"My life has been a series of quiet rebirths. I have met hundreds of versions of myself, some easier to love, to be more proud than others, however even the versions born from survival I now honor and love, for each one carried me here."

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​Welcome to State of Healing

Thank you for being here!

My name is Jess.

I'm a mother, a wife and a woman who spent most of her life hypervigilant, self critical and seeking self "perfection". Not because I craved perfection, but because my nervous system learned from a young age that fitting in and getting it "right" meant being safe, loved and accepted. 

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​​​I've spent 14 years working in crisis supports throughout youth, drug and alcohol, mental health and justice settings before my nervous system demanded I listen to my own body and needs. I could no longer face high risk situations on a daily basis. I was burnt out, needing rest, healing, and a way back home to myself.​

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Early Imprints and First Lessons

I had a loving childhood with two hard-working parents, yet it was also shaped by generational trauma, scarcity, immigration and survival.

I grew up between two worlds.

My Mum's traditional Italian Catholic family and my Dad's loud spirited, proud Australian family.

My Nonna and Nonno immigrated from Italy with nothing but hope. My Nonno built a successful concreting company bringing wealth to his family for the first time. My mum and her siblings assimilated into Australian culture, learning quickly that blending in made them less of a target for being called "wogs". She married young and become a mother to my two brothers, only to see her then husband leave the marriage, feeling his parental responsibility a burden. As a heartbroken young single mother, navigating life within a traditional Italian family and community, where divorce was shamed, she learned resilience, raising and providing for her sons alone. She later met my Dad and I was born.

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On my Dad's side, my Nan and Pop were loud, loving, proud Australians who were generous despite having little. My Dad left home at age 11, travelling towns for employment, living a life marked by hardship and loss, including the death of his best friend in a car accident they shared. He turned to drinking to provide him some relief. My Dad also married young, but was later separated, he often reflects that his drinking and love of having a good time may have played a part in his separation. Years of hiding emotions often see him become reactive, yet like my Nonno, he built his own concreting business from nothing, changing the direction of his family, a legacy I know he is proud of, and I am too. 

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Life at home was beautiful, yet unpredictable, caught between extremities of emotional silence and overload. I often feared my brothers would be taken to live with their father and I watched them navigate heartbreak waiting for a father that rarely showed. This shaped my empathy from a young age. I couldn't fix their pain, but I could feel it deeply. My beautiful mum experiences panic attacks and anxiety, which could see her suddenly shut off, operating from survival mode. My beautiful dad, although deep down a kind soul, was raised to believe vulnerability is cause for embarrassment and only a strong face should be shown to the world.

Life at home often a balancing act between the two.

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​​I've been deeply intuitive from a young age; however, I learned heavy emotions were seen as weakness and made others uncomfortable. So, I hid mine. I didn't learn emotional safety, only that it was safer and more acceptable to look okay than to be okay. I quietly learned to anticipate everything, hypervigilant of the tone and energies in every room, blending in accordingly.

 

My Nonna, offered a different kind of wisdom. Fierce, and intuitive, she taught me to protect my energy, trust my knowing and embrace the gift she and I all share; sensing things before they happen, sensing energy before we walk into a room. Initially my intuition scared me, I didn't always like sensing things others couldn't. Remembering the way my Nonna carried her gift with grace has helped me see it as part of a beautiful lineage and one of the greatest gifts I carry forward. 

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The cost of "Perfection"​

At school, friendships were also unpredictable. Being part of a group referred to as "The Plastics", a nickname not so lovingly inherited from the Mean Girls Movie. We drew uncomfortable attention for physically maturing earlier than most girls our age. It came with gossip and assumptions. Beneath the label, I was sensitive and craved deep connection, but learned to wear a mask instead. The Looking Glass Theory was in motion; I created the person I believed others perceived me to be.

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​Self perfection became armor. The illusion of control in a world that felt emotionally unsafe, where your best was never enough. The cost of seeking perfection was high. Disordered eating, anxiety, depression, self-harm, an attempt to take my life. Moments of darkness I've worked hard to heal from.​

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In year 9, I felt lost, experiencing grief (discussed below) and miserable with my school environment. My parents laid beside my hospital bed after an attempt to take my life. The aftermath left me lingering in guilt, especially watching me dad cry for only the 3rd time in my life. This prompted a change in schools. Mentally exhausted, and on the promise to my parents that I gain a qualification, I then left high school once completing year 10. Instead of my year 11 and 12 I completed a Diploma in Community Services and Counselling, determined to support young people the way I wished I'd been supported by professionals.​

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Grief That Froze Me​

My first experience with grief came at the age of 6, when I lost my Nonno to a sudden heart attack. Too young to understand, I still felt the weight of my family's pain, still remembering the screams of heartache.

