Hello, I'm Edel Daly

I grew up in the south-east of Ireland, in a rural location with views of the mountains and close enough to the coast to enjoy without needing to plan a trip! I was surrounded by a supportive extended family. The youngest of three children, I lived in a loving home filled with the care of my devoted parents and amazing grandfather. Life felt safe and full of promise - until everything changed.

At fourteen my father became ill. Misdiagnosed at first, his health declined quickly, and the summer after my sixteenth birthday we lost him. The following spring my sister emigrated to Australia. My mother was gripped with grief, and I sat my Leaving Certificate (A-Level) exams that summer under a heavy weight of loss.

I'd been offered a place to study art - a passion of mine and, looking back, a way I expressed my inner thoughts and feelings - but I chose instead to stay home, completing a commercial course at our local technical school before moving to London. After starting my first real job, settling, living and loving the London lifestyle, homesickness struck. I later returned to Ireland to work in the same organisation my father had once been part of - bittersweet but strangely healing! Eventually London called again, and in time I settled in Oxfordshire.

Five years after my father's death my mother remarried. It was a bitter pill at first, as I was still coming to terms with the death of my fathers, but over time I grew to love and respect my stepfather, who helped my mother to rebuild a completely new life. We lost him after 21 years, and once again I witnessed my mother face deep loss.

In my late twenties I married and, after what seemed like years of hoping, gave birth to our beautiful son. It felt as though my dream life had come true - so in love and full of hope for the future - but the reality transpired to be very different.

We had contrasting expectations of family life, and I found myself adjusting to our long-awaited new reality - one I'd cherished and prepared for - while my husband's life largely continued as before. I became both mother and father to our son, a stark contrast to the upbringing I'd known. Our maps of the world were, in many ways, very different.

We moved to Spain hoping for a fresh start, but instead I became even more isolated, raising our son alone in a foreign country. Eventually, I returned to Ireland, content to be a single parent living a quieter, drama-free life for a further two years - building a secure home from scratch where laughter and fun were the name of the game.

Then tragedy struck again, our young son suffered a terrible accident, severing his windpipe in three places. My husband joined me at his hospital bedside, stepping for what felt like the first time into the supportive role I had longed for. Allowing myself to hope, we returned to Oxfordshire determined to rebuild. But soon the old patterns resurfaced. Conscious of our son's need for stability, I stayed - carrying the family while my efforts to salvage our marriage went unheard.

Just before our son's A-level exams, I lost my mother - my confidant, best friend and anchor. Still, I held steady the best I could, supporting our son through such a pivotal stage.

Three years later, as he was about to sit his final university exams, I quietly removed my wedding ring. Within weeks, my beloved aunt - like a second mother to me - passed away during Covid. Unable to attend her funeral, I was shattered.

Still grieving the family I had longed for but had come to accept was not my story - and working hard to protect my mental and emotional wellbeing - I made the difficult decision to move out of the marital home. It's not something I advocate, but it was the right decision for me at that time. I changed jobs to secure financial independence and filed for divorce - a gruelling journey in itself.

In the depths of those negotiations, on New Year's Eve morning, I received a phone call, my sister had passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. I managed to return to Ireland for her funeral - a bittersweet gift in a time when goodbyes were so often impossible.

In the five years since my initial separation, I have discovered joy and contentment. I've travelled solo in the UK and abroad on what I call my "stepping-off-the-planet" trips - moments that took me out of my comfort zone and became part of the roots of my healing.

I've rekindled childhood friendships and deepened family bonds - sharing holidays and adventures I'd once only dreamed of. There were lazy evenings by the fire and peaceful afternoons up the field at my uncle and aunt's home in Ireland - places where I felt safe, loved, and completely at peace. Those were true food-for-the-soul moments.

I've attended concerts - my favourite being Andrea Bocelli (alone, I may add - not everyone's cup of tea!) but on my bucket list for years. Simply Red was up next, where I met two amazing, fun-loving souls! I also had the joy of seeing Queen in concert with my cousin - another unforgettable night, filled with the kind of energy that reminded me what it means to feel truly alive.

I was also taken away to a peaceful coastal retreat in Devon - a trip I so needed at that moment, filled with sea air, reflection, and good company.

I've done multi zip-lines to overcome a lifelong fear of heights - including zipping across the Mediterranean with my dearest eighty-something (going on twenty-one!) uncle on a cruise liner - a memory I'll cherish forever.

I've gone to the cinema and the theatre on my own - both milestones in learning to enjoy my own company. I've shared some of the best girly weekends exploring beautiful corners of the UK and spent carefree days in the Canary Islands - relaxing by the pool on all-inclusive breaks with dear friends.

One of my favourite solo adventures was ten days in Fuerteventura, where I walked for miles along the beaches and met wonderful strangers in restaurants - proof that connection finds you when you're open to it. I watched the most breathtaking sunrises, had lazy days by the pool, and even danced by myself while getting ready to go out for evening meals. I was upgraded to a beautiful, spacious suite simply for being kind to the receptionist - a small reminder of how far warmth and gratitude can travel.

I also had the privilege of exploring Valencia on my own for 36 hours - wandering through its beautiful streets, soaking in the atmosphere, and by chance coming across a lively Fiesta. I sat outside enjoying tapas as the celebration unfolded around me - one of those perfect, serendipitous travel moments that stays with you forever.

Over time, I even began to truly enjoy dining out alone - a must when travelling solo and stepping beyond what once felt familiar. I found myself tasting food with new appreciation and contentment - something that had once felt far outside my comfort zone.

I've returned to golf (sparking my son's interest too!), taken daily swims, walked and cycled country lanes and coastal paths, and continued my love of art - visiting galleries both alone and with my son. I've had peaceful, relaxing nights at home with Netflix for company - the simple kind of contentment that feels quietly healing.

All of this has given me precious time to heal - and to build new memories filled with contentment, as I rediscover who I am again, and what truly brings me peace and happiness. I'm deeply grateful for everything I've experienced and all I've learned along the way.

Most of all, I'm grateful for my continued close relationship with my son — watching him grow into his career and his own love of adventure — and for the friendship he has built with his father.