Welcome to the blog. This is my first post—and it's a big one.

Because before I dive into fjords, hikes, heart-healing getaways and near-death-dinner stories, I need to tell you why I'm doing this in the first place.

I nearly lost my life to addiction.

This blog is where I’ll write about it. Not just addiction, but everything that shaped it—and everything that helped me rise from it. Drugs. Alcoholism. Eating disorders. Trauma. Healing. Self-connection. And how travel—real, raw, soul-stripping travel—can transform your life. Because I’ve done it. And I’ve lived it.

Without going into every messy detail, let’s just say: I didn’t come from a place of ease. My childhood had its beauty—but also a storm of unresolved tension, co-dependency, emotional entanglements, and abuse. The kind of stuff that wires your nervous system for chaos. And then, as you grow older, you keep chasing it. Not because you want to—but because it's familiar.

Like most people stuck in patterns, I didn’t realise what I was doing. Until I did. I burned bridges. Left jobs, partners, countries. Travel became my way of getting out. What I didn’t know back then was that it would also become my way of going in.

Some people go on a retreat. I went on the run.

Into the Wild

I chopped wood to heat a tiny cabin in northern Norway. Hauled icy water from a river to shower. Stayed in silence at an ashram in France. Detoxed in a shepherd’s hut on a deserted island in the Mediterranean. Rode a motorbike across Southeast Asia. Shivered through withdrawal in a jungle hut in Sri Lanka.

No distractions. No parties. No boyfriends. No wine bars. Just me. I forced myself into places where I couldn’t escape into substances, sex, and other distractions. 

The wilderness demanded something of me. Especially up north—way up north. In Norway, above the Arctic Circle, I stayed in places where there were no towns for hours. No shops. No taxis. No backup. I had no car. No plan. And no one to call.

I hiked through dark forests to reach rural B&Bs, carrying everything on my back. In one place, I had to walk four miles just to get to the nearest bus stop. In another, I was picked up by a camper van driver who loved Jazz, and dropped me and my guitar in the middle of nowhere to catch a boat.  

There were weeks I spoke to no one. Just the trees. The sky. The wind that made it clear: there’s no escaping yourself out here. That solitude was brutal. But beautiful. A reset. I had to rely on myself—emotionally, physically, mentally. I had to face every fear. And I started to take radical responsibility for my own healing.

That’s when things started to shift. Slowly. And painfully. But surely.

Healing Hurts

The cravings stopped. Into that space came something quieter. Something tender. A sense of self-care. I started showing up for myself in ways no one else ever had. I stopped running. I started remembering who I was.

Soul-cracking solo journeys. Until slowly, things got easier. I healed. And then I made it my mission to integrate transformational travel into my journalistic work—because I’ve always been a journalist. For many years, I worked in the hospitality industry and travelled for work in between. I’ve written travel features for magazines, news platforms, and other people’s blogs. But I never really wrote about my own transformational experiences.

I’m only starting to put it all into words now, even though it’s been part of me for so long. What fascinates me more than ever is what the world has to offer when it comes to healing through travel. It’s a growing movement—transformational travel, wellness tourism, mental-health-focused retreats. And with the global mental health crisis escalating, it’s no surprise that the travel industry is shifting too.

So I started researching it properly. What do people seek when they travel to heal? What’s on offer? What works?

From luxury retreats and integrative wellness resorts to grassroots recovery communities, trauma-informed healing spaces, and psychological clinics disguised as boutique sanctuaries—I'm interested in all of it. Today, this is my niche as a travel journalist: exploring the intersection of inner work and outer journeys.

So this is not your average travel blog with (nothing but!) pretty pictures and travel tips. Not the polished press trips. Not PR-filtered hotel reviews, even though all of those have their place too, and I love researching and writing them. This is the behind-the-scenes material. The real stories. 

What I’ve done is one thing. You'll read about it here, too. But what I’ve learned along the way—that’s what I want to share and am passionate about. If you’re here, thank you. If you’re hurting, welcome. And if you're somewhere on your own path to healing, I hope these stories help.

Here’s to rising from the ashes—as often as it takes. 🐦‍🔥🐦‍🔥🐦‍🔥