Once upon a time, there was a tiny baby, born to unusual circumstances. She grew into a little girl who thought that Life was Good. 


Then Life turned on her and showed her its vicious side. It didn’t mean to, but was irrevocably altered by the experiences of those who went before the girl, and had no choice, no chance, but to take her and break her and try to destroy her. She escaped into books and into her own mind.

But the girl had a secret, a heavenly Father, who in her darkest hours would not let her embark upon the road to self-destruction, and she hated Him for it, but gradually, the struggles of life were challenged, vanquished and abated and she discovered a talent for writing. Unsure at first, and uncertain, but buoyed by a new best friend (who would prove to be her Soulie) she practiced and honed and gradually began to emerge from her shell.

She grew up and worked hard and somewhere, the writing got lost once things were back to ‘normal’ (whatever that was) and she wished and prayed for a prince to come and make her life complete. She thought deeply about things and she grew into her role as Good Friend, Good Daughter, Good Niece and Good Sister.

But what she wanted above all else was to inhabit those elusive roles – Good Wife, and later, Good Mother.

A man she met seemed to be her only hope, and certainly the only person interested, so after a suitable time they were married. Knots were tied and their love was celebrated, yet even as they made their vows “For better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health” they little knew how much testing Life had in store for them.

The man, Husby, had already been ill, but she had been determined not to abandon him just because his body saw fit to betray him. But his physical and mental health deteriorated into bare shadows of what they had once been, and he was no longer able to work, and was deeply saddened and troubled. An eventual diagnosis showed that his body had attacked itself further than they could ever have thought possible, bringing him to the edge of his physical and mental health, and frequently threatening to tip him over the edge. 

Husby Anxiety2The treatment he needed would render him infertile.

So the unhappy couple, now poor and definitely for worse, gathered up their strength and decided to try for a baby before the treatment commenced. In November 2012 they lost their first child after only a month post-conception. The day before Mothers Day in March 2013, they lost their second, after little more than a month post-conception. The woman was heartbroken. 

Then one fateful day, after tests and tests, they discovered that Husby’s body had taken a pre-emptive strike. It had not waited for the medicine. It had not played ball. Life had grown dark and menacing, and Husby discovered that he had been rendered infertile by his own immune system.Both the woman and her Husby were devastated but agreed that they were FOR one another, and would continue the marriage and try to find a way forwards – unfortunately life descended into a living hell of rejection, undermining, and mutual animosity.

Alas, with retrospect and by his own admission, their second loss was the point at which he gave up on them, and when eventually, after two years of trying to infuse life into a dead relationship, the woman realised that if she didn’t end the marriage, one or both of them may end up dead by their own hand, it seemed as though life had broken her again, and she wondered what would become of her.

But throughout those two years of hell, she had enjoyed the love and support of friends both online and off, who helped her to understand that she could use her hurts to help – the taboos she faced, the unique position she was in, the struggles she’d encountered – could all be used for good and to connect with others who faced similar issues, and to give something back.

So she (metaphorically speaking) put on her finest armour, picked up her pen and began to write. She wrote to fight ignorance and engender compassion. She wrote to break taboo and engage the unknowing. She wrote to share her story and lend comfort to those who walked her path.

Be You BeReal

Even as her marriage broke down, she was fortunate, for her Soulie needed somewhere to go, and as she picked up the shattered remains of her life and tried to move forward, she discovered that living with someone who appreciated her company, had a long, shared history of mutual love and affection, and who cared deeply and unselfishly about her, was a wonderful, wonderful thing, and she began to slowly turn back into the girl she almost recognised; the person who had taken those tentative steps from her shell all those years ago.

These days she’s mostly a mess and a mixture, living as happily as possible, writing poetry, and whatever else takes her fancy. She is long-distance-looked-after and encouraged by her utterly marvellous BlogWife, and her darling 1000Mile Heart. She’s gradually beginning to think about the rest of life: she and her Soulie would like to one day open a hostel for trans people in a city by the sea, and live out their days seeking love in small doses, with his beautiful children, and her Niece and Neff as her part-time family, for she no longer thinks that the role of ‘mother’ is one which will be hers.

For now she is content to flirt, to hold impossible crushes, to wish she could fix the world with writing, and to hope that she and her Precious will retire as little old book ladies together, so that neither ever has to end up alone.

She tries to focus on the Good, and take everyone with her in realising that (in a way) experience is what we make it; that life can be lived in Silver Linings, that Love Wins, that people are stronger together, and are likely infinitely better if they can muster the courage to #BeReal and show compassion to one another.

She is the Considerer; a bit of a princess, a committed glitterbomber, and a total goofball. Her soul, distilled in pixels and sent to you through the magic of the Blogosphere, is yours to read. Enjoy.


Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. – Romans 5: 3-5



177 thoughts on “About

  1. Lizzie, my accomplished and inspirational friend. You…you slay me! Ive read this many months ago and even then I had to acknowledge in you I had discovered one of those secret passages to Truth all writers seek. If I could, would bequeath my eyes for a brief spell so that you might see yourself as I do: such radiance of personality and ethos. My ears so that you might hear the angels who whisper enlightenment in my ears as they read your words aloud in my mind. My mouth, that you might understand in my wry smile how deeply and to the core of my being your writing soothes my heart. My heart so that you might experience the exaltation and rapid beating of kinship I feel for you, my colleague and friend.

    ’nuff said. Except I love you.

    Liked by 1 person

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  7. I found you through Ivy’s blog–wow, you have a phenomenal story. If not for our wonderful, faithful, loving Heavenly Father, I wouldn’t be here today–He’s the friend who will never let us down. May He bless you most abundantly.

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    • No. That’s one of my big fears – as an extrovert I really really struggle with being alone, and as just me, I know that I end up with horrible abandonment/rejection issues (which is why I’m often so wiggy in friendships, and why it takes me so long to feel safe). Thanks for thinking it will work out ok 🙂


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