Avoid having regrets when the hammer falls.

I’ve made plenty of questionable decisions in my life...

  • I drank 10 Irish car bombs in a backpacker’s hostel in Killarney.
  • I slept on a park bench in Berlin in the middle of winter.
  • I wore a silk skirt in the middle of summer and lived to tell the tale of sweaty butt cheeks on vinyl bus seats.
  • I dated an alcoholic.
  • I gave birth without drug relief.
  • I thought, for a very long time, that ugg boots were acceptable out-of-the-house footwear (OK, I still do…).
  • I broke a guy’s nose in a pub. (He deserved it).

But none of…


Her next book should be, ‘Dare to Date’

If you don’t know of her, well, it’s nice to see you out from under your rock.

Brené Brown is a research professor at the University of Houston. She’s spent the past two decades studying courage, vulnerability, shame, and empathy. Much of her work is based on her finding that the path to courage is through vulnerability, and that courage is the cornerstone to great leadership.

I think courage is also the cornerstone of dating.

Putting yourself out there, time and time again. Telling your story. Being judged by what you say, what you wear and how much you drink…

I’ll just have the one. I’m trying to cut back.

I’ve been a Brené fangirl since her Ted Talk…


Find out what makes you tick and why…

I’ve been through a bit of a tough time lately. Faced with big decisions and struggling with making the ‘right’ choices. I’ve always been a bit of a planner — I like to know what’s expected of me and I like to know what to expect. Except, of course, nothing in life is ever guaranteed (except death, taxes and an underwhelming finale to your favourite TV show. I’m looking at you Game of Thrones…).

I’ve written before about my family unit — my son spends some of the week with me and some with his dad, step mum and baby…


Spoiler alert: there is none. Moving house sucks. But that wouldn’t make much of a blog, now would it?

So instead I choose to share with you the hidden joys and new beginnings to be found in packing all of your worldly belongings into boxes and bags, paying strangers to transport them to a new building similar to the one you already had, and then unpack those same belongings in a not dissimilar arrangement than before — also known colloquially as ‘moving house’.

I’ve lived in my current home for four years. It is a beautiful house, with beautiful neighbours and I have been settled there with my son. It has served its purpose as my safe space while going through the trials and tribulations of divorce and solo parenting. It has been my cave in the forest which I retreated to lick my wounds (the suburb is even called Frenchs Forest). But that time, as scary as the prospect feels, is over. …


My dog Indi, quite obviously riddled with anxiety.

Missing your ‘pack’ can make for a lonely life. In this modern world, where we’re living further from family, and feelings of isolation are on the up, how do we stay connected and happy?

My dog is on medication for anxiety. Like Jerry Maguire, she cannot be alone. If left alone she will bark, pace and scratch at the door of the house for an hour or more, before finally giving into fatigue and assuming her fate to wait for my return. (Please read on before you call the RSPCA on me…) Her anxiety is a condition that has sadly worsened and escalated over the years — since the birth of my son, a divorce and a number of house moves scattered in there. …


And I’m working on being OK with that.

Just before my son turned one, my (ex)husband and I separated — under less than ideal circumstances. (I’m not sure the circumstances are ever ideal). It wasn’t something I wanted, but it’s something I’ve had to learn to deal with, live with, and ultimately make peace with (still a work in progress some days). But in the last few months a new challenge has reared its head. After being separated for four years, he and his partner have recently welcomed a new baby into the world.

I am wholeheartedly thrilled that my son finally has a sibling. But it is…


There are certain things that just tend to become the ‘man’s job’ when you’re in a heterosexual marriage. So what happens when, as a woman, you separate and have to navigate everything from a HDMI to a jumper cable, all on your ‘Pat Malone’?

Source: ‘Zoolander’, image by Ladyclever, accessed 24 April 2019.

Warning: generalisations ahead…

Taking out the garbage, plugging in and programming any device that’s vaguely technological (or just involving a cord of some description); mowing the lawn; all things involving a motor vehicle or other mode of transport. I don’t think I’m being overly generalised when I say these are the traditional ‘jobs of the man of the house’ in a lot of homes around the country and the globe. (Though there are no doubt many exceptions, myself included these days).

When I found myself separated at the beginning of 2015, there weren’t only emotional elements to deal with, but…


To quote the great philosopher Sir Mix-a-Lot, “I ain’t down with that!”

I’m generally someone who avoids awkward conversations. For example, the day my son asked me “How do babies get in your tummy and how do they get out?” — I said in response, “Bellybutton” and promptly left the room.

I tend to take a wide berth from personal interactions that are uncomfortable or potentially confrontational — I’m just not one of those people who gets off on getting up in someone else’s grill. …


Is it just me, or has being ‘nice’ become a lost art?

Source: Nice biscuits, by unknown, Den of Geek, accessed 2 April 2019.

My Nan, Muriel, was the nicest human I have ever known. Don’t get me wrong, she could swear like a trooper and give you a good kick up the butt if you were misbehaving; but her heart was bigger than Phar Lap’s. She was born in the 1930s in Tasmania, in the middle of winter. One of 12 children living in a two bedroom house with a dirt floor and an open fire for cooking. Alongside her siblings, they bathed in the local river; summer and winter. Their bedding was made from stitched together recycled potato sacks.

They had nothing…


To loosely quote Stevie Nicks in the Fleetwood Mac classic ‘Landslide’, I had built my life around someone. And when that someone was gone, my world as I knew it, spun off its axis...

When my marriage fell apart four years ago I actually thought I might die. I’m not being overly dramatic here — I absolutely believed that without my husband, best friend and the father of my child by my side I simply couldn’t ‘do life’ anymore. I didn’t sign up to be a single parent. This wasn’t in the fine print when we decided to walk down the aisle (well I walked, he met me there; as if that doesn’t smack of symbolism…). This cannot be my life! *Queue three year tantrum*.

The aftermath of infidelity leaves a bitter taste in…

Loz Writes

Chronic over-sharer. Graphic language lover. Aspiring coffee addict. Highly functioning single person. Mum. Animal enthusiast. Don’t like much music post 1989.

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