I was born in the States but I've lived in the UK for a while now. I'm a writer. A mother. Someone who spent most of her life scribbling in notebooks and wondering if any of it meant anything.

As a kid I was the strange one in the back of the class. I preferred words to people, which sounds romantic but mostly just meant I was quiet and a bit odd. I didn't grow out of that. I just eventually found people who didn't need me to.

A few years ago I was working night shifts and slowly falling apart in a way nobody could see. I'd built a life that looked stable from the outside and quietly suffocated me when the lights went off. During one of those shifts I whispered something into my phone, a spell, sort of, though it didn't feel like one at the time, and posted it without thinking. No plan. No strategy. No idea what I was doing. I genuinely expected ten views and a bit of embarrassment.

What happened instead is that thousands of people told me the things I'd been hiding in private notebooks made sense to them. That they felt seen. That was the first time it occurred to me that maybe the way my mind worked wasn't something that needed fixing.

Since then, the writing has turned into books. The whispers turned into music. The scribbles became the Seven Deadly Spells. Everything grew from the same place, a quiet corner on a graveyard shift where I stopped apologising for how I think and just said the thing.

I write about shadow work, healing, pain, power, and the unglamorous process of figuring out who you actually are underneath all the versions you built to keep people comfortable. I'm not a guru. I'm not enlightened. I still doubt myself before I post. I still delete drafts. I still have days where I wonder if I've made a massive mistake.

But I keep writing. Because the alternative is going back to being quiet, and I tried that for long enough.

If my words have ever made you feel less alone, that's enough. That's the whole point.

Esme