The Whyte Rooms
Parenting is beautiful, messy, and some days, completely overwhelming. I know because I’ve felt it all—the exhaustion, the guilt, the moments of doubt where I’ve questioned if I’m
getting it right.
My journey hasn’t been easy. When my world turned upside down, and I suddenly found myself navigating grief while raising my little girl, I realised just how much pressure we put on
ourselves as parents.
I wanted to be strong for her, to give her the emotional security she needed—but I also had to learn how to do that for myself first.
On 5th October 2018, life as I knew it changed forever.
My husband, Christopher, went to a routine appointment, expecting to be told he was overtired, maybe stressed, or, at worst, dealing with epilepsy.
Instead, we were blindsided by a diagnosis of Stage 4 Brain Cancer.
What followed was a blur: the whirlwind of treatments, surgery, moving back to Scotland, and the constant balancing act of being a mum, a wife, and a carer.
Looking back, much of that time feels like a haze, there are parts of me that I lost along the way.
As the years have passed, I’ve come face to face with grief, anxiety, and the weight of everything we went through.
Some days, that heaviness still lingers. And yet, despite it all, I am incredibly grateful for the life I have now - a supportive partner, a bright and wonderful little girl named Amulree, and a peaceful home in Scotland.
However, healing isn’t a straight line, it’s a journey
we are still on.
Amulree is walking her own path through grief too. She lost her daddy so young, and as she grows, we’re constantly navigating what that loss means for her.
As a therapist, I help others face their pain every day, but supporting my own daughter has been a different kind of challenge.
It’s taught me first-hand how hard it can be to hold space for a child’s emotions while managing your own.
I’m still learning, learning how to give her the right tools, how to create a sense of safety in her emotions, and how to open those difficult conversations that help her make sense of it all.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
there is always hope
.
Hope that healing is possible, even in the hardest moments. Hope that sharing our stories can help others feel less alone.
And hope that, through my own experience, I can empower other parents to navigate their children's emotional wellbeing with more confidence, calm, and connection.
Because while I am still healing, I know that my pain has become my purpose, to support parents in breaking cycles, holding space for emotions, and building stronger, more resilient connections with their children.
None of us have to do this alone.
To find out how I can Support you:
© Copyright 2025. Scotland. All Rights Reserved.