The Unseen World: Between Grief and Joy

"It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

It sometimes feels like we slipped sideways into another world.

One minute we were walking the usual path—school runs, packed lunches, work commutes—and then, like Alice, we tumbled down a rabbit hole into something strange and unexpected. A world that doesn’t work the way we were told it would. A world where we’ve been figuring it out as we go.

And here, in this space we never meant to find, we’ve stumbled across something we didn’t even know we needed.

Sometimes I still grieve the life I thought we’d have. The steady job, the school drop-offs, the version of me who got to be more than just “Mum” all day long. I miss her sometimes.

But there’s this other side too—the world most people miss.

While everyone else is at school or work, we move through a different version of the day. The quiet hours. The spaces in between. Our kids aren’t sitting behind desks memorising facts to tick a box. They’re out there living it. Asking questions that actually matter to them, making things with their hands, making sense of the world at their own pace.

It’s not perfect, but it’s real learning. And it’s theirs.

It’s hard, though. There’s no off-switch. I’m always on. Teacher, parent, advocate, safe place. And when you’re always on, you don’t have much left for anyone else.

Sometimes I look at my husband and realise how thinly stretched we both are. The kids take up so much space, there’s not much left for “us.” I miss that too.

And maybe that’s why when I write, it can sound like a storm. Because this life is full of contradictions. Some days I’m proud, watching my kids become who they are meant to be. Other days, I’m just furious. Saddened and angry that the world didn’t make space for them. That they had to leave to be okay.

I didn’t want to have to walk away. I wanted them to belong. But they didn’t.

So here we are, building something of our own, with all the mess and all the beauty that comes with it.

It’s grief and wonder. Rage and awe. A strange blend of loss and gain that never fully settles.

I’ve watched our kids come back to life in our strange new world. They move toward learning now, not away from it. Their spark is back. The weight they carried from trying to survive in the wrong place has lifted.

We didn’t plan to end up here, but now that we have, I can’t imagine going back. Not with how the world works now.

Not everything here makes sense. But, like Alice, we’ve stopped looking for a map.

This strange, unseen life has become home. And for all its contradictions, it’s ours. Thanks for reading.

I’m not here with all the answers, just sharing the messy middle as we figure it out.

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