About Me

2017 – Somewhere, deep inside my head, I am screaming. Frustrated and furious as I assert my right to work without fear of attack. In reality I am beyond numb. Sat stoically in an armchair while his insidious, insulting diatribe falls around me like shards of glass in the otherwise silent house. Every word carries the weight of months of abuse. Being no physical match for him, I remain outwardly calm in the hope he becomes bored of torturing me.

As a mental health worker this was my job for fifteen years; getting up at silly-o-clock in the morning and returning fourteen hours later. The shifts were often tough and the wages terrible, but I stuck it out because I loved my clients and having the chance to make a difference in their lives. When the above incident led to me quitting the career that had shaped my working life, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do next. For three months, I sat on the sofa trying to convince myself that I had not “failed”.

Dangling on the precipice of daytime television, I was saved by a Facebook notification telling me that a friend had started a music blog and was looking for writers. I’ve always written for pleasure and my goal had been to qualify as a journalist but I hadn’t been able to afford the qualification. Dashing off a message I figured, if nothing else, it would be a good way to feel useful again.

Two months later, I was a regular fixture for both my friend and a local arts and culture magazine.

Looking into proper freelancing, I quickly realised that qualifications were less important than determination and started pitching to editors. My first attempts were awful and undoubtedly filed in the “WTF” folder. Luckily social media provided the ultimate resource for following and listening to writers with actual talent.

I got my first paid gigs writing opinion pieces about support work and mental health. The pay wasn’t much, but it had potential to be way more than I’d made as a support worker and (more importantly) a national newspaper thought I was good enough to publish.

From there, I’ve pushed myself out of every possible comfort zone (helped by everyone I’ve worked with), convinced myself to keep going when it feels pointless and am starting to feel like I have the right to call myself a journalist.

Thank you for joining me on this insane journey.

Kat