them space.

16. Much of what we think without facts is just our minds creating stories. I ask, "Is this reality, or is this what I making this mean?"

17. Slow mornings are the most beautiful, where I can ground myself into the day.

18. I learn so much from just "being"; staying busy is often a distraction from my own truth. 

19. I deserve to take up space.

20. Setting realistic expectations sets me up for success.

21. Replacing "should" with "could" invites curiosity rather than an authoritarian tone.

22. I don’t waste time worrying about what others might think of me—it’s their business, not mine.

23. Being the "good girl" means keeping myself contained. It’s OK not to be "good" as long as I am being true to myself.

24. In a world that still wants women to pretend, the best thing I can be is honest.

25. It’s my job to fill my own cup so that I’m not operating from an empty one.

26. Purpose isn’t some grandiose thing to achieve outside of myself. It’s how I choose to live every day. By living purposefully, I find purpose everywhere.

27. When I stopped seeking validation outside myself and found it within, life became much more enjoyable.

28. A safe love is the most delicious love.

29. Being in a partnership where someone wants to see me succeed has changed my life. 

30. There’s nothing more beautiful than seeing a woman in her power.

31. Friends who love me through my many phases and hold me to my own standards are priceless.

32. The "boss babe" mentality isn’t for me—I’ve always preferred a slow, regulated nervous system.

33. As a woman, it’s important to understand what I love and what brings me joy.

34. My worth isn’t in what I can be for others—it’s in who I choose to be for myself.

35. I’m not too old to start a family.

36. I get to define what success means to me. 

With love,

Millee x

So far, pregnancy has given me many 'how the fuck' moments. Like when people tell me they slept through the night and didn’t get up to pee – how the fuck? Or when someone tells me they ran right up until the day before they gave birth – how the fuck? My competitive nature desperately wants to kick in, to prove that I still can, while my body screams something else. I used to pride myself on my sleeping abilities, heck I even used to brag about them. When people would complain about not being able to sleep, I would arrogantly lift my head and let them know I could easily sleep 9 hours a night without so much as moving. To all the people I have done this to in the past, I am sorry. My desire to be better than you in that moment was wrong, and now, as someone on the receiving end of those same ego driven comments, I understand how awful they are to receive.

I have been able to deal with most things: the expanding hips, swollen boobs, random appetite, facial hair growth – but the one thing that is pushing me to my limits is the lack of sleep. I get it, people. I did this to myself, and I understand when the baby is here, it’s going to get worse. But that’s the point – the baby isn’t here yet. Let me sleep. I was pushed to my wit’s end the other day, so I decided to visit our local apothecary for help. The main lady, who I think is a naturopath, is lovely and extremely helpful. However, on the day I decided to go in, she was busy, so I ended up speaking with one of her staff members. Naively, I assumed she would have some sort of knowledge on homeopathy. So when she asked if she could help, I found myself bursting into tears, telling her about my lack of sleep, aching hips, and how I was 19 weeks pregnant. In my moment of desperation, I basically begged this woman for help. You may know that feeling when a stranger asks how you are, when you are not okay, and suddenly your walls come down, and so do the waterworks. I was embarrassed and vulnerable, but in that moment, she was my lifeline. I needed her – or so I thought. After a few seconds, she let me know that she had no idea what would help me, and then followed it up by asking, ‘So how is pregnancy? What’s it like?’

‘What’s it like?’ Are you fucking kidding me? I am in your shop, in floods of tears, begging you to help me sleep and take away my hip pain, and you want to know what pregnancy is like? I couldn’t muster up much other than ‘Well, right now, not so great, but I’m sure at some point I will love it.’ It wasn’t her fault. She was just there to mind the shop whilst her boss was busy, but it takes a lot to ask strangers for help and even more for your walls to fall down. And when there is no one there to catch you, it can leave you feeling not only embarrassed but also a little bit helpless. Needless to say, I left the shop, called a friend who is a fantastic naturopath, ordered myself some goods, and took myself home to make a hot chocolate.

Humbling.

One thing I have found in pregnancy that I didn’t expect was community. Not other mothers wanting to give me unsolicited advice or people trying to throw in their opinions. I have found women who are happy to listen and share their stories. Mothers who can empathise with what I am going through and who don’t try to gaslight my experience with positive bypassing. I have reconnected with people I had lost touch with as our lives took different paths, and pregnancy has woven them back together. I have had women send me gifts, books, and courses they thought might be helpful. Women who haven’t had children offering unlimited love and support. Women are fucking incredible, and the experience of pregnancy reminds me of that every single day. I have come across women who have shared their experience with pregnancy, the good and the bad, which has made me feel less alone.

