me and my heartbreak
Like most new brides, I started my marriage full of love, excitement and hope. Little did I know what life had in store. My divorce wasn’t sudden. It was slow and painful. Unease. Distance. Suspicion. A divorce by a thousand eye rolls.
The internal conflict of “do we, don’t we” lasted years. 2am googling how to save my marriage (because the internet knows the answer to my life right!). Couples counselling where we both turned up, hoping the counsellor would give us a magic wand (and validation). I talked to friends and family only to be met with their own biases; “are you sure you can’t work it out?”, “I always thought you deserved better”, “oh but you’re so good together”, “plenty of fish in the sea”!
When the end finally came, I was overwhelmed and lost in grief. I’d not just lost my husband, but the future I had planned for myself and my children.
Then came the mountain of emotions; anger, fear, shame, anxiety; how did this happen! How would we tell the children, our friends, work? What would they think? Would I have to move? So much change. So much unknown. I found myself switching from clear determination to practically begging to return to a life that I wasn’t even happy in.
I was drowning. I was used to being ‘the strong one’ and, on the surface, that’s what I continued to be, but behind closed doors I was a mess - crying in the shower, obsessed with social media and thinking constantly about the 'what if's".
I didn't recognise myself any more.
I'd lost my identity.
I thought I was a good wife, but suddenly everything was in question.
I didn't want anyone to see just how broken I was. I was alone.
And now.
I have grown so much as a woman, a friend, a partner and a mother thanks to my divorce.
I wouldn’t change a thing.
Because having lived like I’m treading water, barely keeping my head up, I understand the isolation and the fear.
It’s why women come to me. I’ve walked in their shoes and I can show them the way out.
but my divorce does not define me
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a sister
Because I am a human, my life has included many highs and lows, so my divorce was not my first taste of heartbreak and it is definitely not my whole story.
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We used to joke that Kate was my “little big sister”, because whilst she was 4 years older than me, I was always the one that looked after her. Kate was the introvert to my extrovert. We worked together for 15 years, Kate deep in the detail, me flying overhead looking at the big picture. It worked. Then, in 2017, Kate was diagnosed with breast cancer, our world fell apart. I stepped into that “little big sister” role I knew so well, I gave her the tough love she always turned to me for and, after surgery, she moved forward as a braver, stronger version of herself.
In 2021 the cancer was back. This time, her liver was riddled, it was in her bones and the future looked scary.
I couldn’t save her. My own world was in pieces as my husband had just left. Still, we pulled together, we cried, we tapped, we meditated, we laughed, we danced and we cried some more. Then we got on with living.
In the following three years Kate and I recorded 14 episodes of “The same, but different” a podcast where we discussed our different views and experiences as sisters with very different outlooks on life. What a gift that I can relieve those episodes and shared so much with my sister. Forever the yin to my yang.
As you may have gathered, on 3 January 2025 I held Kate’s hand and whispered “You are brave. You are loved. You are safe.” as she slipped away.
My grief for my sister runs parallel to my love for her, that’s to say it runs deep and will stay with me for life.
She has shaped me in all that I am, and all that I continue to be. Her view of the world was different to my own and she makes me a better coach, a better mum and a better human.
Grief changes you, but if you look carefully, you’ll see it adds an unexpected layer of beauty.
And now.
I know the fear a cancer diagnosis strikes through the heart of a family. That even after you’ve ‘rung the bell’ cancer stays with you, like a shadow that whispers “don’t get too excited, don’t plan too far ahead, I might come back”.
My sister’s story is not yours, but if you’ve lost someone, or felt that shadow of fear, you’ll know what I mean.
My sister left me a gift to share… the power of EFT that shines a beautiful light through the darkness.
a mother
Becoming a mother wasn’t guaranteed for me. In my early 20’s I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) which meant pregnancy could be tricky. But when I was done with dating and bad decisions, and I’d healed enough of my trauma (not all of it - I mean, hello divorce) I met my husband and we started planning a family.
My first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 10 weeks. I took the normal platitudes as the comfort they were intended to be “at least you know you can fall pregnant". But my heart had already started to dream, imagine and create a future for that bundle of cells. So the heartbreak was real as we decided to ‘just wait and see’.
2 years down the line we started fertility treatment (Clomid & Metformin) and it worked! My pregnancy wasn’t straightforward; we discovered that 80% of my cervix had been removed when I was 19 (due to ‘pre-cancerous’ cells, so fortnightly scans to check for signs of “funnelling” meant I was a regular at the hospital. Next came a diagnosis of gestational diabetes, but with 4 finger pricks a day I made it to 39 weeks and our daughter made a very quick, but safe, arrival.
Just 9 months later, I was shocked to find, those two blue lines appeared again!
I held my breath then sighed with relief as we passed the dreaded 12 weeks. However, at my 20 week scan we were told that our baby had a diaphragmatic hernia. As we sat in a side room, completely devastated, the midwife turned to me and said “No matter what, we are Team Gemma”. Little did I know just what those words would come to mean.
On 6 December 2015 our son was born. This is a heartbreak that sits quietly at my side.
We found a way forward, but my husband and I grieved so differently, the cracks began to take root.
A further 2 years passed, another miscarriage, swiftly followed by the pregnancy that would bring our beautiful second daughter.
Being a Mother is the hardest and most rewarding job. It tests me every day in new and unexpected ways.
And now.
I know the heartbreak of loss.
I know the heartbreak of telling your children that their home is going to be changed forever.
I know the heartbreak of wiping away tears from soft pink cheeks when they don’t want to live in two houses.
I know the importance of separating my relationship with my ex-husband, from my relationship with their Dad. Because that relationship is a forever relationship.
So if you need a safe space to figure it all out, I’m here.
a coach
Throughout all of the heartbreaks that life has gifted me, big and small, they all had something in common. Loneliness.
No-one seemed to truly understand my loss. Their words of comfort fell short.
Throughout my career in both HR and working with teenagers for over 15 years, I developed a range of unique skills. The ability to read people, to understand when they needed a soft, quiet space to offload and the times they needed tough love to keep them moving.
I qualified as a Divorce Coach Practitioner and TeamYOU was born.
As more clients started to refer friends to me, it wasn’t for divorce or typical heartbreak, it was because they were lost. A daughter who was so angry at her Dad and didn’t know how to manage it. A Mum whose relationship with her daughter had completely fallen apart, a wife who found herself in the early stages of an affair, a partner who desperately wanted to save her relationship but wasn’t sure she could.
Women who felt lost, alone and heartbroken.
And now.
I found my space and my purpose in this world. I help women to notice their patterns, own their emotions, rewrite their stories, and find their voice.
