For years, friends have said that I should write my story, but it's only now that I've realised I have a story to tell.
For decades, I’ve carried parts of my story quietly. Some I have shared with a handful of trusted friends. Some have stayed locked away, even from me. Others I thought I had left behind, only for them to resurface at unexpected moments.
My life has been one of contrasts. Moments of belonging and moments of exile. Times when I have been seen, and times when I have been invisible. Joy alongside loss. Love alongside rejection.
I grew up in a time and in a world where certain truths about yourself were better left unsaid. Where faith, identity, and expectations could sometimes feel like cages. Where the longing to be accepted could push you to try to be someone you were not.
In writing this book, I’m not trying to settle scores or wallow in the past. I’m trying to understand it. To capture it honestly. To tell the truth about what it was like to grow up in my skin, in my time, in the places and communities that shaped me.
I’m also writing for anyone who has felt on the edges of things. For those who have had to start over more than once. For people who know the courage it takes to keep showing up when life has knocked you sideways.
Some days, the writing flows easily. Other days, it’s like walking barefoot over hot coals. But even on the hard days, there’s a gentle freedom in putting the words down. I no longer feel gagged.
And the book is all my own words. It is being written by me, not by AI.
I don’t know yet how the book will land when it’s finished. But one thing I am now sure of is it's a story that needs to be told. And maybe, in sharing it, I’ll find that it was never just mine in the first place.
