As I began reconnecting to myself more deeply, certain lives started surfacing with extraordinary clarity through memory, emotion, sensation, and lived experience within my body.

The two lives I chose to write about most deeply were Queen Boudicca and Queen Victoria alongside my own life as Jojo.

Different worlds.
Different forms of confinement.
But the same emotional thread carried through them all.

Lived Moments 

The following excerpts are moments from the unfolding of Three Queens, One Soul Journey.

QUEEN BOUDICCA

 My Way Out...

I wake up staring at the same wooden table inside the shelter I'd been kept in, for the past 8 years since i had being taken. Empty bottles scattered across it. Some standing up, some lying on their side. The stale smell of alcohol trapped in the air.

My throat is dry. My body aching. Shivering from cold and withdrawal.

Something about the morning feels familiar.

Not different.

Familiar.

Like my body already knows what’s coming before it happens.

I hear the men outside the camp laughing.

By that point, I’ve learned how to leave myself before anything painful begins. It’s easier that way. Easier not to feel. Easier not to think.

I stopped anticipating things a long time ago.

I just let them happen.

They drag me barefoot outside into the cold air. Stones cutting into the bottoms of my feet as I walk toward the circle.

There’s always a circle.

And the second I step inside it, my body folds in on itself automatically. Straight down to the floor. Curled tight into a ball.

I wasn’t even afraid anymore by that point. Just empty.

Then suddenly, everything around me changed.

Silence.

Not complete silence, but the kind that falls when something important interrupts the atmosphere around men like that.

Then I heard the horse.

Hooves pressing heavily into the dirt outside the camp.

And then his voice.

“Where is the emperor?”

The same voice I’d heard passing outside the shelter before. Calm. Soft. Different from the others.

I lifted my head instantly.

And there he was.

Sitting tall on horseback just beyond the circle.

For a second, everything around me disappeared. The shouting. The men. The cold. The fear.

All I could think was:

There’s my way out.

The men around me started scrambling, pulling themselves together, reaching for weapons, angry at being interrupted and seen like this.

But I wasn’t looking at them anymore.

I was looking at him.

And when he looked back at me, something inside me moved for the first time in years.

Before the men could fully approach him, I broke from the circle and ran.

Straight toward the horse.

Straight toward him.

We caught hold of each other instantly, gripping each other’s forearms as though some part of us already understood why this moment was happening.

His hand wrapped firmly around my arm and for the first time in years, my body felt something it no longer recognised straight away.

Safety.

Frightening, unfamiliar safety.

Then he pulled me up onto the horse beside him with force, holding me securely against him.

And I knew instantly:

he was not there to harm me like the others.

He was there to take me somewhere else.

QUEEN VICTORIA

 End Of Life...

I wake up inside the palace on the Isle of Wight already knowing death is close.

By that point, I no longer understand how my body is still surviving.

The alcohol. The medications. The endless cycle of numbing myself just enough to avoid feeling the weight of everything attached to my name.

Wars. Violence. Bloodshed signed beneath my authority, yet never truly within my control.

If it had been mine to stop, I would have stopped it.

But I learned long ago that power and control were not the same thing.

My body feels swollen. Heavy. Flesh carrying fluid like it no longer belongs to me.

I pull myself upright slowly, knocking bottles and objects from the bedside table while searching through drawers for medication the doctor still hasn’t brought.

By then, I rely on it completely.

Not for pleasure anymore.

For escape.

The doctor had stopped arriving regularly, and without him the silence inside the palace became unbearable.

So I stayed hidden.

Sleeping for days at a time. Curtains closed. Waiting for someone to come.

And even when they did, I rarely allowed them inside.

Because by then, I no longer believed anyone came near me without wanting something in return.

JOJO FULLEYLOVE

My Escape... 

I woke up on a cold metal bed, the blue plastic mattress squelching beneath me every time I moved.

Walkie-talkies echoed outside the cell. Steel doors unlocking. Heavy footsteps moving down the landing.

I remember staring at the ceiling feeling exhausted. Aching from the damage I’d placed upon my own body. Tired of waking up inside the same cycle over and over again.

And then something hit me.

I don’t belong here anymore.

This life of imprisonment. This chaos I’d created around myself that had led me into prison. The poison I kept feeding my body that was slowly killing me.

I didn’t know what came next. I just knew I couldn’t carry on living the same way.

The medication trolley came around that morning. Metal clicks. Doors unlocking one by one. Small paper cups passed through openings in the steel doors just to keep us functioning.

I remember standing barefoot on the cold concrete floor waiting for mine, thinking:

Fuck it. Something has to change.

I got dressed and waited for the prison doors to open for work.

The morning television echoed through the wing while officers shouted across landings and metal doors slammed one after another.

Then came the same steel staircase.

The same faces.

Women staring each other down before the day had even begun. Ready to fight. Ready to defend themselves before anything had even happened.

By that point, the tension lived inside all of us.

But something inside me had shifted.

I didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore.

I felt exhausted from fighting.
Exhausted from surviving.

Exhausted from living inside a version of myself I no longer recognised.

For the first time in years, I wanted something different.

I couldn't escape these prison walls quick enough, the next few months I decided to plan my way out.

The Thread...

Different lives.

Different bodies.

Different forms of confinement.

But the same emotional thread running through them all.

The body remembers through feeling. The mind remembers through experience. And when certain emotions, fears, patterns, or instincts repeat themselves across a lifetime, there is often something deeper asking to be understood.

Not feared.

Not fixed.

Not silenced.

Understood.

The more I allowed myself to fully feel these moments instead of running from them, the more everything began connecting together in a way that no external method or teaching ever could.