It is the most beautiful experience of my life, whilst also being the most challenging. Growing a life that I can’t yet feel, although the flutters have started, whilst also moving through the metamorphosis of who I am becoming in the process. Humbling my ego along the way and really making me lean into the practice of surrender. I cannot force anything within this experience, and for this, I am grateful. I have sat in the masculine energy of force for so long that the feminine space of surrender and being is still so unfamiliar. I dance with it every day, and each day I remind myself to be open.

I think of all the women who have been told to be grateful that they are pregnant when they have expressed their concerns or experience, and my heart breaks for them. I am so blessed that the people in my life allow both realities to exist for me – the utter excitement to be carrying my daughter, whilst also honouring the challenges I have faced during pregnancy. It isn’t easy for everyone, and that’s OK. We can be grateful to be pregnant whilst also not really enjoying pregnancy. It doesn’t make us ungrateful; it makes us realistic about our experience. And in a world where women are still expected to pretend, it feels liberating to be honest.

Tomorrow, I turn 35. In some ways, it has happened so quickly, but in others, it has taken its time. Who am I at 35? I am definitely not where I thought I would be in terms of my career, family, and a home. However, in other ways, I am far beyond my wildest dreams when it comes to self-awareness, self-regulation, and growth. I have been left wondering today if I traded the conventional norms of society in order to have this inner perspective. I don’t know. What I sadly do know is that today I feel frustrated with my life. Despite being able to connect with my personal growth, I still can’t help but feel frustrated when I compare myself to other people my age. Homes, cars, families, careers, directions. I feel like I’ve been left behind.

A few days ago, I was speaking with my brother, who is six years younger than me. He was showing me around his newly built house that he and his wife have just moved into. I was watching him feed his son, who is 8 months old, when I remembered it was their wedding anniversary. I wished him and his wife a happy anniversary, followed by a comment that it must have been their second wedding anniversary. He let out a laugh and informed me it was their fifth wedding anniversary. Five fucking years. Nothing slaps you harder in the face than realising your younger brother has been married for five fucking years, had a baby, and built a new home – all while you feel your greatest external achievement is growing your hair to a length you are finally happy with. I was so taken aback that I literally said to him, ‘Holy fuck, you guys have all grown up while I’ve been over here regressing. When did this happen?’

I have spent the past seven years working deeply on how I feel about myself internally, how I understand and operate within the world, and how I can continually strive to know myself better, to be better. However, all this internal work often leaves little to be desired externally. I can’t help but feel like I blinked and arrived here. Ironically, I feel frustrated with myself for feeling frustrated, as I know this journey is unique to me, but I cannot help it. I want to scream. Did I consciously choose to get left behind, or was I unable to keep up?

I know now, more than ever, that I do want a home. Oh, I want a home so badly. Somewhere to hang things and nest. I have spent most of the past few months finding items in France, Morocco, and Italy to decorate the home Ben and I refer to as ‘The home we don’t have yet’. I lovingly laugh every time those words leave my lips, yet they are masking the deep internal pain I feel about not having a home. It was fun not having a home in my 20s, and even in my early 30s, it was OK – I accepted it. But now, as I enter my mid-30s, I want a home, and I want a family.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been left to my own devices today. We are in a small town outside of Venice called Vittorio Veneto, as Ben is rehearsing for a performance in Venice. We arrived yesterday, and there is very little to do here except walk, but even I don’t want to be walking in 40-degree heat. Today was my first day alone, and after 11 weeks of constantly being around people, you’d think I would relish it – spend the day filling my cup with goodness. I, however, have chosen to do the opposite. I have spent the day in a deep, dark scroll hole that has left me clutching at the depths of my own despair.

Not only have I been shamelessly scrolling through the lives of people I don’t know, comparing myself to them, but I have also been scrolling through the lives of people I used to go to school with – benchmarks for where I ‘should’ be at this stage of life. I don’t know why I have been torturing myself, but I can’t seem to stop. With every click onto a new profile, I am greeted with the same scenes: pictures of gender reveals, baby showers, and first days of school. Images of houses purchased, houses being renovated, and interiors being decorated. Bios that say ‘7+ figure business owner’, ‘property developer’, and ‘proud mama of 3’. I deleted my bio about three months ago because I didn’t know what to write, and the pressure to write the perfect bio was too much, so I just deleted it all. I hoped my fear of not knowing how to define myself would go away. It hasn’t. One hundred and fifty characters that bring me to my knees time and time again. One hundred and fifty characters to define who I am as a person and what I have to offer anyone who ends up on my profile. How do you define someone who hasn’t owned their own gifts yet? It all just feels so fraudulent. Fake it till you make it.

