Fiona Jayne

I am absolutely blown away by a piece of science I just stumbled across, and I had to share it with you.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the number seven. It has been exactly seven years since my life went through a massive identity rupture.

If you’ve been following my posts recently, you’ve probably noticed me reflecting on that timeline quite a bit. But then I came across a biological fact that made my jaw drop, and suddenly, everything clicked.

Science shows that the average age of a cell in an adult human body is between 7 and 10 years.

While our skin cells turn over in a matter of weeks, our deepest physical structures—our bones and deep skeletal muscles—take years to slowly remodel and renew themselves.

When I read that, it blew my mind.

It means that the physical body I am standing in today is quite literally a different body than the one that sustained the initial shock, trauma, and heartbreak seven years ago.

The physical cells that carried the immediate weight, the hyper-vigilance, and the cold reality of that betrayal have slowly, quietly been shed.

We often hear the phrase "the body keeps score." And it does. It holds onto our stories until we are ready to release them.

But this science reminds us of the beautiful flip side: the body is also designed to renew.

It is actively, constantly working to rebuild you from the inside out. It doesn't just keep score of the pain; it keeps score of your survival, your strength, and your healing.

Finding this out right now feels like the ultimate, hopeful confirmation from the universe. If you are years down the track from your own ending, wondering if you will ever truly feel free, remember this incredible truth:

Your heart is creating a new story. Your mind is creating a new path. And your body is quite literally building a brand-new home for you to stand in. 💜✨

The body keeps score.

Yesterday, a deep tissue massage started to unlock seven years of stored trauma. Today, the emotional wave hit.

If you are years down the track from an identity rupture and still find yourself falling into that dark hole occasionally—this is your reminder that healing isn't a neat, straight line.

Swipe through to read how I navigated the release today, and how you can protect your peace when the waves return.

💜P.S. About the image behind these slides:This photo was taken in August 2024, during a street festival. I was tasked with collecting this massive bundle of balloons and walking them back to the theatre where I worked. I love this image because it caught me in a moment of real, unscripted joy—reminding me that even when the old waves of trauma temporarily return, we are still the ones holding onto the light, the future, and the joy we have worked so hard to create. ✨

Sometimes, even years later, you still need someone to say:

It must be difficult for you.

Because some things in life don't have a neat ending.

Especially when you have children together.

You can create a new life.
You can heal.
You can love again.
You can laugh, travel, grow and become someone you never imagined you would be.

And still, every now and then, something brings it all back.

A birthday.
A photograph.
A milestone.
Something your child says.
A memory of the family you once were.

You can't simply leave it behind when the person is still part of your child's life - and therefore, in some way, still part of yours.

That's doesn't mean you're stuck.
It doesn't mean you want the past back.

It means you lived it.

And sometimes, what we need isn't advice to move on.

We just need someone to acknowledge:

It must be difficult for you.

Six little words.

But for the right woman reading this, they might mean everything.

Because to me, they do. 💜

Sometimes the moments we think are ordinary become the ones we treasure most.

A parent turning up to watch their daughter play sport.

A coffee with a friend.

A walk together.

Sitting at the kitchen table talking about nothing much.

We don't know which moments will become precious memories.

So perhaps the reminder is simply this:

Show up when you can.
Make the time.
Go to the game.
Have the coffee.
Say yes when you can.

Not because we should live in fear of what might happen.

But because life is made up of these little moments of connection - and sometimes, they matter far more than we ever realise 💛

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it really means to love your life.

Not the life you imagined.
Not the life you thought you would have.
The life you're living today.

For many of us, life doesn't unfold the way we expected. Marriages end. Careers change. Health shifts. The future we pictured can disappear in an instant.

And somewhere along the way, we get to ask ourselves a different question.

✨Who am I now?✨

Not as a question of judgment.
As a question of honour.

Honouring the woman life has shaped.
Honouring all you've lived through.
Honouring the wisdom you've earned.

From that place, something shifts.
You stop waiting for life to become what it once was.

You Pause.
You Reimagine what's possible.
You Redesign a life that reflects who you are now.
And when your life is aligned with the woman you have become, something beautiful happens.

You don't have to chase confidence.
You don't have to prove your worth.

You simply begin to Radiate.

Because your Second Act isn't about becoming someone new.

It's about living as the woman you are now. 💜✨

I was walking the dog this morning and my mind wandered (as it often does).

Somehow I ended up thinking about Enid Blyton’s The Faraway Tree and the magical worlds waiting at the top.

And I thought… what if there had been a Land of Possibility?

A place where instead of asking “what did I lose?” we asked “what could still be possible?”

Maybe that’s why the idea of a Second Act resonates so deeply with me.

It’s not about starting again.

It’s about looking at life with fresh eyes and asking:

What is possible for me now?

I still think there should have been a Land of Possibility at the top of that tree. ✨

Sometimes the biggest shifts don’t begin with a five-year plan.

They begin with two simple questions.

What do you want more of?

What do you want less of?

Not the answers you think you should give.
But the ones that quietly keep coming back.

Maybe you want more peace.
More contentment.
More laughter.
More adventure.
More honest conversations.
More mornings that feel like your own.

Maybe you want less rushing.
Less people-pleasing.
Less proving.
Less saying yes when you mean no.
Less living by default.

Our lives are shaped by what we give our attention to.

So here’s the question I’m sitting with this week…

What do you want more of?
And what do you want less of?

In this season of your life.

I’ve come to believe there’s a pause we don’t talk about enough.

Not the pause that comes when life forces us to stop.

The pause that comes once we've stopped simply surviving.

The one where we finally ask:

Who am I now?

What do I want this season of my life to look like ?

How do I want it to feel ?

That’s the pause I’m interested in.

And I wonder how many of us have ever intentionally paused long enough to ask ourselves those questions.

For nearly five years, every Tuesday morning, a few girlfriends and I have met at the river before sunrise.

This week the water was 8.5°C, the coldest I’ve ever experienced. I adapted instead of staying in bed… (trust me that was so hard!!!) and it became a reminder that this applies to so much more than cold-water swimming.

Swipe through. 💜✨