My Story – Queen of Spin
My father was Persian, my mother Armenian. It was 1977 in an opium-rife Iran when I was born with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS). This a condition that occurs when a baby becomes dependent on drugs taken during pregnancy. Before I permanently lost my voice and became mute from the strain of my withdrawal cries, I was taken away from my mother so that we could both recover.
By 1980, the Iranian Revolution had erupted. The Ayatollah Khomeini overthrew the Shah, and my father quickly exiled my mother and I before he was captured and taken to prison to be tortured for his political beliefs.
We left everything behind – our home, friends, money, our entire life – and arrived in the UK as political refugees. My mother struggled to adjust. She didn’t speak the language, had given up her career, and was forced to rebuild everything from scratch without my father. The pressure became unbearable, and she found her solace in alcohol. And so it began…
What was it like? Which part? It was a whirlwind of cascading emotions. I was a child from another country with a father imprisoned in Iran – unbelievable enough on its own. I was trying to learn the language, adapt to the culture, fit in, stay unnoticed, and just be liked. Then I’d go home, never knowing what to expect. Every day was a battlefield, and I just had to put on a brave face and survive. I think that’s when the imposter syndrome first began.
Isolation
The worst part was the isolation – feeling alone in the shame, the neglect, the guilt, and the secrecy.
Yes, the guilt. How could I feel sorry for myself when my mother was struggling? I thought I had to be strong for her. The truth is, I didn’t – I was the child. I can see that now.
Then came the anger: the confusion, the frustration, the abandonment, the constant feeling of being misunderstood. I felt completely alone in my secret world.
I had a social worker, she was lovely. I wanted to trust her but I was terrified. I’d heard stories of children being taken away by social services, shuffled between strangers and care homes. I’d seen those kids.
Did I want to be one of them? Would that be better? But what about Mum? Who would look after her? The internal debate raged – the devil or the deep blue sea. Both too frightening to face, so I hid the secret. Better the devil you know, right? Back came the guilt, the shame, and the silence.
Escaped from Iran
Then, one day – my father escaped from prison in Iran.
Yes, escaped! Smuggled through Turkey into England via human-trafficking routes. One evening after school, I opened the door, and there he was – just standing there.
I was seven years old and couldn’t believe my eyes. Mum and I had no idea he was coming. Sadly, by then, Mum was a fully established alcoholic, and their reunion soon turned into chaos – dramatic, violent, movie-like scenes that will haunt me forever.
Despite it all, I loved my mum deeply. I understood her pain and had enormous empathy for both my parents. Outside of the “demon” that appeared when she drank, she was a beautiful soul – loving, kind, compassionate. But Jekyll was never around when Hyde was in town. I learnt to stay alert, waiting for the moment the day would turn black.
As I grew older, I became numb to my mother’s hate speeches and blame. I preferred the physical abuse – it was over quicker. I bounced between my parents’ homes, then friends’ couches, the street, park benches, then finally got a car. A sleeping bag in the back seat felt like an upgrade.
Then came 2nd August 2002 – the day I had always feared. Mum died. Ironically, she was sober at the time – and that was part of the problem. She’d been in and out of rehab, each relapse worse than the last. Toward the end, she didn’t know night from day. She would look at me and ask if I was the nurse. It broke my heart every single time.
When the inevitable day came, I learned the truth of the saying: “The bigger the cloud, the bigger the silver lining.” The grief, the shock, the despair – it was unbearable… but for me, not her. For her, it was finally over. The pain, the shame, the suffering – gone. She was at peace, back to the wonderful soul she was always meant to be.
You’d think that would be the end, right? Wrong. One year and one month later, on 2nd September 2003, my father died.
Rewriting my story
And that’s when, oddly enough, my life began.
I looked hard at my past and decided – no more. I refused to be a victim of circumstance. It was time to rewrite my story.
In 2005, just two years later, I bought my father’s home, avoiding homelessness. I bought a car. I built a life. Having raised myself, I became hyper-vigilant, self-taught, and highly attuned to people’s emotions.
I worked my way up the corporate ladder – from nothing to Senior Executive Assistant and Chief of Staff, working with phenomenal people, from Royals to the Michael Jackson family.
I travelled the world, saw palaces, yachts, private jets – it was a whole world away from what I had ever known. So despite the scars, learned to be grateful for it all.
The imposter syndrome still lingers, but I’ve found my release valve: music in my ears and movement in my body. Working out became my therapy, and I eventually qualified as a personal trainer, spin instructor, and exercise-to-music instructor.
Queen of Spin
I now teach spin three times a week at my local gym – for free – helping others find that same momentary release from life’s struggles.
Then came Romeo, my dog and soulmate. I began studying aesthetics and launched my businesses:
Hadley Aesthetics, Crunch Time Fitness – Hadley, and Luella’s People, a trusted boutique executive & event management firm supporting visionary leaders.
My story is far from over. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there are always more challenges ahead — but I know I am ready for them.
Sometimes I sit back and wonder: what if I’d stayed in Iran? People there might look at me now and think I was lucky. Was I? Maybe. All I know is this: when I curl up with Romeo of an evening, after teaching a spin class, and a sunny afternoon in my garden – having seen all the glitz and glamour life has to offer – I am grateful. 💫🐾