I cannot tell you the number of times I have changed my Instagram bio in the past few years. I have gone from the Instagram handle @mindful_millee to @milleejane. My bios have ranged from ‘plant-based chef and entrepreneur’ to ‘women’s empowerment coach’. I have toyed with words like advocate, humanitarian, business owner, founder, writer, and everything in between. I have tried to use engaging call-to-action phrases like ‘book your coaching call’, ‘work with me (insert finger pointing downwards)’, and ‘unlock your potential’, and none of it has landed with me. The more I have tried to conform to what others are doing, the more I have squirmed and resisted. I have filled the search section of my Instagram with ‘Instagram coaches’ who all use similar methods to get engagement, larger audiences, and successfully convert them to sales, and yet it still doesn’t align with me. I used to blame being a millennial, but in reality, I think it is just me getting in my own way – overthinking, self-sabotaging, and outsourcing my own responsibilities.

Coaches show up online. They share their topics, they provide value, they give free masterclasses, and they are consistent. I have been dipping my toes in and out of the arena for almost three years, never fully putting two feet in. It sounds similar to how I have shown up in careers, environments, and relationships. A pattern that is plaguing me because deep down inside, I long for more. I long for an audience, a community that I can provide value to. I want to share my gifts, my experiences, my struggles, and my learnings with the world. I just need to get out of my own way.

I think this is something a lot of women struggle with. Potentially men too. As a woman about to turn 35, I can honestly reflect that most of my life, I have been in my own way. Not out of choice but out of survival to protect myself. Whenever I was too much of anything, I would be shamed. And whenever I see other women being too much of anything, I see them being shamed. Shamed for being too pretty, too flirty, too smart, too athletic, too masculine, too dominating, too powerful, too wealthy, too happy, too visible. Like many women, I have walked the fine line between not being enough and being too much my entire life. Scared to be ignored, and equally scared to be noticed. I have learnt how to contort and manipulate myself to suit my environment and come out unharmed. Yet I have come out harmed. In the process of being a good girl and now an agreeable woman, I have left parts of me behind, parts that are dying to be seen. I have ignored the girl with big ideas and huge ambition in favour of being accepted. It has taken me 34 years and 364 days to realise this in its entirety.

I want to take up space.
I want to take up space.
I want to take up space.

The words feel like poison coming out, but the more I repeat them, the easier they will be. I want to take up space. I am bored of being agreeable, of not saying what I think, of walking on eggshells around others. I have worked damn hard to learn how to self-regulate and not project onto others, yet I let people do it to me constantly. Enough. I want to take up space. It feels empowering and frightening to say these words and allow them to vibrate through my body. All day, I have felt lethargic, scrolling myself into a hole of self-pity. Yet with this understanding and these words, I can feel my energy increasing. I have been denying myself the very thing I know to be true. I dipped my toes in and just as quickly pulled them back out. When momentum has been happening, I have put the brakes on under the guise of some excuses. No more. This is my commitment the day before my 35th birthday – to take up space and to stop being afraid of what other people think of me.

In the past two years, three of my closest friendships have ended. Despite trying so hard to be loved, agreeable, and liked, three of the people closest to me decided I wasn’t someone they wanted in their life. One of them still feels like a huge loss as it is related to that person’s struggle with their mental health, but I hold onto the hope that one day we will find our way back to each other. The other two, when I reflected upon them both, had met their end. The friendships had run their course yet I was holding on. Why? Because I had been taught to be agreeable and liked. I hadn’t been taught that when someone repeatedly crosses your boundaries or emotionally dumps onto you, it’s OK to walk away from them. I didn’t know that I could still be a good person and also let someone know that I was no longer available for them or their friendship. I guess this has been a common theme for me this year: being OK with people not liking me. When I liquidated my company, I let down a lot of people who had believed in the vision, and a few of them were not happy with me. In a way, being disliked in business is easier as it doesn’t feel as personal. When friendships end, it feels like an attack on your being, when in reality, it can be as simple as outgrowing each other or no longer being of value to one another.

A friend, ironically one of the friendships that has ended, once told me that certain people come into your life for a season. It doesn’t make their value any less; it just means that you learn what you need to from each other before your paths take different journeys. So if I can find acceptance with friendships ending, and those friends no longer seeing me as an agreeable person, I guess I can find acceptance if strangers think the same. As long as I can look myself in the mirror at the end of each day, knowing that I am doing my best, that I have good intentions, have owned my mistakes, apologised when necessary, and committed to learning, being better, and accepting that as a human being I will not always get it right – then I am OK with that.

I am OK with that.

