Climbing Through the Cloud Layer

There’s a point in every flight where you punch through the cloud layer and suddenly the world opens up again. Bright, wide, endless. That was me a while ago, except instead of clouds it was heartbreak, solicitor emails, and enough admin to ground a 747.

Becoming a single mum wasn’t on my flight plan. But life loves a good diversion. One day you’re cruising on autopilot, the next you’re thrust into manual flying, re-routing, calculating fuel, keeping a small human alive, and trying to remember when you last went to the toilet.

And then came the keys. My keys. To my new house, finally, the paperwork had taken over half a year, the aircraft hangar of my fresh start. I remember standing at the door, Alice beside me, both of us in that surreal silence you get after takeoff roll. A tiny “we did it” moment. A bit of turbulence behind us, but clear skies ahead.

But life, in its unpredictable ATC fashion, sent another call through: my mum was sick. Cancer. The word hit harder than any windshear warning. I carried the joy of this new chapter in one hand, and the knowing that I soon would loose the woman who taught me everything, including how to love fiercely, in the other.

She slipped away. The kind of loss that steals your breath and makes the cockpit go quiet.

At the same time, the reality of being a solo parent in the UK hit fast and hard. Suddenly I wasn’t just flying the aircraft; I was the engineer, the ground crew, and the operations department all at once. Full-time work wasn’t a choice, it was the only runway available.

This past years has been the toughest climbs of my life, I still learned.

I learned that starting over isn’t a downgrade, it’s a new flight plan.

I learned that Alice watches how I handle turbulence more than she listens to what I say.

I learned that strength sometimes looks like crying on the kitchen floor and still getting up to make school run.

I learned that joy sneaks in quietly, in bedtime giggles, in Sunday scones, in that first moment the house begins to feel like a home.

I learned that I can be both heartbroken and hopeful at the same time (that one was very hard to accept) like flying golden-hour approaches with a storm fading behind you.

And slowly, things began to settle. My engines stabilised. My horizon levelled out. The climb continued.

So this blog post isn’t a story of survival, it’s a story of ascent.

To everyone navigating grief, breakups, bills, loneliness, overwhelm, or all of the above… this is your reminder:

You’re not stuck on the ground. You’re in a steep climb.

And climbs are where pilots find their strength.

Keep flying your aircraft.

Trust your instruments.

And remember, above the clouds the sky is always blue.

✈️🤍