Ceri-Anne Wilkins

On a Monday morning in April 2021, I was driving with my two-year-old son, Louis, to go for a walk at Barry Island. It was a road I took almost every day - familiar and routine. Then, in a split second, everything changed. A careless driver veered into our lane and hit us head-on at high speed.

Miraculously, Louis escaped with just cuts and bruises, but I sustained multiple severe injuries to my lower body - a dislocated and shattered pelvis, a broken femur and knee, a Lisfranc fracture in my foot, torn abdominal muscles and a broken rib. Within five days I’d undergone three major surgeries to rebuild my legs with extensive metalwork.

Because it was during Covid restrictions, I spent just over two weeks in hospital mostly on my own. I pushed to get home early so I could be with my little boy. As an Occupational Therapist, I understood the practicalities of managing at home while being non-weight-bearing in a wheelchair, but living it was another matter entirely. My incredible partner became my full-time carer and together we made it work. The months that followed were long and slow - first adapting to life in the wheelchair, then standing, then learning to walk again. It took more than a year before I could independently care for Louis, even for short periods.

At my lowest, I’d lost all sense of hope. The crash had taken away my ability to be the mum I wanted to be and the job I’d worked so hard to qualify for. Overnight my whole identity disappeared. Alongside the physical pain came severe PTSD; suddenly the simplest things - getting in a car, crossing a road - filled me with fear. I masked it well, keeping a brave face for my little boy and fiancé, but inside I felt hollow. Even surrounded by love and support, I was incredibly lonely and angry - angry at the driver, at the process, at the unfairness of it all. It felt like the old version of me had vanished in a matter of seconds and I didn’t know how to find her again.

While recovering at home, I saw Ed Jackson on morning TV talking about his accident and his book. I ordered it straight away and reached out on social media. To my surprise, he replied with a kind and encouraging voice note. That’s how I discovered Millimetres 2 Mountains. I started following the charity and set myself a goal: one day I’d join one of their Together Outdoors walks.

As someone working in children’s mental health, I knew how powerful shared experience and connection could be - and how much I was missing both. Despite appearing strong, I was in a very dark place and needed to be around people who understood what it felt like to have your world turned upside down. I’d always loved nature and adventure; they’d been my go-to sources of calm long before the crash. When I learned what M2M stood for - using the outdoors to rebuild purpose and confidence - it felt like the perfect fit. I’m a huge believer in post-traumatic growth, but I knew I needed help to turn that belief into reality. Most of all, I wanted to show my son that we can grow from the hard things life throws at us.

M2M has helped me rediscover my voice. I’ve learned that asking for help is not weakness; it’s courage. It’s given me perspective, made me value my body and my life again, and reminded me that joy still exists in the smallest moments. The laughter, the friendships, the challenges - M2M has brought all of that back. I’ve reconnected with the version of myself I thought I’d lost: playful, positive and full of adventure.

Since joining, I’ve done things I never imagined possible - rock climbing, abseiling, canoeing in the Lake District, even climbing mountains in the Albanian Alps. Each adventure has strengthened both my body and my belief that life can be good again. Professionally, it’s helped me too. Working in children’s mental health for the NHS, I now focus part of my role on trauma recovery. I’ve trained in EMDR - a therapy that helped me after the crash - and now deliver it to others. That’s been a real full-circle moment.

Most importantly, my son has seen the change. The little boy who once watched his mum struggle now sees her climbing mountains, sometimes literally. We even climb together as a family now - and he’s convinced it’s my job!

I’m endlessly grateful for this community and everything it’s brought into my life. The last few years have taken me from a place of fear and loss to one of hope, connection and purpose. As Pitbull says - M2M took my life from negative to positive. #micdrop