Amy Molloy

In March 2020, I was seven months pregnant when I said goodbye to my parents at the train station. They were meant to be in Australia for another four weeks before going back to the UK, but their airline had recommended they catch an earlier flight.

We hugged and cried, as they kissed my growing belly. I’ll never forget their blissfully naïve words: “We’ll be back right after the birth”. (The grief of raising a baby in 'Fortress Australia' cont. in link)

As life gets back to normal here, I can't help but feel a pang whilst loved ones back home are in lockdown.

I’ll always remember a conversation I had with my mom shortly after my husband died, leaving me widowed at the age of 23.“To me, you’re done,” she said. “If you do nothing else with your life this is enough for me.”

She had seen me nurse a cancer patient to his death; she’d watched me get married and, three weeks later, walk down a church aisle behind a coffin. I didn’t need to achieve anything else in her eyes.

We are so scared of death, we don’t discuss what an honour it is to watch someone die; to be present – really present – when someone takes their last breath, to lean in and breathe them in, to put your head on their chest as their heart stops beating and kiss their skin as it transforms.

As I finished my gym session, I stopped to take a photo of my growing tummy in the studio’s full-length mirror. I smiled at the evolution of our latest family member but, unlike photos from my previous pregnancies, this selfie was not destined to become a #bumpie.
I’m currently five months pregnant with my third child – a little girl – but you wouldn’t know it from my social-media feeds because I’ve chosen to keep this pregnancy offline.

[PODCAST] There are so many ways Amy has turned her lemons into an opportunity to empower other people. Amy is a wealth of wisdom and knowledge and I’ve no doubt you’ll enjoy listening to this chat as much as I enjoyed chatting with her...

As my newborn baby cried in the next bedroom, I tried to keep my voice steady as I comforted my 2-year-old toddler. For the last week she’d been suffering from night terrors – the child who was previously always my ‘good’ sleeper, the child who I relied on to make evenings easier. This wasn’t how it was meant to be when I became a second-time mother...

As a journalist, who has specialised in writing about health and emotional wellbeing for over a decade you’d think I’d know the signs, of even a mild version. But mental disturbances are masters of disguise. They can convince you’re that they’re something else – work stress, sleep deprivation, the end of a cold. All of those elements were a factor but my feelings ran deeper.

In November 2019, author Amy Molloy successfully crowdfunded her first children's book, Storytelling for Healing: Imaginative Stories that Emotionally Soothe a Child – and the Adult Reading Aloud to Them. Here's how - and why - she did it ...

Amy Molloy is a nature-lover, journalist and author of the new book The World is a Nice Place: How to Overcome Adversity Joyfully, a compilation of ten years’ worth of research interviewing ‘inspiring survivors’ about how to emerge from the worse experiences of your life, whilst still hoping for the best. We chatted with Amy about practicing optimism, living in the present and how she personally healed – mentally and physically – by connecting to nature.

From a young age, Amy Molloy knew mental illness was rife in her family – especially among the women. Yet, by spending her life studying optimistic coping mechanisms, she believes she has finally broken the cycle. Here, she shares what she has learnt on her journey to happiness.

"I always knew that, if I stood any chance of leading a contented life, I had to take responsibility for my emotional circumstances. Today, in my early 30s, despite being in full remission from my eating disorder, having a happy marriage and a wonderful baby daughter, I still invest an incredible amount of time and effort into my mental wellbeing...".

Every parent will be able to identify with the feelings.

“It’s bedtime and, although you want to connect with your child, you feel like you have nothing left to give,” says Amy Molloy, “It’s the time of the day when, as a parent, you’re exhausted, you’re depleted, you’re running on empty. So many evenings, I’d read a bedtime story to my daughter with tears in my eyes, doubting my capabilities, my identity, and whether I could ever be enough for her.”