Flowers At The End Of My Dark Tunnel: Part Two

Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot on my struggles and my recent diagnosis – and the deep connection both have to my jewellery business, The Jeweller’s Florist.

Every piece I create is rooted in a deeper story – one of healing, hope, and blooming after darkness. My designs are inspired by the natural beauty of flowers, not just for their elegance but for what they represent: life after struggle, light after shadow.

As someone who has walked the winding path of mental health challenges, jewellery became more than art – it became a form of therapy, a way to express what words often couldn't.

Through my work and this blog series – Flowers at the End of My Dark Tunnel, Parts One and Two – I hope to create pieces that don’t just adorn, but empower. I want them to remind the wearer (and my readers) that beauty can grow even through the darkest soil.

I’ve battled mental health issues for many years and first wrote about it in Part One, which focused on a freak accident I experienced in Thailand in 2011 and my subsequent bipolar diagnosis.

But it feels like it’s time for Part Two.

Since then, my journey has been full of ups and downs, including a few frightening psychotic episodes – difficult for me and deeply painful for my family.

In 2019, I married Karl. At the time of my last blog post, we were still dating. He has been the most amazing husband and my greatest support.

A couple of years later, we welcomed our most precious blessing – our daughter, Emily Hope.

My pregnancy was smooth until the third trimester. I was walking with a good friend on Fish Hoek beach when suddenly those “Thailand feelings” returned: paranoia, fear, a sense of disconnect, and the overwhelming urge to flee.

My friend rushed me to Constantiaberg Emergency Room, unsure of what else to do.

The days that followed are a blur. I spent a night at Kenilworth Clinic, terrified and disoriented. Nobody seemed to understand what was happening to me. Eventually, I was admitted to Constantiaberg Hospital.

I was placed on an EEG and monitored, but I remember none of it – I was in a coma-like state.

The diagnosis? Viral encephalitis. Strange, yes – but that’s what they concluded. Miraculously, I recovered and was discharged.

I moved in with my parents and slowly began piecing together what had happened. There were more episodes after that, but by the time Emily was born, I was stable. She entered this world with light and love – our little cherub.

The most terrifying episode occurred around October 7th last year. Once again, no one knew how to stabilize me – not even the hospital. My symptoms escalate so quickly, and I understand how challenging it must be for those trying to manage me in those moments.

My psychiatrist (who has been incredible) fought tirelessly with a non-compliant medical aid, and I was finally admitted to the Neuroscience Ward at Constantiaberg Hospital. I was placed on an EEG again on October 9th.

I lost several days in what I can only describe as a “feud-like” state. I was incapacitated and confused.

I spent 12 days in that ward.

Eventually, the doctors reached a new diagnosis: non-convulsive epilepsy. They now believe that my third-trimester episode – and perhaps even what happened in Thailand – may have been connected to this, rather than viral encephalitis.

Who knows?

My journey hasn’t been linear. There have been so many grey areas – but through it all, I’ve kept pushing forward.