I feel like I owe you an explanation.

If you’re anything like me (nosy af, wants all the gossip and the lore) then you’ll be a little more curious than what the front page of this site can offer, so I thought I’d do you the honour of telling you a little bit more. (Just a little).

Click here to play the soundtrack for this post whilst reading (if you’re dramatic and theatrical like me)

I’ve been a writer since the day I could write, which is the most cringey and annoying thing I’ve ever said. I began blogging on social media, back when things felt a bit more fun there, a bit less commercial, a bit less full of dumbasses. Things took off, although I never really knew if it was because of my writing or if it was because of the pictures attached to them, which were, to say the least…flaunty.

I made a bit of money there, I wrote a few books, I created courses and a mini-empire and an app and blah blah blah [insert influencer jargon]. But as the years went on, I felt less able to speak my truth. Less able to write authentically. Less authentic in general when I was constantly taking on brand deals and selling dog food in my stories. Something had to give.

And so, in a period of about 6 months, I began to pull all my posts. Until eventually, there were only about 12 left. And then I pulled the whole thing. All my social media, everywhere. For someone whose identity revolved around my online community, stripping the lot was extremely liberating. (LOOK MUM I’M STILL WORTHY WITHOUT A FAN CLUB).

I don’t have real friends in real life outside of my husband. I struggle so badly with trust that I either choose terrible friends who use me for five years until I can’t take it anymore, or I miss opportunities for friendships because I refuse to go deeper. And whilst I know that this is a dumb and lame thing to say, my online community felt like real friendships. It kind of filled that void for me.

Anyway, I’ve been doing just fine without social media, but my writing was still pouring itself into every crevice of my life, desperately looking for a place to call home. My notes app, the backs of receipts in the kitchen, an anonymous substack blog. But nothing quite fit the bill. (Substack is great, but it is social media still, and it doesn’t have any SEO, so is shit for anonymous creators).

And so we’ve ended up here. And writing anonymously feels like I’m dancing around naked, it’s fabulous. And what’s more, I can tell the truth about my trauma in a way I could only ever infer to on social media, (in case one of my abusers was watching, and yep, no one went to jail).

It’s felt like I’ve spent my whole life keeping secrets to protect other people’s reputations. And the price for that has been repressing my pain, my anger, my shame, my guilt, my grief. As a result, my body took the pain on itself, and by my early twenties I could no longer walk as my six chronic health conditions had a group convention and said ‘enough’. (The Body Keeps The Score y’all).

It’s been a fucking wild ride and it keeps on coming and it keeps on coming (and it don’t stop coming and I’ll quit with the Shrek reference while I’m ahead), but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from it all:

Life doesn’t get easier. You get stronger.

(And sometimes there’s just way too much happening at once and you don’t feel strong at all *ahem a car crashed into my house ahem* but we try).

Thanks for being here. I hope something resonates, and that you, too, feel less alone.