I’m just a woman who’s been through some serious shit —
and made it back from the edge.
Not untouched. But whole enough to speak.
For years, anxiety was the weather inside my body. Constant, unpredictable, and invisible to everyone around me. I kept showing up — to work, to life, to other people — while something inside was slowly coming apart.
I went from doctor to doctor. I heard “everything is fine” so many times it started to sound like a threat. I had panic attacks in work meetings and pretended nothing happened. I woke up exhausted after full nights of sleep. I lost my sense of safety, my sense of self, and eventually my sense that things could ever be different.
And then — slowly, messily, without a clear turning point — they were.
Healing didn’t arrive as a breakthrough. It arrived as a series of small, ordinary moments. A walk outside. A meal I cooked with intention. A therapy session that cracked something open. A boundary I held for the first time without apologizing for it afterward.
It arrived through my work — building fraud prevention systems, learning that I was sharper and more capable than the anxiety had let me believe. It arrived through the streets of Kraków at night, when I walked and observed and stopped needing to perform for anyone.
And it arrived through Luna.
Luna is my Siberian husky. She has been my companion through the worst of it and the best of it. She doesn’t know what anxiety is. She just knows when I need an anchor — and she always shows up. A towel dragged across the apartment. Her full weight leaning against me. Her paw on my knee in the park.
She is the reason I went outside on the days I couldn’t. She is the reason I learned what it felt like to be truly present. She is the silent co-narrator of everything I write.
This blog exists because nobody warned me about what healing actually feels like. Nobody told me the stomach cramps were part of it. Nobody explained that the panic attacks might get worse before they got better. Nobody said it was okay to not be okay for a long time.
So I’m saying it. Here. For anyone who needs to hear it.
This is not a wellness blog. There are no ten steps to fix your life here.
This is a space for real stories — the kind that don’t sugarcoat the pain but show the light breaking through anyway.
It’s for the ones who are tired of pretending they’re fine. For the ones who have heard “you’re too sensitive” one too many times. For the ones who are tired — but still trying.
You’re not broken. And you’re not alone.
I write under two names — Lina K for the healing essays, Deimina for the darker, more experimental pieces. Both are me. Both are honest.
I also run a keto Mediterranean nutrition blog at theonlyketodietthatworks.com — because food turned out to be part of my recovery too, and that story deserves its own space.