At 7 I lost my Nan and watched my dad, the strongest man I know break down, I felt helpless.

At 8, I experienced a distressing event in which I couldn't name or process until working with a psychologist years later. I told no one, afraid it would make others uncomfortable, afraid I would be in trouble, yet I carried its weight throughout my childhood.

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At 13 I lost my Zia (aunty) to a debilitating autoimmune disease, although unwell, her passing was unexpected. Leaving behind her two beautiful boys. My mum and Nonna never recovered from the heartache of her loss.

 At 14 I lost my beautiful Pop to a long and painful battle of cancer. The second time I'd ever seen my dad cry. The 3rd was months later beside my hospital bed.

 At 17, (a week before my 18th) I lost my Nonna, one of my greatest sources of comfort. I lived with her during her final years from 15, helping provide her care. I slowly witnessed cancer strip every inch of her spirit. A torture like no other. When she passed away in my arms, I couldn't cry. The cries of my family next to me echoed through my body, yet I was frozen.

That numbness stayed buried for years. After witnessing my loved ones suffer horribly to illnesses I developed severe health related anxiety, which led to fearing anything that felt out of my "control". It stopped me from enjoying the world. My "perfectionist" self was cemented here. I believed if I could be one step ahead of everything then I would never feel out of control again. A year later, days prior to my 19th birthday a relationship I had been in since 15 painfully ended. 

 

My years (19-23) were filled with escaping the grief and pain I'd held for years and trying to "find myself" on the terms of pain. A move to Melbourne for uni, a move back home, partying, drugs, alcohol, and terrible choices only fueled my anxiety and grief. 

 

I found myself so far from the life I always envisioned, arriving slowly, poor choice after poor choice. I craved stability and safety, I craved the softness I saw my Nonna breath into her everyday life when I was younger. I felt this strong urge to "come home to myself". At the time I was in a relationship with someone I loved very much but we both carried our own grief and pain, love alone wasn't enough, these versions of ourselves collided and pulled the best but also worst out in each other. I had lost myself and knew this could no longer be my life. In 2013 I overcame a private battle with a slowly increasing addiction, due to the belief that numbing the pain was better than another attempt on my life. I was high functioning and able to hide it from loved ones. It was a turning point, finally being forced to face the full depths of my pain. It was the first time I truly chose myself. 

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It's taken 13 years to open up about that battle, only my partner at the time and my husband have known until now. The guilt and shame still softly linger, but the truth is, I wouldn't recognise that version of myself today. If I met her now, I would only see a woman deeply hurting, deeply lost, screaming for relief and I would hold her with compassion and not shame. My life has been a series of quiet rebirths. I have met hundreds of versions of myself, some easier to love, to be more proud of than others, however even the versions born from survival I now honor and love, for each one carried me here.

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 Continuously and helplessly witnessing loved ones suffer from relentless illness and grief and the longing to feel safe and heard, saw me become deeply sensitive to others' pain. I physically feel pain in my body when someone is hurting, I can sense energy before it speaks. It is what led me to use my intuitive nature in the path of supporting others.

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​A Love That Let Me Be Seen​

In 2015, I met my husband. We didn't fall in love at first but held a friendship for over a year. His energy was intoxicating. Fun, spontaneous, carefree, emotionally expressive and had no interest in what others thought of him. He was everything I had never allowed myself to be. With him my body exhaled, I no longer needed to pretend.  I couldn't go a day without talking to him. The moment I knew I fell in love him with, we were eating sushi and suddenly he asked me, "Do you ever get tired of pretending to be "perfect Jess" to everyone else?  Why can't you just show them this Jess, the one when you're with me." He could see right through me; it gave me permission to be myself. Slowly our friendship grew romantically, and we began dating.

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In 2019 we were married, and I moved to his hometown of Cobram, Victoria where our life together began.​

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Motherhood & Breaking Point​

In 2020, after multiple rounds of IVF and pregnancy loss, the grief I thought I had been working on suddenly intensified. I'd worked with a psychologist since 13 but talking was no longer enough. My soul needed something deeper. I began work with intuitive healers, tuning into my body and my pain. During a session my intuition kicked it, it asked me; What are you afraid of? Tears flowed. Suddenly I realised, I was afraid of not being a good enough mother, that I would not be "perfect" enough and maybe they would wish for a different mum, a less "broken" mum. I hadn't yet forgiven myself or learnt to truly be grateful for the moments I survived with what I knew at the time. After working through layers of grief and pain, I fell pregnant naturally. 

