
Raw. Reflective. With a Dash of Gallows Humor…
Some mornings I wake up and think: ‘How in the name of God am I still standing?’ I didn’t ask to be in a family feud. I didn’t ask to be gaslighted, stonewalled, lied to, or dragged through years of probate purgatory. And yet – here I am. Breathing. Kicking. Still writing. Still growing spuds and telling the truth.
I’m not a solicitor. I’m not rich. I don’t have a whole gang of supporters or a fancy name to throw around. I’m just a person who thought decency and fairness were values everyone shared. (Spoiler alert: they don’t.)
There have been days when I felt like giving up. Nights when my brain played every bitter scene on repeat. Whole weeks where I thought, ‘What’s the point?’ But then someone would remind me – ‘If you don’t stand up, they win.’
I’m not standing up because I love the fight. I’m standing up because someone bloody well has to. And here’s the thing: if you’ve been through this kind of nonsense – inheritance drama, family betrayals, narcissistic runarounds – you know. You know the feeling of shouting into the void, of seeing emails go unanswered, of watching people pretend they’re ‘above’ it all while quietly scheming behind the scenes.
So how do I get through it? Sheer bloody-mindedness. A few good friends. Gallows humour. Turf fires. Writing. And the deep belief that truth matters -even when it’s inconvenient.
Walking away might be easier. But staying true feels better. Drama? Gaslighting? I’ve had the full buffet. And yet here I am – boots on, kettle on, and still calling it like I see it.

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