A selection of some of my work that has appeared in publications such as the Irish Examiner, the Irish Independent, the Irish Times’ Gloss Magazine and Image. Huzzah!
My tribute to Nora is my tribute to the women who have made me all I am: to the sisters – biological and otherwise – who are the lighthouses that keep me swimming (sometimes floundering) towards who I would like to be.
‘Yet’ – this seemingly insignificant, unobtrusive wisp of a word – might just be what you need to get back on that treadmill, apply for that promotion, sign up to that language course or attempt to make a vegan cake that’s not a rock of congealed porridge for the five millionth time.
Whoever said that holidays are a time to relax, unwind, and switch off from our usual merry-go-round of preoccupations, frustrations, and deadlines is a liar. Well, perhaps liar is too strong a term, but an exception and friend of hypocrisy, at the very least.
Is there anything more fortifying, comforting, heart-warmingly wonderful than walking into a coffee shop (generally sweating and frazzled in early-morning frenzy) and being greeted by a barista who knows your coffee order? For me, it’s akin to a form of homecoming.
Indulgence is too frequently equated with negativity and deprivation with achievement. The result is an internalised narrative in which a croissant is “bad”, and its consumption is akin to the one-night-stand you swore wouldn’t happen again: a brief moment of masochistic pleasure followed by shame, regret, self-loathing, and invariably, indigestion.
In a world of online shopping and single-use swaddling that has resulted in a disconnect between what we want and what we buy, massaging a bell pepper can offer our exhausted, post-work selves a happiness boost and a mindful reconnection to both nature and our bodies.
I cannot remember a time I did not want to be a princess or a childhood game that didn’t involve twirling in my garden singing, ‘someday my prince will come’. Watching these princesses as they swooned, sighed, sang angelically, I believed I was learning everything a perfect woman should be. Now, I realise I was learning female submission, rather than empowerment. I was learning to narrow my identity, my self-belief and my opportunities to fit a domestic ideal.
Derry Girls returns on a high, with hope, hilarity, and some lovely wee Protestant boys. Prepare for a barrage of Sister Michael’s favourite expletives and eye rolls so dramatic you’ll be left wondering if someone should call an ambulance.