Meet Claire

Claire’s story is fictional, but the truth beneath it isn’t. She represents the women who have spent years being capable, dependable, and endlessly responsible.

The women who keep going because they don’t know any other way. Her journey isn’t about becoming somone new, it’s about discovering who she was before she learned who she had to be.

Take a glimpse into Claire’s life here in the first chapter:

Sarah Sees the Facade
The alarm gets one note out before my hand reaches it. Thumb on screen. Sound cut short.

Quiet drops back in.

No inbox. No red numbers beside an app. No quick check that turns into ten things to do before the sun comes up. For three seconds, the room belongs only to the hum of the ceiling fan and the light seeping through the gap in the curtains.

Runners on, laces drawn tight in the half-dark. The front door eases closed behind me. A rubbish truck groans through the quiet, before the street fills with people needing to be somewhere else.

By the time I pull into the last empty park on the esplanade, the morning is already well underway.

A dog shakes a mix of sand and water across the legs of a man trying to clip its lead back on. ‘Mate,’ he says, stepping away too late. A woman in a cap walks backwards, calling encouragement to the toddler charging after her on a scooter. Out beyond the break, dark shapes sit on boards, lifting and dropping with the swell.

Two runners pass behind my car before I’ve closed the door. One says, “Hill sprints after this?” The other groans. “Don’t start.” I watch them disappear between parked cars, then turn back for my keys.

Sarah’s leaning against the bonnet, her usual big smile already there. She pulls me into a quick hug. “Good to see you,” she says.

“You too.”

Another pair of joggers cut across the car park toward the boardwalk.

Sarah nods in their direction. “Ready?”

“Yep, let’s do it.”

Loose boards creak under our footsteps. Dogs pull ahead of their owners. Someone behind us laughs, breathless, then runs past us. The usual route, beach showers to the left, the bin with the missing lid, then the uphill stretch where the rail starts.

Sarah glances across. “How’s that work thing going?”

“What work thing?”

She gives me a look. “The one you were pretending wasn’t a thing last week.”

“Oh that one. Yeah, it’s fine.”

A bell rings behind us. Sarah moves closer to the rail. I move with her. A bike rattles past, tyres loud over the boards.

“Thanks,” the rider calls.

Sarah lifts a hand.

She looks across at me again. “Fine how?”

“Just busy. Annual reviews are coming up.”

“Busy because of the reviews, or busy because you’re still covering gaps?”

“Both. Just pulling everything into shape.”

“What do you mean, into shape?” she says. “You’re always on top of everything. Everyone knows you’ll nail those reviews. You always do.”

She suddenly slows down, reaches out, touches my arm, and brings us both to a stop. “Wait…” she says, “Are you still covering for that guy?”

I don’t answer right away. The pause stretches.

“No!” she says, more certain now. “You are, aren’t you?”

“I can handle it. There’s no point making a thing about it.”

“You’ve been handling it for months. You’re doing his work and yours. It’s making your life harder.”

I shrug, already moving forward again. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” she says, falling back into step. “You tried talking to him. That didn’t change anything. Why don’t you just go to the boss?”

I shake my head. “I just need to get through the next month.”

“And then what?” she asks.

“I’ll make it work. I always do.”

“I know you will. That’s the problem.”

Why I wrote Embracing the Invisible

For years I’ve been fascinated by what sits beneath the surface. The quiet rules we follow. The roles we step into without realising. The ways life shapes us long before we have the words to describe it.

Embracing the Invisible grew out of that curiosity.

Claire is fictional, yet the questions she asks are real. They’re questions I’ve asked myself, and those I’ve heard from many capable women who wondered why rest felt like an act of rebellion.

If this story finds you at the right moment, I hope it offers one thing above all else:

Curiosity.

Not about who you should become…

But about who you’ve always been beneath the patterns.

Jo

The concepts and practices shared in this book are offered for educational and reflective purposes only. The author is not a medical practitioner, and the content should not be interpreted as medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This book is based on the author’s personal experiences and the stories entrusted to her. Please consult a qualified healthcare professional before making any changes to your health or treatment plan.