Last Christmas, my Camden home was a tinsel explosion, an all-white colour scheme of twinkling lights and paper snowflakes adorning every window. As I sat around the table with my husband, Jeremy, and our daughters Chloe, then 12, and Daphne, eight, the air around us seemed to shimmer with a magical glow. It was the glow of being alive, because I am so lucky to still be here.
Looking back, 2022 was set to be the best year of my life. I had a career I loved as global head of communications at an investment management firm, and in August that year I’d achieved a lifelong dream of climbing Kilimanjaro with Jeremy. For seven hours, we ascended in total darkness in temperatures of -20 degrees. I remember picturing the shame I felt when I was 12 and