I don’t always need to be liked, especially if being liked by others means abandoning myself. I can take up space, as long as it aligns with the fire inside me. I deserve to share my truth and implement healthy boundaries. I am a woman redefining what it means to be a woman, and that is OK. It is OK for me to have already been engaged twice, married, and divorced by 35. It is OK for me not to have children at this stage of my life. It is OK for me to still be figuring out what my direction is and where my passions lie. It is OK to change my Instagram bio every other day until I find one that doesn’t make me cringe. It is OK that my life looks different from those around me. It is OK that I don’t yet own a home; it doesn’t mean I won’t forever. It is OK to feel sadness around not having children yet, and to remain optimistic that my biological clock is not running out. It is OK to have many different career paths and not know which one makes me the happiest. It is OK that I can feel equally sad about where I am in life, and excited about what’s to come. I can be many things all at once. After all, I am a multipotentialite, and in the morning, this multipotentialite is going to be 35, with a permission slip to take up space.

So here I am.

I don’t have anything particularly insightful or philosophical to share and, well, actually, that is my insight from today. I put so much pressure on myself to only ever share the polished, articulate side of myself when really, that is just one part of me. I am someone who loves to explore and who is deeply passionate about women finding their voices and self-expression, but I am also someone who loves ecstatic dance, cooking, travel, and adventures. By committing to myself these past 15 days and showing up in this space, I have started to realise that despite being someone who explores the depths of my own being, it is not enjoyable, for me or probably for anyone else, to limit my expression to that.

Well, fuck.

Just when I thought I had grasped my own form of self-expression, I begin to see that in so many ways, I still filter what I say and what I share. Have you ever looked at a social media account and just thought to yourself, my god, that woman looks free? I want to be more free. I want to stop capping and limiting what I share based on what I think people want to receive from me.

So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, most of you who are subscribed are my friends and family, and I love you so much for your support, I am going to share with you a delicious white chocolate matcha recipe simply because I love it, and to be completely honest, I don’t have it in me to share much else. Also, 'tis almost the season, and anyone who knows me knows that no matter the time of year, when I am feeling a bit tender, like I am today, you can find me wrapped up with a blanket watching my favourite Christmas movies.

• Milk of your choice (I use Nutty Bruce Organic Almond and Oat Milk because they use no oils or gums, and it froths amazingly)

• 2 tablespoons of cacao butter

• 1 teaspoon of matcha

• 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla powder or extract

• Sweeten to taste – if you like. I enjoy my matcha without it.

Now, this is the fun part. I use my Nespresso milk frother to froth/heat my milk. I also a cheat, and when I can’t be bothered whisking my matcha the traditional way, I add it to the frother with my milk and let the frother do the hard part for me.

Add boiling water to the cacao butter, vanilla powder/extract, and sweetener of your choice, mix well.

Add the milk/matcha – mix and enjoy.

For my matcha lovers, you can thank me later; this really is delicious.

And if you have read this little entry, thank you. It means the world to me, especially on days like today when everything just feels a bit too much. And if you, like me, get caught up in being a perfectionist, perhaps it’s time to give yourself permission to just be.

With love,
Millee x

We make it difficult when we deny parts of ourselves. I found myself passionately sharing these words with a client on our call yesterday. It was one of those aha moments when you realise the truth behind the words you're saying. So much of the work I do, and the space I hold, revolves around myself and other women peeling back the layers of conditioning in search of their true centre—letting go of patterns, behaviours, thoughts, and fears that belong to others, and reconnecting with our truth, our knowing, our self-expression.

If someone had asked me years ago what self-expression looked like, I don’t know how easily I would have been able to answer. The idea of self—of me being an individual—was so far removed from what I thought to be true. I knew how to be what others needed me to be, or who I needed to be in order to survive, but my truth? That was unknown.

So much of the dissatisfaction I have experienced in life has come when I have denied parts of myself into existence. When I have denied the words I have been longing to say. When I have denied a boundary out of fear of not being liked. When I have denied buying an item of clothing, fearful that it would draw too much attention to me. The list goes on and on. Denying myself became easier than honouring who I truly am, making it easy to morph into the people or environments I found myself in. I became a chameleon, no longer aware of what I liked but hyper-aware of what others did. I became a master of being who I thought you wanted me to be, and on the outside, it served me well. I was liked, accepted, and even sought after. But on the inside, there was always a roar within me, wanting to be unleashed. A dissatisfaction so deep that I had to continuously force it down.

Until I didn’t.

It started with understanding what I actually liked versus what I was liking to please others. The journey to understanding this took many shapes and forms. Trying new things, checking in, blocking out the noise, and constantly asking myself: is this for me, or am I doing this for another? As the layers of the onion began to peel back, I started to realise that while this dance with self-expression was liberating, I wouldn’t truly be liberated until I started using the one thing I had been ignoring my whole life—the one thing I had spent years learning how to swallow and where I got more comfortable in the silence than in the noise: my voice.