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In 2021, I gave birth to our daughter, Sofia. Motherhood was beautiful, yet brutal. The discomfort from reflux causing her to cry for hours, only sleeping in my arms and waking every 30 minutes. Just prior to her birth, I left my full-time government job, establishing a mental health and disability support business, navigating complex crisis care. Overwhelmed with stress and sleep deprivation, I developed postnatal depression and anxiety, isolating myself when I needed support most. Around the same time, I underwent emergency surgery removing ruptured breast implants (a terrible decision from my early years chasing "perfection") this required 2 weeks recovery with a newborn.

 

4​ months postpartum, COVID vaccines triggered an autoimmune disease causing me to lose 65% of my hair. My GP reported it and my consult with the VIC Department of Health left me in limbo. They knew autoimmunity and other illnesses could be triggered, yet they could provide little guidance. Having lost my Zia to an autoimmune disease, this retriggered my health related anxiety, fixating on my health and fear of anything I could not "control". Again, I isolated myself. I was afraid of judgement having lost my hair and my anxiety felt debilitating. Very few knew what I was going through and I lost friendships as some assumed I was suddenly "too busy" for them.​​

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I became an expert at hiding the hard stuff. Even during my most fragile seasons people often told me how "perfect" and "happy" my life looked, how easily I was juggling everything. Mum friends commenting that they were embarrassed for me to see their "mess" imagining my home and world was spotless. My entire life people often held a sentiment that I couldn't relate to messy, chaos or pain, when in reality, I had always suffocated in it. 

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I spent months trying to find the "perfect" wig, wondering will I ever feel like "me" again. Although I didn't really know who "I" was - outside of the person I created to fit in, to stay "safe". Slowly with nourishment, a greater love for natural healing and inner work, my body, hair and spirit began to restore.

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The Awakening

Hair loss became a strange gift. It presented an opportunity to truly learn how to love myself on the deepest level, stripping away the false identities I created to feel "safe". It forced me to rebuild, from truth and from within, with nothing to hide behind. I began beautiful work with intuitive mentors, slowly coming home to myself.

 

In 2023, we welcomed our son, Santino. We spent 2.5 weeks in intensive care in Melbourne. This saw my passion for postpartum care deepen. 5 months later, my husband began his own mental health and addiction recovery.  What I didn't realise when I first met my husband, was that he, too, learned to wear a mask, just a different kind. He hid his inner struggles of depression behind light-heartedness and spontaneity. We both learned to survive by pretending we were okay. In amongst motherhood, running a business and my own healing, I needed to find the strength to care for our two-year-old and newborn while my husband focused on healing at a 6 week residential program. This season was heavy, but it was also the beginning of something beautiful.

The healing of both of us. 

We no longer needed to pretend. We could meet life exactly as we are - messy, growing, human, healing. 

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Why I do This Work

Years ago, I would have hidden my story, afraid of being seen as "not enough", "broken" or "imperfect". I've learned that what we hide is what needs love the most. Healing doesn't come from perfection, but from permission; to rest, to feel, to be seen, to come undone, to return home to your yourself.

I know the fear of showing the messy human parts of ourselves, making us hide and pretend we aren't silently drowning. Had I known how many others were silently carrying their own battles, I wouldn't have felt so alone. Through my work, I invite other to bring their most vulnerable selves to the healing process, and I do the same. I no longer want to pretend or live life from fear. I choose to meet life in all its depths and imperfection.

Through State of Healing, I help others do the same. 

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My Offerings

I offer Reiki Energy Healing, Bowen Therapy (for adults, children and babies), and Conversational Hypnotherapy - all grounded in nervous system restoration, emotional safety, and deep embodiment.

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I love supporting newborns, children and mothers - knowing how much I craved support in those raw postpartum years. 

Supporting people through grief and loss is another passion of mine. My heartache is what led me to my healing journey and I see those in the depths of their grief, a pain like no other, and I hope to be their lighthouse, just like I needed.

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A Final Note

If you've found yourself here, I want you know

You no longer need to carry the weight of your pain on your own.

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This is a space where you can exhale.

Where your messiness, humanness and vulnerability is welcomed

Where your truth is safe.

Your healing begins the moment you allow yourself to be seen, exactly as you are

And I look forward to being part of your journey.

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With Love

Jessica Bacchetto

xo

 

 

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