‘I am a work in progress, dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding,
offering me intricate patterns of questions, rhythms that never come clean and strengths that you still haven’t seen’ – ani difranco

I am a complex individual born into and shaped by intersecting systems of power and oppression – like all of us. As someone who writes and reads and finds healing and connection and truth in voices that are like mine and unlike mine, I feel that describing my identity is at the same time a sort of disclaimer, a trigger warning, an acknowledgement of both privileges and experiences of oppression.

So this is me:
I am a writer of creative non-fiction. I have lived most of my life passing as a het/bi cis-woman without ever identifying that way. I am queer. Gender is an exploration. I am also a survivor of male partner violence of various kinds. I’m in my 30s. I am white. I am a local of a central European city, and have a passport that comes with many privileges. I come from a family history that among many other things (and in no particular order) includes organising, farming, clergy, teaching, music, toxic relationships and political engagement. I have university degrees. I am a formerly burnt out activist. I am in the process of learning about my own neuro-divergence; I am non-disabled. English is not my native language but a close second, my thinking dreaming writing language. I am used to she/her pronouns; my preferred pronouns are they/theirs. The pronouns I want to use in my native language have not been invented yet.
I also love food, connect deeply to land and that complex and abundance-rich thing we call nature, have a deep capacity for joy, and a lot of my time and energy goes into issues around transformative justice.

I write to connect the dots between gender-based violence, the patriarchy, capitalism, white supremacy, extractivism, global justice issues, trauma and healing, activism/organising, accountability and other stuff. I write to make sense of things; to heal.
This blog, to me, is one of many ways I give space to my voice, my story, my self, in a world that does not have much space for queer women*, for atypicals, for survivors – for so many of us.
I write to give myself space, and I write because I know that giving myself space opens space for others to do the same.
I write because other people’s writing, other people sharing their stories, is part of why I survived.
I write because I know my voice matters.

In my writing, including the above, I strive to use terms that reflect the realities of different identities. I recognise that words and discourses evolve over time and differ in different contexts and I may not always be aware of the best ways to work with this. I’m open to feedback on this.