10/10/2026
WORLD MENTAL HEALTH DAY 🤍 A SECRET I’VE CARRIED FOR EIGHT YEARS
Today, I want to share something deeply personal with you. Something I have kept largely to myself for eight years.
Many of you know me as Natalie, the face behind Artsolute MediSpa. You see me at work, looking after you, chatting, laughing, and hopefully making you feel good about yourselves. But what you may not know is that, behind the scenes, I have lived through some of the darkest years of my life.
And today, on World Mental Health Day, I feel ready to share a little of that story.
In November last year, I saw my eldest daughter, Millie, for the first time in eight years. ❤️
Millie was born with additional needs, and until she turned 18, I was her primary carer. Her father and I had divorced many years earlier, but my love and commitment to my daughter never changed.
In February 2018, my dad sadly passed away. It was a devastating and traumatic time for our family. Just three months later, in May 2018, Millie who was now 18, went on holiday without me, abroad. I handed over her passport, never imagining that I would not see my daughter again for eight years.
Eight years.
Eight years of birthdays, Christmases, milestones and ordinary everyday moments that I could not share with her. Eight years of not being able to give my daughter a hug, see her smile in person, or simply be her mum in the way I desperately wanted to be.
For legal reasons, I cannot share the details of what happened during those years. But through the involvement and support of social services and the Court of Protection, Millie is now back in my life.
And for that, I will be eternally grateful.
But I want to tell you what those eight years did to me, because this is what mental health struggles can really look like.
Losing my dad was heartbreaking. But experiencing the grief of losing someone who is still alive, not knowing when or if you will see them again, is a completely different kind of pain. It is a grief that is difficult to explain unless you have experienced it yourself.
There were days when I couldn’t work. Days when I couldn’t even get out of bed. I was prescribed medication, and my GP referred me for counselling. I struggled to see a future in which life could ever feel normal again.
There were some very, very dark days when I genuinely questioned whether I could carry on living. I couldn’t see a way through the pain, and I couldn’t imagine a life in which this enormous hole in my heart would ever feel any smaller.
I am not sharing this for sympathy. This isn’t a “poor me, look what I’ve been through” post.
I am sharing it because, if my experience helps even one person who is struggling behind closed doors, then opening up about it will have been worthwhile.
Because here is what I want you to know, especially if you are struggling today.
You do not have to be okay all the time.
You can be the person who makes everyone else laugh while quietly falling apart inside. You can go to work, look after others, smile for photographs and carry on with everyday life while feeling completely broken underneath.
And sometimes, the people who seem the strongest are the ones fighting the hardest battles that nobody else can see.
Please be kind to yourself. Please reach out for help. Speak to your GP, accept therapy if it is offered, confide in someone you trust, or simply tell somebody that you are not okay.
You do not need to wait until you reach rock bottom to deserve support.
During those eight years, I had to learn to live with a pain I could not fix. I had to rebuild my life, little by little, without my daughter beside me.
On the hardest days, I held on to the things I knew to be true: Millie was alive. She was safe. She was loved.
And I held on to hope.
I would tell myself that every day that passed was one day closer to seeing her again. I didn’t know when that day would come, and I had no guarantee that it ever would, but allowing myself to believe that it might was sometimes the only thing that got me through.
Slowly, bit by bit, I started to rebuild. I found my way back to work. took care of my youngest daughter and I finally built my business. I created a life for myself again, even while carrying a sadness and trauma that never truly left me.
And then, in November last year, after eight long years, I saw my Millie again.
I will never be able to put into words what that moment meant to me.
My story isn’t a fairy tale, and I am not pretending that everything is suddenly perfect. Life can be complicated, healing takes time, and there are things that no words can adequately explain.
But today, I have something I struggled to believe I would ever have again.
Hope.
And that is the message I want to leave with you today.
If you are in a dark place right now, please don’t assume that the way you feel today is the way you will feel forever.
You might not be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel yet. You might not know how you will get through tomorrow, let alone the weeks or months ahead.
You don’t need to have all the answers today. Sometimes, getting through the next hour is enough. Sometimes, asking for help is the bravest thing you will ever do.
Life can change. Circumstances can change. There can be moments of happiness after years of sadness, and there can be hope when you thought all hope was gone.
I know, because I have lived it.
Eight years is a long time to wait for something your heart longs for every single day. But I am here, writing this today, with my daughter back in my life.
And if the woman who once couldn’t see a future for herself can find her way back to hope, then please believe that things can get better for you,
Sending so much love to anyone who needs it today. And to anyone who is fighting a battle nobody else knows about, please keep reaching out, keep talking, and keep holding on.
There is hope, even when you cannot see it yet. 🤍