My voice had been the thing I had been denying the most. Trapped inside with so much to say, opinions to share, thoughts to express, and feelings to be acknowledged. My voice was the part of me that was suffocating me, begging to be released, and it was the thing I had been avoiding the most. I had learnt how to compliment, flirt, banter, and charm my way through most situations and crowds, but what I had never done was share what I truly thought. I had saved those thoughts for the hundreds of journals I have written in over the years, but I could no longer hide behind pages. It was no longer enough.

So I started small. Fumbling my way with words. Over-cautiously apologising before I would say what I thought, creating narratives of how I would be received before I even let the words escape my mouth. Most of my conversations would begin with me saying, "I hope you don’t find this offensive," or, "I just want to share what I think, but I don’t want to upset anyone." I was constantly apologising until I realised that these apologies, for sharing parts of myself, were also not doing me any favours. I walked on eggshells with each word until I started to find confidence in my voice. I was never cruel or vicious with my words, and for this, I am proud. The years of analysing my thoughts on paper gave me the advantage of being able to communicate clearly and without conflict. I started to realise that how other people received what I was saying was out of my control and for them to manage. My job was to speak from my heart and to keep my heart open when they responded.

Over time, I stopped being scared to speak and began to enjoy dancing in dialogue. I shared parts of myself with my family that I was afraid to share, and instead of judging me, as the narrative I had created would have me believe, we actually got closer. The walls I had built began to drop, and I no longer feared the words I wanted to speak.

This is just one part of self-expression, and it’s something I still get to work on every day. There are days when I feel the familiar internal gates of my throat shutting down, and I have to fight to keep them open, reminding myself that it is only me who loses when I keep them shut. Then, there are other parts of self-expression that I am still exploring. 

When I am living in my self-expression, I tend to compare myself to others less. I don’t feel the need to focus on what others are doing when I am allowing all of me into existence. I feel complete.

The greatest lesson I have found on this journey is knowing that I cannot control the reactions of another and honour my truth at the same time. I have to choose. I either get to choose the comfort of another, or I get to choose my own liberation. And when I choose myself, I am reminded that life gets to be easy. So I choose me.

Today, I am leaving you with these thoughts: what parts of yourself are you denying to please others? How would it feel to honour that part of yourself?

With love,
Millee x

After a long hiatus, I wanted to bring back the concept of the Self Love Club in the form of Self Love Sunday, an exploration into what self-love means to me and the many ways in which I have been able to cultivate it.

Self-love hasn’t come naturally to me, and like many, I used to judge people who had a deep sense of self-love as selfish or self-absorbed. I was taught that my role, as a woman, was to be of service to everyone else outside of myself, and I followed this path for most of my life. Swallowing my truth, making myself small, and neglecting my needs in pursuit of the invisible badge of honour that I thought came with self-abandonment. The badge never came, and all I was left feeling was unfulfilled, longing, and yearning for more.

It was at this point that I realised perhaps my purpose here isn’t who I get to be for everyone else, but who I choose to be for myself. I realised that I couldn’t expect to live a full life if I was constantly outsourcing my worth to being chosen by others. I had to choose myself. Uncomfortable as that realisation was, it was probably the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

But how can you suddenly choose yourself when your whole life has been dedicated to choosing others?

This was the question I was left with after my realisation. How do I even begin to choose myself? What does that even look like? I remember being asked by someone soon after this realisation to write down ‘What you love.’ This exercise left me in floods of tears as I realised everything I claimed I loved belonged to someone else. Most of the things written belonged to my ex-husband, my friends, community, or family. I didn’t see myself on these pages, and it scared me how detached I had become from my own wants and needs. But it also presented an opportunity. An opportunity to get to know myself. To be curious and to enquire within. For the first time in 28 years, I decided that instead of dating someone else, I would date myself – and that’s exactly what I did. For several years, I dedicated myself to cultivating self-love and nurturing the relationship I had with myself above a relationship with another.

I learnt many things during this time of exploration, and I realised that self-love isn’t an external practice – it starts within. You can’t bypass internal self-love by buying the best face creams or designer clothing and calling it self-love. That is a form of showing yourself care, but true love starts with how you think and feel about yourself. It starts with the inner critic and reframing the negative thoughts that have run rent-free in your mind for years. It starts with the things you say to yourself when you look in the mirror, or when you are faced with rejection.

It is how you hold yourself in the best of times but, more importantly, how you hold yourself through the worst of times. It is speaking to yourself as if you were speaking to your best friend out loud.

So, these are the key values I hold now when it comes to self-love:

• Befriending my inner critic and offering reframes when criticism creeps in.

• Speaking to myself as if I were speaking to my best friend.

• Offering myself compassion and curiosity when I do something that doesn’t align.

• No longer criticising my physical appearance.

