My Mother Was A Nun
Autobiographical Posts

My Mother Was A Nun

It’s true! My mother was once a nun. As a child, I gazed at the brittle black-and-white photo of her and a fellow novice in their stiff white habits – starched smiles and wimples – and wondered about her other life.

Sometimes, her other life came to visit… Continue reading

Ungrateful Bitch (Part 3)
Autobiographical Posts / Mental Health

Ungrateful Bitch (Part 3)

I walked into the woman’s house a mess of blonde curls, tears and streaked mascara. I was shaking from panic and bowed by the humiliation of a total stranger seeing me like this; so emotional and exposed. My father followed, already demanding her attention with his diatribe about me, “Can I use your phone to let the police know where we are?”…

“Can I use your phone to let the police know where we are?” Continue reading

Ungrateful Bitch (Part1)
Autobiographical Posts / Mental Health

Ungrateful Bitch (Part1)

My heart thuds and there’s a rushing noise in my ears, like a subway train. A single thought fills my head, ” I HAVE to get away.” My feet pound the asphalt and I risk a lightening glance over my shoulder at my pursuer. “Oh my God, he’s gaining on me!” Panic squeezes me in it’s icy, iron grip and my belief in my ability to outrun him vanishes. Continue reading

Desperation in the City of Dreaming Spires
Autobiographical Posts / Mental Health

Desperation in the City of Dreaming Spires

Society has strict ideas about what is acceptable to talk about, and what isn’t. When you chose to break this code of silence, you run the risk of being ridiculed, ostracised, even threatened. If your words make people uncomfortable, to protect themselves – they judge. Suddenly, you find yourself on the outside looking in. This is how the culture of shame keeps its victims mute.

But secrets eat away at you. They weigh you down and, like a cancer, spread to other areas of your life, contaminating, changing, so that eventually, you become a different person. The only way out is to break your silence, before the silence breaks you. Continue reading

A farm-girls reluctant farewell
Autobiographical Posts / Expat Life / Mental Health

A farm-girls reluctant farewell

Growing up on an isolated farm in rural Ireland, my childhood memories are largely happy ones. I spent most of my time playing outdoors. Comfortable in the realm of my imagination, safe in the brightness of the sunshine, things could have been idyllic but for the inexplicable holes and blanks in my child’s comprehension. Looking past the fresh air and freedom, all was not well in my world. Continue reading