People talk about unconditional love like it’s some kind of spiritual personality trait. Be nice. Be forgiving. Be endlessly patient. But that’s not what I mean when I say unconditional love. I’m talking about something much bigger. Something cleaner. Something so fierce in its clarity that it lands in the field and rearranges people — without touching their body, or asking for closeness, or making a sound. It doesn’t need to be returned. It doesn’t need to be recognised. It

Let’s be clear: Impeccability is not about being perfect. It’s about being clean. Clean in how you speak. Clean in what you choose. Clean in the way your inner world matches your outer stance. For those of us working in lived experience roles — especially inside systems that still don’t fully understand what we are — impeccability is more than a value. It’s survival. When you carry lived experience into professional settings, you carry your story, your insight, your energy, a

I once said “I love you” to a colleague and felt the room flinch. Not because I crossed a line — but because I hadn’t. Because it was clean. Because it was real. And that’s what scares the system most. In mental health services, we claim to be healing disconnection — but when actual love shows up, it’s flagged as risk. Too much warmth? “Blurring boundaries.” Too much joy? “Possible hypomania.” Too much presence? “Attachment issue.” The system has a well-oiled machine for mana

It’s called Non-Duality for the Real Ones. Because I’ve been through the system, the awakening, the emotional collapse, the spiritual expansion, the unlearning, the remembering — and I didn’t see anyone telling the truth about how messy, holy, hilarious and inconvenient it all is when those worlds collide. So I’m writing the book I needed when I was cracking open. This isn’t for the performatively spiritual. It’s not for the ones who say “just let go” when your nervous system

For a long time, I believed I was having mental health crises. That was the language I was given — the only framework that made any sense of the intensity I was experiencing. The overwhelm. The shutdowns. The sense that something huge and unbearable was happening inside me, and no one could see it except through a lens of pathology. I didn’t know how else to describe it, so I used the words the system gave me. I said I was unwell. I said I was struggling. I said I needed help

I used to think mental health was something I had to manage. Track. Treat. Keep an eye on it, just in case it turns on me. There were charts. There were meds. There were safety plans and systems and endless conversations that danced around the wound but never touched it. But here’s the truth no one told me in all those years of being a “patient”: It was never about managing my mind. It was about learning how to love myself. And not in the bubble bath and positive affirmation