• Reminding myself how beautiful I am each and every day.

• Understanding that comparison or judgement is an opportunity for me to enquire about what need I have that I am not meeting.

• Speaking my truth, even when it is difficult. I will no longer swallow my words.

• Having my corner, even if I don’t make the right choice – after all, we are human, and part of the human experience is making mistakes.

• No longer seeing failure as anything other than an experience to learn from.

• Never, ever putting myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. If it isn’t a full yes, then it’s a no. My peace and my internal happiness are more important than pleasing others.

Since it is Sunday, I am diving into a day of self-love, starting with writing a list of all the things I am proud of this week. The idea of being my own bigger cheerleader use to make me feel uncomfortable but I am starting to get use to being my own biggest fan. Whilst self-love is now a lifestyle for me and not something I need to do every day, it is something I am constantly conscious of – practices that help me find my centre.

I have to be honest, my internal self-love comes more easily to me than my external self-care. One thing I am phenomenal at is feeding my body nourishing food and exercising every day. However, when it comes to hair, skin, nails, and clothes, I am still finding my feet. I can easily go days wearing the same gym clothes, with my hair in a top knot and my face unwashed. I am starting to realise that I want to carve out an extra 20-30 minutes of my day to do my hair or commit to a skincare routine. I deserve that.

Self-care is a beautiful way to connect yourself back to self-love because when we take care of ourselves in a way that expresses love, it reminds us that we are worthy of love. With that in mind, I have decided to spend the day devoted to self-care, starting with my morning matcha, followed by a workout, and then a full body MOT. I’m talking face masks, shaved legs, skin lathered in oil, hair mask and an afternoon wrapped up on the couch eating delicious homemade soup watching some of my favourite autumn shows and movies.

By loving myself this way, I remind myself that I am worthy – and you are too.

Happy Self Love Sunday.

Millee x

It seemed so simple to me at the time. The more I followed their rules and stayed good, the more praise I got; therefore, the more validated I felt. Simple. The recipe was simple: be good and stay good. So I did. I spent 28 years of my life being good until suddenly, I did something bad. I left my husband. In an instant, I went from being someone who was always seen as good to a woman suddenly labelled as bad. I stopped playing the game and ended up on my hands and knees, wondering why, when I finally chose myself, I was deemed bad.

I know that I am not alone on this journey of untangling the good girl identity. It is an identity that so many of us inherited. Keep small, stay good, and you will be worthy. The real journey for me began when I decided to stop being so good and instead start listening to myself. My divorce was the catalyst for this journey, and I admit, it wasn’t one I handled with integrity or grace. However, when you have spent your whole life pleasing others, I honestly don’t think you can start pleasing yourself without a little mess. And that's exactly what I created – a big old mess. I was never taught how to honour my voice or to put my needs first, so when the undeniable dissatisfaction within me finally erupted, I took innocent people down with me.

I couldn’t pretend anymore. I was unhappy. By honouring everyone else’s needs ahead of my own, I had neglected myself. What is more painful is that I had thought that’s what it meant to be good – to self-abandon in order to make others happy. I had never truly shared my thoughts out loud, set a boundary, or asked for what I needed. Twenty-eight years of suppressed wants and desires erupted into a volcanic display that ended in divorce and started my journey home – to myself.

I have now been on this journey for eight years, and I have to admit, while the journey has become less messy, there is still mess. At times, I am able to honour myself without the guilt or shame of feeling like I am not being good, and other times that guilt and shame get the better of me. I have implemented boundaries in my relationships, and some friendships have drifted off as a result. It is hard when friendships end not to internalise, but I am learning that if I cannot set healthy boundaries with people, then perhaps they aren’t the people for me.

I have worked tirelessly in my relationship to communicate my needs and honour my truth, and I feel so blessed every day to have called in a partner who supports this journey. If anything, he is the one who constantly reminds me to check in with myself and figure out if my actions are coming from truth or old behaviours connected to being good. I have said no to things that do not align and asked for more when I have felt like my worth wasn’t being honoured. I have practiced, again messily at times, speaking my truth in the moment. Overcoming the racing heart and the voice inside my head that, at times, would still prefer me to be silent than to create conflict.

It is dancing with the unknown while knowing that every woman should be able to freely express who they are.

Knowing that I am having a daughter has only heightened my awareness of how desperate I used to be to be good. I have so much love and compassion for that version of me – she was never taught to be anything other than good. I don’t want my daughter growing up like I did, thinking that her worth is tied to how many times someone tells her she is good. I want her to know that her worth comes from who she chooses to be for herself, not who others decide she should be. I want her to feel empowered to use her voice and speak her truth, knowing that it will be received with love and curiosity. I want her to know that there are safe men in the world who will listen to her and honour her thoughts and feelings. I don’t want her to be afraid of who she is.

