PHOTO: Denise Mathew gracefully sharing wisdom with her community, reflecting her commitment to education and self-discovery through creativity.
Inspiring Stories And Spiritual Insights
Denise Mathew discusses her literary journey, blending genres, and weaving spirituality into her works while exploring profound truths through Human Design and storytelling. Insightful and heartfelt, this interview inspires.
Denise Mathew is a writer whose words seem to flow from the deepest wells of humanity, touching both the fragility and resilience of life. Her works brim with an intuitive grace that invites us to pause, reflect, and recognise the delicate interplay between external reality and inner truth. Grounded in a profound understanding of Human Design, astrology, and an enduring search for meaning, Denise’s creative offerings carve pathways to self-discovery, connection, and hope.
From her novel Tattoos, which gently lifts the veil on the raw realities of illness and survival, to The Mandala of Life, her ambitious exploration of Human Design’s 384 lines, Denise brings sincerity and courage to her writing. Her narratives—whether contemporary or metaphysical—ask challenging questions, reminding us of the enduring power of vulnerability, transformation, and the stories that shape us all.
Denise Mathew is, above all, a creator driven by purpose. She bridges personal growth and storytelling to lead readers into spaces of wonder and insight. Her art stretches across genres and forms but remains anchored to the universal thread of emotional truth. In every word, there is resonance, and in every story, a quiet invitation to reconnect—with ourselves, with others, and with the world around us.
In The Mandala of Life you explore 384 lines of Human Design—how did your background in astrology shape the structure and insights of this book drawn from your spiritual practice?
My background in astrology and Human Design was instrumental in shaping The Mandala of Life. I approached the 384 lines through both their energetic imprint and their timing-based influence, which is deeply connected to planetary cycles. Astrology gave me a natural language for archetypal forces, and Human Design added the structure and mechanical grounding I was searching for. This book was born from years of observation—of clients, world events, and the subtle rhythm of planetary transits. It became clear that each line carried its own story, and astrology and the Rave I ‘Ching, one of the original Human Design books, helped me translate those stories in a way that could reach the reader both intellectually and intuitively.
Your blog posts on dynamic Human Design, such as Mercury in Gate 56, are very timely—how do these astrological energies influence your writing process or thematic choices in your work?
When a transit activates a particular gate or line, and activates a part of by energetic blueprint I along with many others can experience an internal shift—sometimes mental, sometimes emotional, sometimes verbally—that sparks new perspectives or ideas. These moments often lead me to write blog posts or essays that capture the mood of that transit, and that practice keeps me grounded in the now. Over time, I’ve noticed that these posts resonate most when I’m writing directly from the frequency I’m feeling into. It becomes a conversation between the sky and the page.
Tattoos remains your most popular novel—what inspired the central story of hope amid devastation, and how do you feel its impact has evolved since its 2013 release?
Tattoos asks the central question—can resilience and hope lead the way to healing and acceptance of life as it is? I think its popularity stems from the honesty of that question. In today’s world, where life is dynamic and everything can shift in a moment, the novel offers a quiet permission to speak openly about what happens behind the closed doors of treatment—the unfiltered reality of illness, struggle, and survival. For me, it was deeply reminiscent of my time as a paediatric nurse, witnessing firsthand both the suffering and the extraordinary inner resilience of children diagnosed with serious illnesses, including cancer. I saw not only the pain these young patients endured but also the profound emotional toll on their families—their fear, their hope, and the helplessness of being trapped in a reality they couldn’t escape. Those moments taught me that even in the darkest places, people still search for meaning, connection, and a way forward. That’s what Tattoos captures so beautifully.
The Holding Ransom series combines tragedy and romance—how did you approach the emotional journeys of your characters in Ransom and Dust and Ends, especially after dramatic events?
These characters were born into fire—metaphorically and emotionally. With Ransom, I wanted to explore what it means to be so consumed by responsibility—especially for his younger brother—that you lose sight of yourself, only to unexpectedly find something life never promised you: connection, purpose, or love. Once again, the story brings together two people from very different worlds, showing that life is often about learning from others and daring to see the world through someone else’s eyes. By the time we arrive at Dust and Ends, the characters have gained an emotional maturity shaped by pain. The story touches on themes we don’t often speak about openly—domestic abuse, loss, and the quiet resilience it takes to keep holding on to life. I’ve always aimed to give my characters the space to grow, to be flawed, to make mistakes—and still be worthy of happiness.
You write across genres—from contemporary to paranormal—what draws you to such diverse narratives, and how does versatility fuel your creative spirit?
I think I’m allergic to creative boxes. Every story arrives with its own atmosphere, and I try to honour that. Some ideas are grounded in contemporary themes, while others are dreamlike or metaphysical. The common thread is emotional truth. I’m always asking: What’s the heart of this story? Versatility keeps me creatively alive—it stretches my voice and allows me to explore the full spectrum of the human condition. Even in my nonfiction work, such as my book on Human Design, I’ve sought to bridge the gap between story and real life, demonstrating how self-empowerment and a belief in one’s own worth can lead to a more authentic and fulfilling life. Whether through fiction or personal growth, I’m always drawn to what helps people reconnect with themselves and their purpose.
On your website you offer free Human Design resources alongside your book—how do you balance being both an educator in Human Design and a novelist?
For me, they’re not separate paths—they’re part of the same spiral. Human Design helps people understand who they are; fiction explores how we live through what we’ve learned. Sharing Human Design grounds me. It keeps me connected to a system that’s both elegant and transformative, and I love offering insights that can lead to self-empowerment. Being a novelist frees me. It lets me tell stories that touch those same truths but through a very different doorway. I find balance by letting each part of me speak when it’s ready. Sometimes I’m in teacher mode; other times, I’m fully immersed in creative flow. The key is listening to the energy—letting it guide me, rather than forcing it.
In 5 Reasons to Live you address profound themes in a compact form—how do you ensure emotional depth and resonance in shorter works versus your longer novels?
That’s how the story came to me. For me, every story arrives with a beginning and an ending—the path between them unfolds through flow, not preplanning. I follow where the energy leads. With shorter works, every word counts. There’s less room for buildup, so I focus on emotional immediacy. 5 Reasons to Live was written like a quiet scream—raw, direct, and intentionally sparse. I rely on image and rhythm to carry much of the emotional weight, and I trust the reader to meet me halfway, bringing their own experiences into the spaces I leave open. In many ways, the characters arrive fully formed, and it’s my responsibility to tell the story they want me to tell.
Finally, what advice would you give aspiring authors hoping to blend spirituality, genre crossing narratives, and personal insights as you do?
Follow your resonance, not the market. Let your life be your curriculum, and write from the intersections—where joy meets loss, where love meets longing, where structure meets spirit. Don’t be afraid to evolve, to cross genres, and to follow what feels true, even if it’s not trendy. And trust your reader—they’re searching for something real, just like you.
