Weathering the Storms: On Strength, Love, and Faith

Life doesn’t always go to plan. Sometimes things unravel — slowly, unexpectedly, or all at once — and lately I’ve found myself in one of those stormy stretches. After a recent conversation with broadcaster Orla Chennaoui (whose mantra “Ten Times Braver” inspires so many of us) about the sheer volume women juggle and how freely we tend to share our stories, I felt compelled to put these thoughts on paper. We talked about the invisible load — careers, family, community, often motherhood — and how strength and vulnerability can coexist. In that spirit of openness, I want to share what this latest storm is teaching me.

And it got me thinking — no matter how much we carry, we still show up.

As a professional athlete, there have been times when I’ve had to race while carrying a heavy emotional load. Times when I’ve had to keep leading my business — Rocacorba Cycling — and show up for my team and community, all while working through something difficult behind the scenes. Carrying your own pain while holding space for others isn’t easy. But I’ve realised something important along the way: adversity doesn’t break me — it shapes me. It deepens me. It fuels me.

I allow myself to feel things fully. The frustration. The sadness. The confusion. But I don’t let those feelings consume me. Instead, I try to step outside of them — to see the situation from a wider perspective. Why am I feeling this way? Why is someone else reacting the way they are? What can I learn from this? That kind of reflection isn’t easy, especially when emotions are raw. But over the years, it’s become a muscle I’ve trained.

I first developed that muscle as a child. My parents divorced when I was five, and I grew up in a home where emotions ran deep. My mom was doing her best to keep it all together, but it wasn’t easy. She struggled with loneliness and rejection — and with the deep responsibility of raising two daughters on her own. But through it all, she remained fiercely loving, generous, and kind. She showed me that it’s possible to be strong and vulnerable at the same time.

It’s a lesson I carry with me every day.

From my mom, I learned that feeling emotions deeply isn’t a weakness — it’s part of being human. I watched her cry, be afraid, feel rejected — but I also watched her pick herself back up and continue on with grace and strength. Her vulnerability taught me how to be open and soft. Her strength showed me how to keep going, even when things feel impossible. So much of my resilience today is rooted in what I witnessed in her — not just the struggle, but the courage to keep showing up in the face of it.

That perspective, that emotional depth, has helped me navigate so many of life’s storms. I try not to react impulsively. I try to understand before I judge. I try to lead with empathy — for others, and for myself.

But even the strongest people need someone to lean on.

For me, that person is Carl. He’s my rock. My best friend. My partner in every sense. He listens to all my jabber — and there’s a lot of it — because talking things through is how I process the world. He never tries to fix everything, but he always holds space for me. His calm, steady presence grounds me when everything else feels shaky. Together, we’ve built something strong. A team. A safe space. And that’s what gives me the strength to keep rising, again and again.

What also carries me — especially in the quiet moments when no one else can — is my faith. Faith that there’s meaning in the struggle. Faith that I’m not alone, even when it feels like I am. Faith in something greater than myself, and faith in the unfolding of my own story. I’ve come to trust that even the hardest moments are part of a bigger picture — a process of becoming.

Faith, for me, is that quiet knowing — that no matter how dark it gets, the light will return. That growth is happening beneath the surface. That storms pass, and when they do, they leave us stronger, softer, and more attuned to what really matters.

So if you’re in a difficult place right now — hurting, overwhelmed, stuck — I just want to say: don’t be afraid of the storm. It might shake you, but it won’t destroy you. There’s power in letting yourself feel. There’s growth in sitting with discomfort. And there’s healing in perspective — in learning to step back, to ask why, and to choose how you move forward from here.

And most of all, remember: you don’t have to do it alone.

Find your people. Find your person. The ones who see you, love you, and remind you of who you are — even when you forget. And hold onto your faith — in the process, in the people who lift you, and in the quiet strength inside you that knows: you will make it through.