Finding My Voice Again: The Story Behind The Author

I’ve been putting pen to paper since I could form ideas and let my imagination run riot, though back then they mostly featured unicorns and questionable plot twists.

And I always ended up with the beau of the moment. A lad I (in most cases) went to school with who I felt was completely out of my league or didn’t see “the real me” beneath the uniform. I think we can agree 90’s and 00’s coming of age rom-coms such as A Cinderella Story, What A Girl Wants, She’s All That, and Never Been Kissed have a lot to answer for.

I grew up believing life would unfold like a 00’s rom-com — all makeovers and grand gestures. Spoiler: it didn’t.

The heroine (me), never really feeling like she quite fits the mould embarks on a daring quest to transform her life and finally have her happily ever after.

But the world changed, and so did my ideals

When I left school in 2008 — don’t. I know. I’m old. – everything felt so achievable. Go to college, then uni. Get a teaching job and buy a house on a 0% deposit. The financial crash of my generation didn’t just destroy the prospects for me and my fellow millennials. It obliterated them.

Combine that with being 18, stumbling my way through a new friendship group, and then facing the sudden devastating loss of one of those friends and I was set completely adrift.

In case you’re curious I didn’t finish my A levels.

I didn’t go to university at Anglia Ruskin and get my English Lit degree.

I didn’t become a teacher.

Instead I spent several years adrift, switching between mind-numbingly boring and bureaucratic corporate jobs.

My creativity was snuffed out, and when I became a mum, it was boxed away like a nostalgic photo album I might stumble across every few years. Flick through the photos, and then put it back in its sealed container.

How many times can you kick a girl when she’s already down?

Now I know everybody endures their fair share of pain and torment while just trying to survive. But my 20’s-30’s felt entirely too unfair.

I bounced from toxic relationship to toxic relationship, never feeling worthy or deserving of love. I dabbled with an abusive partner who very quickly got the boot, and ended up a single parent raising a child while I felt like I needed an adultier adult on call 24/7.

I did eventually find the love of my life – a tale for another time, if he lets me share exactly how I woo’d him – and started building a life as a Mum.

But the universe can be a cruel mistress, and despite making it through Covid in 2020 with my entire family intact, I lost two prominent close family members within the space of 3 months at the start of 2021.

For the first time in my life, I was actually “alone”. Without family (excluding my kids and husband… but you know what I mean).

And I found my way back to books as a way to cope, not only with the grief, but the ability I had unlocked to actually breathe and be myself.

A lot can happen in 4 years and the years that followed were a blur of rebuilding, reckoning, and finally understanding myself.

I learned I’m one of the thousands of late diagnosed millennial women discovering they’re ADHD or Autistic. Never to be outdone, naturally I’m both.

I flew high in a job I loved and thought I’d stay in forever, then crashed out and left late in 2023 due to personal reasons.

I found my way back to joy through Disney, and started helping other families plan trips to the magic bubble that is Disneyland Paris.

And in amongst the ashes, I found my voice

Words found me again. Writing technical pieces both for my previous job and for my site Pixie Dust Wanderlust opened up my mind.

Reading the incredible works of so many female writers – including, but not limited to, Rebecca Yarros, Lucy Score, Elle Kennedy, Sarah J Maas and Emily Henry – opened my heart.

And it was there in the ashes, I found the embers of my creativity were still glowing. I cradled them for two years, not encouraging them to light but just ensuring they stayed alive. And then I started teasing them to life.

As my creative embers started to reignite, I began exploring fantasy worlds, church halls filled with grief, gardens of my childhood filled with fairy magic, and the heat of new love. Words started to pour out of me. And I couldn’t stop them.

So I stopped fighting them. I began feeding them instead. Soon the embers were a roaring fire I’d warm myself by for comfort.

With my feline assistant regularly overseeing my work while perched on my desk, a group of girlfriends who truly feel like home, and the support of the man I love I decided….

fuck it. I’m going to tell my story. All my stories.

Because our voices deserve to be heard. So welcome to my writing desk.

The place where quiet joy meets messy truth, and every story has something to say.