By Morgan Thain Miller

This week has been the first time in ages I’ve felt properly happy. Not performative happy. Not “I’m fine” kind of happy. Just… peaceful. Like something has clicked into place deep inside me, and my body finally trusts that it’s safe to exhale.

And I think I know why.

I changed my name.
I shared my story.
And for the first time in my life…I feel free.

Why I Changed My Name

On paper, it looks like a name change. But for me, it was a soul decision. A final, powerful shift after years of carrying confusion, trauma, and emotional weight I never asked for.

I’ve always felt like I was in between identities. Like I didn’t fully belong to one side of my family or the other. My legal name didn’t feel like me not anymore. It reminded me of everything that happened in hospital, all the trauma, the blank spaces, the conversations people had about me while I lay in a bed trying to survive. My name was connected to my biological father too, and with that came so many tangled memories I never had the words to explain.

So I chose a name that feels like me. That carries my story on my own terms.

Morgan Thain Miller.

Thain, because that’s my dad’s name my actual dad, someone I haven’t had a relationship with in years Miller, because it’s the name of the man who married my mum and showed up for me in a way that deserves to be honoured. He never asked for recognition, but I see what he’s done. I carry that.

I put the two together because I am both.
I am all the versions of me I’ve fought to become.
And this name feels whole. It feels strong. It feels like home.

Letting Go of the Past For Real This Time

I used to think healing meant forgetting. That I had to erase my past, or avoid it, or stuff it away somewhere so deep it couldn’t hurt me.

But healing, I’ve learned, is more like… softening.
Letting yourself look at what happened.
Letting yourself feel what it brought up.
And then, choosing to live anyway.

The truth is, my trauma ran deep. From my brain injury and everything that happened around it, to the way I felt dismissed, misunderstood, and confused by my dad’s presence or lack of it. It took me years to even find the language for what I was feeling, and even longer to give myself permission to let it go.

But this week something shifted. It was like my nervous system stopped waiting for the next bad thing.
It was like my inner child could finally stop scanning the room for danger.
I felt safe. I felt steady. I felt… happy.

Not because everything is suddenly perfect. But because I’m not carrying it all anymore.

I don’t need to prove anything. I don’t need to stay small.
I chose my name, I chose my peace, and I’m choosing to keep moving forward.

Sharing My Story… Finally

For years, I didn’t share my brain injury story publicly.
It felt too raw. Too personal. I didn’t want pity.
And I didn’t know how to talk about it without reopening wounds I wasn’t ready to face.

But during the past few months that is all I have been talking about. After a speech in a law class about my brain injury and everything has changed. Email after email. Meeting after meeting. This week. It’s out now in the Daily Record and the Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald. My name. My face. My words.

All because one of my lecturers believed in my story and thought others needed to hear it.

And instead of feeling exposed, I feel seen.
Like the version of me who survived finally got to speak.

What happened to me doesn’t define me.
But it did shape me into someone stronger, more grounded, and more deeply in touch with the parts of life that truly matter.

I’ve realised that telling my story doesn’t take power away from me it gives me power.
It turns pain into purpose. It gives someone else a chance to feel less alone.

And I knew, right then, that this moment wasn’t random.
The name change. The healing. The story.
It was all part of a much bigger picture.

I’m not just writing a blog anymore.
I’m building Makia. I’m building a platform. I’m creating something that will help people.

Mental Health Is Messy, But Worth It

No one tells you how messy healing actually is.

They don’t tell you about the nights you question everything. Or the mornings where your body feels tired from carrying emotions in your muscles. Or how even small things like choosing a name can stir up so much you thought you’d buried.

But this week reminded me that healing is also beautiful.

It’s choosing to rest without guilt.
It’s letting joy in, even if it scares you.
It’s laughing with your whole chest again after wondering if you’d ever laugh like that.

My mental health isn’t “fixed” and I don’t think it needs to be.
I’m not a project. I’m a person.
And I’m learning how to hold space for every version of me: the scared one, the brave one, the ambitious one, the soft one.

All of them belong.

A New Chapter

This blog post isn’t just a journal entry. It’s a timestamp.
It’s the moment everything shifted.

From now on, I get to create from a place of freedom, not fear.
I get to lead with my truth.
And I get to be exactly who I came here to be.

I’m Morgan Thain Miller.
Not because the world said so, but because I chose it.
And with every word I write, I’m creating a life that feels true.

Thank you for reading.
Thank you for witnessing this part of my journey.
If you’re going through your own healing, I see you.
Keep going. It gets lighter.

And if you’re waiting for a sign?
This is it.

Remember, everything starts with self love

-M