Jesse Greyson and her huskies


Some of my earliest childhood memories involve both reading and writing.
Growing up poor meant that our family excursions were almost exclusively to the public library, where we could escape the pressures of everyday life by slipping through the magical portals that are books. When it came to reading my brother chose joke books and magic trick books, and my mother read nothing but murder mysteries.

But I yearned for an even greater escape. For worlds filled with magic and beasts, heroism and whimsy, freedom and hope. Consequently, I spent all my time in the science fiction and fantasy sections.

I read voraciously and had soon exhausted the children’s section and moved up to adult fiction (this is back before Y.A was even a thing). After I had read all of Piers Anthony Magic of Xanth series and devoured Madeleine L’Engle’s ‘A Wrinkle in Time’ (as well as anything else I could get my hands on) I powered through books by J.R.R Tolkien, David Eddings, Raymond E. Fiest, Anne McCaffery and Terry Goodkind to name just a few. From there I progressed to Robert R. Jordan, George R.R. Martin and J.K Rowling (of course). But something was missing.

No one was writing the aspects of fantasy that I wanted to read about most. So, I drifted away from my genre, disenchanted with the stories that were being told. And I got busy with life –

But I never gave up on magic.

And then one day as I was getting fuel a single line from a radio song started me thinking those two most wondrous and exciting words – ‘imagine if…’

That day the heart of the Lokamaya started beating.

For over twenty years the ideas for my universe have quietly percolated away in my subconscious, growing with each passing day until I could no longer stop myself. I was going to have to write a book. Or ten, really. Just to get a few things off my mind.

And so here we are.

Welcome to where the wolf dreams.

You can start with nothing.
And out of nothing, and out of no way, a way will be made.”

Michael Bernard Beckwith



Jesse greyson and her husky, Arya 2015
I am a late diagnosed auDHDer – that is someone diagnosed with autism and ADHD. I was forty-six years old at the time of my diagnosis. Forty-six!! Imagine living half your living trying to hammer yourself into a neurotypical mould and wondering why you’re so unhappy, exhausted, and sick all the time. It has been a long, arduous road to get to these formal diagnoses. And they’re not alone. I also have psoriatic arthritis (an autoimmune disease), fibromyalgia, and C-PTSD to name a few of the labels I’ve collected since 2016. (Comorbidities are very common with autism and ADHD.)

This has been a journey of massive personal growth for me. For most of my twenties and thirties I had a very harsh, judgemental mindset (which I applied to both myself and others equally) and very black and white thinking. I hated all the new ‘labels’ people were making for everything and the fact that it seemed ‘everyone has to have a label these days.’

As I moved through life trying to help for my mysterious myriad of health problems doctors tried to stick labels on me, but I dodged them like they were poison. “Here! Take this fibromyalgia diagnosis with you!” Shouted my chiropractor as I fled down the halls.

No siree, no thank you.

My attitude back then was: “If there’s no cure for it, then what’s the point in collecting a label?” Ahh, my sweet summer child. How ignorant I was. How naive. If only I knew then how many times the universe was going to break me down over the following years until it had turned me into the mushy, vulnerable, sort-of-human-shaped person I am now.


These days I understand there is much value in having labels. They help you understand what’s going on with you. They give you the language and tools to discuss your lived experience with others. They provide shorthand communication to others about your reality and your potential needs. They help you find community. But most importantly (in my mind at least) they allow you to have self-compassion. Self-compassion for why you do things they way you do. Self-compassion for needing accommodations. Self-compassion for when you have bad days, despite doing all the right things, lifestyle-wise and medication-wise.

They also help you understand that this is it. It’s never going to get any easier than this. You’re not magically going to get your shit together one day and suddenly have your life sorted – as all the neurotypical ‘hustle culture’ and well-intentioned (if not ever so slightly condescending and patronising) friends and family would have you believe. There’s not enough planners, apps, yoga, and clean eating in the world to change the fact that things are always going to be harder for you than for 95% of the population – and that’s all there is to it.

It’s a blessing to know this.

It’s a blessing to stare down the barrel of your life and say to yourself, ‘Well, this is what I have to work with. Let’s make the most of it and let’s be kind to ourselves when things don’t pan out the way we want.’

And that’s art if you ask me.

It’s the art of living gently.

It’s the art of self-compassion.

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