In a world that constantly taught me how to be good, I have managed to find a way to be me. I am both good and bad, light and dark, and that’s what makes us human. I have my own definition now of what it means to be good, and that is no longer to be seen and not heard. Being good, to me, means standing up for what I feel is right, advocating for my own truth, and choosing love and curiosity in the process. It means understanding when to say no and when to walk away. It is owning that my worth comes from who I choose to be for me, and not who I am for everybody else. Now, this is what it means to be good.

The 'Good Girl' learns to shrink herself to fit into others' expectations, but true freedom comes when she realises her worth isn't tied to being small, silent, or agreeable. It's found in her authenticity, her voice, and her ability to stand in her truth.

I can be philosophical and self-reflective and someone who spends an afternoon watching Hallmark Christmas movies and reading The Fourth Wing. Yes, today was all about dreaming of Christmas and getting swept away into a world of dragons and lust.

So, instead of diving into something deep, I thought I’d share a list of my favourite books. No agenda here—just hoping to inspire you to escape into a great story for a little while, as I have.

Here are a few of my all-time favourites:

• The Great Alone – Kristin Hannah

• Where the Crawdads Sing – Delia Owens

• The Untethered Soul – Michael A. Singer

• Untamed – Glennon Doyle

• The Covenant of Water – Abraham Verghese

• Educated – Tara Westover

• Lessons in Chemistry – Bonnie Garmus

• American Dirt – Jeanine Cummins

• The Kite Runner – Khaled Hosseini

• A Thousand Splendid Suns – Khaled Hosseini

• The Beekeeper of Aleppo – Christy Lefteri

• The Housemaid Series – Freida McFadden

• The Forty Rules of Love – Elif Shafak

• Before We Were Yours – Lisa Wingate

• The Paper Palace – Miranda Cowley Heller

As we settle into this cosy season, I’d love to hear about the books you’ve cherished. Drop your favourites in the comments—maybe you’ll inspire my next read!

As someone who used to rate my value on how productive I was being, this kind of lounging can still, at times, invoke feelings of not doing enough. That word 'enough' is something I have carried for a large part of my life. Not good enough, not pretty enough, not financially secure enough, not sexy enough, not worthy enough. Not busy enough.

But really, what is enough? Shouldn’t enough be defined by how we choose to see the world instead of how we are told to see it? This is something I have spent years working on—defining what my version of enough looks like and understanding that my version is going to look dramatically different to somebody else’s. There is no comparison when you create a life of your design; there is only comparison when you try to live by the design of another’s.

Our whole world has been shaped this way. We live in a burnout culture that prioritises doing over being. Imagine running a rechargeable battery into the ground and then expecting it to continue working when it is out of charge—this is exactly how we are taught to live. We are taught that in the nothing, we are wasting our time, when in reality, it is in the nothing that creation is born. If we are constantly expending energy, how can we expect new ideas to emanate?

I held onto this outdated ideal well into my 20s. Whilst I had slightly moved outside of the system and was living a life that I created, I was still tied to this idea that my worth was connected to what I achieved, rather than who I chose to be. I thought achievements and success made me worthy, and it led me to hold on to control so tightly that there was little room to breathe.

When I moved to Thailand in my early 20s, I used to get so frustrated with what is known as ‘Thai time’. I was working for a large travel company, and organising anything in Thailand meant you had to account for Thai Time. If you said, “let’s meet at 10 am,” you could expect people to turn up around 10:30ish. Instead of starting meetings with formalities, they preferred to start them with food.

As time went on, I began to see the beauty in this way of living. Of not letting time or productivity define your worth but instead enjoying the time you have together. This view began to expand when I started working in refugee camps. I spent a lot of time living in Bangladesh, working in Kutupalong Refugee Camp—one of the largest refugee camps in the world—and during this time, I again began to see the beauty in being.

With limited resources and heavy restrictions, those living in the camps were limited in what they could actually do, which meant they would have hours within their days when they simply had nothing they could do. As I spent time getting to know the people within the communities—sitting with them in their shelters, drinking tea, communicating as best we could, playing games, and sharing stories or food—I realised that a person’s worth isn’t tied to what they achieve, it is tied to who they choose to be.

Here you have over a million people, forced to survive in a refugee camp, and they are choosing to show kindness. They are choosing to show hospitality, they are choosing to have empathy, compassion, and love. This is true worth.

This is why I believe the emphasis we put on purpose in today’s society is just as outdated as the emphasis we put on worth. I don’t believe your purpose is some grandiose idea outside of yourself. I truly believe your purpose is simply who you choose to be.

