Photo on the MP's Terrace: Left to right — Alicia Duncan, Liz Carr, and Dr. Christopher Lyon.

Two weeks ago, I returned from a whirlwind seven-day trip to the UK and Scotland—a fast-moving journey that left me changed in unexpected ways.

 

I had a feeling something from the trip would find its way into my book. What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply it would clarify my understanding of my mom’s mental health, especially through the lens of anorexia, or the respect I would gain for the emotional burden politicians carry in shaping life-and-death decisions.

 

After arriving home and shaking off the jet lag, I dove into the major rewrite I’d been working on since January. I poured in everything I had—new insights, sharper questions, and a clearer voice—and on Friday, I officially handed the manuscript back to my editor.

 

This version feels different. More grounded. More honest. The story still holds its emotional centre, but now it sits inside a broader, more connected frame. I can’t wait for you to read it.

 

 

During the trip, I had the chance to speak in some of the UK’s most influential political spaces, including the UK Parliament in London and the Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh, where I shared my mom’s story in public and private settings. 

 

I was moved by what I heard in policy rooms, and deeply affected by what I felt in recovery circles. One event, Is Anorexia Ever Terminal?, left a particular mark. I listened to a young woman in recovery describe the internal bully she fought for years and how, had this law existed back then, she would have taken it. Families shared stories of daughters lost to suicide—young women who would have qualified. Their voices shaped my revision more than any briefing paper ever could.

 

After one engagement at Westminster, I was invited for a cocktail on the MP’s private terrace overlooking the river—the same terrace where Churchill once stood. From there, I was welcomed to a private dinner in the Peer Dining Room, hosted by a Baroness, followed by a quiet tour through the halls of Parliament.

 

As an interior designer and history lover, I was in awe. We walked beneath Big Ben, passed through centuries-old corridors, and even sat in session for a few minutes at the House of Lords, surrounded by red velvet and gold. The entire experience was surreal—personal and political all at once.

 

 

In between the advocacy, I carved out time to breathe. Conversations with new friends, long walks, and brief pauses to take it all in. I finally met a fellow advocate from Canada who lost his father to MAiD just before I lost my mom. We’ve become close over the past two years through this work, and it was incredible to meet in person for the first time. We stood together at Westminster, united in purpose and grief. I also had the joy of reconnecting with Liz Carr, the host of BBC’s Better Off Dead?, the documentary in which I was featured last year. 

 

On our final night, we shared dinner with Liz, her wife, and my Canadian colleague—a table full of sharp minds, dark humour, and a shared sense of mission. Liz may be one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. Her wit is dry, biting, and wildly refreshing. We laughed for hours. It was the kind of joy that makes the heaviness easier to hold.

 

 

With the major revision now submitted, the next chapter begins. I’m in the process of registering my ISBN — the unique international identifier that officially catalogues and tracks a book across libraries, bookstores, and online platforms. It’s one of those quiet behind-the-scenes steps that suddenly makes everything feel real.

 

And with my background in design, I’m especially excited about what’s coming next: the cover. I’ve been dreaming about how this story will look and feel in physical form—how to visually hold the weight, beauty, and complexity of what’s inside. I can’t wait to share the process with you.

 

And in just a few weeks, I’ll be attending a publishing conference hosted by The Self Publishing Agency. This won’t just be a chance to learn—it’s also the first time I’ll meet, in person, so many of the authors who’ve walked alongside me in this process. We’ve been gathering monthly on Zoom for marketing meetups, sharing ideas, struggles, and wins, yet many of us have never met face to face. To be in the same room for the first time, after all these virtual check-ins, feels incredibly meaningful.

 

The conference sessions cover everything from what’s trending in publishing to writing through trauma with courage, which feels deeply aligned with where I am in this journey. And, if this year has taught me anything, it’s that community makes the process more bearable, and infinitely more beautiful.

 

If you'd like to continue the conversation, subscribe on Substack to receive my deeper reflections on grief, healing, advocacy, and the parts of this journey that don’t always make it elsewhere. For behind-the-scenes glimpses of the writing process and daily life, you can find me on Instagram. And for updates on the political and legislative side of this work, I’m also on X (formerly Twitter).

 

This story is still unfolding, and I’m grateful to be sharing it with you.

 

As always…

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