The Hardest Creative Decision I've Ever Made

If you follow Edenfall on social media, you may have seen our recent announcement: after sixteen years together, we’ve decided to bring the band to a close.

This was not a sudden decision, nor was it made lightly. It’s something I quietly sat with for a long time - an ache in the background that I tried to ignore. Over the past year or two, those quiet thoughts became conversations, and eventually, together, we made the decision to lay Edenfall to rest.

It’s difficult to put into words just how much this band has meant to me.

Edenfall began in 2009 as a shared dream between myself and my partner, Rob. At the time, I was completely immersed in the world of gothic metal and doom - bands like My Dying Bride and Paradise Lost were everything to me. I was also devouring gothic literature, obsessed with all things dark, poetic, and melancholic. Rob and I wanted to create something that gave form to those feelings - a soundscape where sorrow and beauty could coexist.

Photo taken by Black Orchard Photography, 2010.

It wasn’t until 2013 that the project truly took shape. We found the right line-up, started gigging, and built a body of work that I’m still incredibly proud of. As vocalist and lyricist, I poured myself into the music and shared songwriting duties with Rob. We had the joy of supporting some of the artists who first inspired us - Leaves’ Eyes, Mortiis - and one of our proudest moments was working with Aaron Stainthorpe of My Dying Bride on our final album. We built haunting imagery with friends, filmed music videos in wild places, and created something that genuinely connected with people. The friendships we made, and the kind words from listeners all over the world, are things I’ll carry with me forever.

And yet - quietly, over time - something inside me began to shift.

I started to feel like I’d explored everything I could in this genre, like I was returning to the same emotional well and finding it less full each time. Writing lyrics began to feel harder, less natural. The connection that had once been instinctive and immediate started to fade. And for me, making music has always been about truth - if it doesn’t come from something real and raw, I can’t fake it. I knew that the moment I stopped feeling fully connected to the work, I had to step back.

Photo taken by Beccy Dancer, 2023.

There were practical challenges too, and over time they became harder to ignore. For many years, I managed the band’s online presence, booked gigs, organised releases, promoted everything, answered messages - the list goes on. I did all of this while holding down a full-time job and beginning to build my own creative business. I felt like I was always “on”, never really resting, always anticipating the next thing that needed doing. That constant hustle slowly chipped away at me.

And with all of that came the creeping weight of burnout - a weight I now understand more clearly through the lens of ADHD. I’ve always felt things deeply, thought in spirals, and pushed myself to keep up with everything all at once. But masking exhaustion and pushing through became unsustainable. I was overstimulated, overwhelmed, and running on empty. In the past few months, I’ve had to be honest with myself about the toll it was taking - not just on my creativity, but on my health. I’ve learned that I need to move more gently through life, to make space for stillness. Letting go of the band was a necessary part of that process.

Photo taken by Georgia Brittain, 2022.

At the same time, I began to feel increasingly disconnected from the UK metal scene. While there are still many kind and generous people in it, some of the warmth I used to feel had started to disappear. Gigs that once felt like home began to feel more like competitions. There were moments egos clashed, when it felt less about connection and more about proving something. I found myself shrinking back, not wanting to navigate that energy anymore. A few difficult experiences lingered, and I started to dread things that once excited me. The joy of it - the pure love of music and shared experience - was being overshadowed. Music should be a place of refuge. It should nourish, not drain. When it starts feeling like a battle, it’s time to lay down the sword.

And somewhere in the background, the harp was calling me home.

I’ve always loved writing solo music - gentler, more introspective, and less bound by genre. Lately, I’ve felt myself being drawn back to that space. I’ve felt the quiet urge to create for no reason other than the joy of it. That’s where Eldermother comes in. It’s not a replacement for Edenfall - it’s a continuation of my creative path, one that allows me to follow intuition rather than deadlines. I don’t want to build another project around the hustle. I want to make things slowly, softly, and in ways that feel true. I want to rediscover the part of me that creates out of wonder, not obligation.

Photo taken by R.J Foster, 2015.

We all knew, deep down, that we were moving in different directions. Creatively, we were being pulled elsewhere, and we each needed the freedom to explore those paths. I’m incredibly grateful that we’ve remained friends, and I’ll always support whatever comes next for each of them.

And while I know in my heart this was the right choice, it doesn’t mean I’m not grieving.

Closing this chapter has felt a little like the end of a long-term relationship. You learn how to navigate the world with this other presence beside you - this shared language, this sense of identity - and suddenly you’re walking alone again. It feels strange not having a band right now. It’s a space I’m still adjusting to. I know the feeling will pass, and that something new will eventually bloom from it. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling the loss.

I also know how easy it is to assume there must have been drama behind the scenes. That something went wrong. That someone got pushed out. That we had some big falling out. But the truth is far less dramatic. There’s often this unspoken belief that if something’s working - if you’ve built something good, gained some traction, seen some success - then you should keep going. But not everything ends because it’s broken. Sometimes it ends because it’s simply run its course. Because we’ve changed. Because we’ve outgrown what we built, even if we still love it. And there’s nothing shameful in that.

Behind the scenes during the video shoot for 'Oaken', 2022.

To everyone who ever listened, came to a gig, bought a CD, shared our music, or sent us a kind word - thank you. Your support meant the world to us, and to me personally. Knowing that our music touched hearts is something I’ll never forget.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I’m not sure exactly where it leads next, but for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to follow it with curiosity instead of pressure. And that feels like a good place to begin!

Links ↓
Edenfall on Bandcamp
Edenfall on Spotify
Edenfall on YouTube