Some of the most purposeful people I have ever come across aren’t people innovating products, becoming 'boss babes', or teaching people how to generate millions of dollars online—they are the people within these camps. They are people who choose, each and every day, to meet their neighbours and strangers with kindness.

They aren’t the people claiming to be spiritual gurus who fly first class whilst treating the people who serve them with disrespect; they are the people who smile at the barista when they order their morning coffee. The people who open doors for strangers and pick up rubbish just because. These are the people who truly understand the concept of purpose and who choose to live purposefully each and every day.

This is why I no longer fear the nothingness of a day. I love the hours that I get to spend simply being. In those hours, I start to recharge, get inspired, and connect back with who I am choosing to be. In the busyness of modern society, we make excuses as to why we are snappy or tired, and it often comes down to how busy we are.

Imagine if we all created a little more space within our days—who would you choose to be?

Much love,

Millee x

I thought my word was Multi-potentialite, but I think it’s Multi-passionate — or maybe it’s both!

I’ve been trying to keep up with the cool kids by diving back into posting on Instagram after being fairly silent for two years. What a ride that has been. If you think you’ve mastered the art of self-love and completely silenced that inner critic, nothing brings the reality of that to the surface quite like posting on social media. You can’t hide. What if nobody likes it? Does it look good enough? Does anybody even care? The urge to compare becomes so strong, and despite teaching hundreds of women tools to navigate this, nothing — and I mean nothing — makes me abandon my tools as quickly as social media. What can I say? It’s a work in progress.

I’ve realised that, over the years, my account has been many things: vegan recipes, political activism, humanitarian work, and about 20 variations of coaching, including relationships, body image, self-love, and so on. What it’s never been is completely me. It’s always been a niched-down version of me that has never felt right. The shoe has never fit, and I’m starting to understand why. I can’t be niched down. As a multi-passionate person, it’s impossible for me to narrow myself into a single niche. The very idea of niching down makes me want to run.

So, I joined a 21-day challenge to see if I could get myself comfortably posting on social media again. I won’t lie — it’s been tough. I’ve spent far too much time thinking about what to post, when to post, and then hours analysing what I’ve posted once it’s hit my feed. I’ve felt the sting of rejection when likes haven’t flooded in, and even worse when people have unfollowed me. I’ve listened to coach after coach telling me to niche down and speak to a single pain point for a single audience. While I see the value in this, I’ve never been able to do it before, so what makes me think I can do it now?

I want to be a writer, podcaster, coach, homesteader, retreat leader, mother, gardener, chef, bookshop and café owner, editor, and humanitarian — all at the same time. You see my dilemma.

I’ve been trying to niche myself down, but nothing has felt right. First, I went for “Business Coach, helping women launch and scale their own freedom-based businesses,” but that didn’t feel right. Next, I tried “Mindset and Business Coach, helping female entrepreneurs with strategy and mindset,” but that also didn’t fit. I’ve tried using AI, I’ve downloaded every “nail your niche” guide I could find on the internet, and I’ve tried on multiple bios, but none of them have worked. I’ve followed the methods, listened to the podcasts, and still, what I should be doing isn’t working. It’s felt soul-destroying until I decided: fuck what everyone’s telling me I should do — I’ll do what feels right.

Do what feels right.

Whenever I’ve thrown logic to the wind and followed my intuition, it’s led me to magical places. I am a multi-passionate person, and there are other multi-passionate people out there like me, struggling with the very same things. I’m riding the waves of being 35 like a duck out of water, and there are other women who feel the same. There are women out there reflecting on where they are in life, and how it might not match what they had envisioned. There are women facing their fertility for the first time, feeling like a kid at a new school. This is what makes me unique. This is what makes me me. My divorce, my engagements, my businesses, the countries I’ve lived in, my humanitarian work, the projects I’ve started, the ones that have been successful, and the ones that have failed — they are all my superpowers.

What I’ve landed on, for now, is Multi-passionate: embracing life beyond 35. Come for the mindset tools, stay for the journey. Rewriting life’s narratives through the art of reframing. While it still doesn’t feel 100% me, it feels closer than what I had before.

It’s funny, trying to box ourselves into something digestible for social media. It makes us unrelatable and out of reach. The accounts I love the most are those that are 100% unfiltered and raw, yet I’ve been trying to package myself into a pretty little box, complete with a ribbon. My overachieving, people-pleasing self has got it all wrong — but the good thing is, there’s time to make it right. I don’t want people to look at my account and think I have my shit together. I don’t. I don’t just want them to see the happy relationship and carefree spirit — I want them to see the challenges of trying to buy a home at 35, to conceive, to create a sustainable business, and to finish a book. This is what’s real.

Multi-passionate or Multi-potentialite — it really doesn’t matter. I’m a 35-year-old woman trying to find my self-expression.