I can’t even open my own front door.

My experience of being poor is nothing near as severe as this, but I have panic attacks every time a new bill arrives. I have bought treats for my niece, and partner but got nothing for myself because I can’t justify having a bar of chocolate, or a bag of chips.

I live on a set income, a very small set income. Anything good I have, I have thanks to the generosity of my friends and family…yeah this piece speaks very loudly to me.


This is an article that I wrote for the Guardian in December that I didn’t post on my blog, because I hadn’t done anything ‘political’ on here for so long that I didn’t want to scare people away. But I am who I am, and this is a very big part of who I am, so if you’re here for just the cheap recipes, then I make no apology for talking a little about why I started writing them in the first place.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Anxiety, trauma, mental health, PTSD, debt, poverty.

My head in my hands, choking out words, tears rushing down hot, humiliated cheeks, I raised my head to look at the array of varying expressions looking back from the other side of the room; a Labour MP, two Conservative peers, and a Conservative MP looked back, a mixture of horror and sympathy as I publicly crashed and…

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