It’s a tricky thing, writing about faith as a feminist. There is a large school of thought out there, both in the feminist and Christian worlds, that considers the two things to be mutually exclusive. I wrestled with the decision to submit this piece to a feminist publication, notwithstanding their support for my writing over the last couple of years.

The temptation to self-publish, and not risk rejection was great.

But, I asked myself, isn’t being fearless the whole point?

Reflections on my great escape.

I suffered gradually worsening domestic abuse for more than two decades. I escaped in May 2015, but I spent years…

For some time I’ve been intrigued by a sector of the men’s rights movement that focuses on, I would say obsesses over, domestic violence. They have created a movement based on their alleged desire to ensure that all victims are heard, supported and protected.

It sounds genuine enough, until you dig in that is. It doesn’t take long to realize that their motivations have nothing to with helping any victims, even male victims. Instead they focus on domestic violence, not from a male victim’s perspective, but from what they consider to be an avalanche of false allegations of abuse directed…

One of my favorite television commercials, is an ad encouraging Australians to visit Melbourne. A woman leaves her hotel with a ball of yarn bigger than she is, gradually unrolling it as she navigates the wonders of Australia’s most (in my humble opinion) culturally rich city.

Mirroring life, her red yarn crosses paths with blue, and later other colors. The slogan, ‘it’s easy to lose yourself in Melbourne’.

I can’t help but wonder about the person who came up with the concept for this production and if they truly appreciate the wonders and possibilities of a ball or hank of…

One of the ways abusive people hurt their victims is to invade their space. My first husband held me in the bondage that is domestic abuse for more than two decades. His intention was to eradicate my independence and make me completely subordinate to him. He did this by monitoring my movements, isolating me from family and completely controlling how I spent my time.

He also ensured that there was no space for me to be myself, to think or reflect. He was confronted by the privacy I had in my own mind, so he did his best to infiltrate…

And that’s how it came to pass, that on the second to last day of the job, the convict crew that tarred the plate factory roof in the Spring of 49 wound up sitting in a row at 10 o’clock in the morning drinking icy cold Bohemian style beer courtesy of the hardest screw that ever walked a turn at Shawshank State prison. …We sat and drank with the sun on our shoulders and felt like free men. … I think he did it just to feel normal again, if only for a little while.

Ellis Boyd “Red” Redding (played…

Recently I read an insightful piece written by the brilliant and incredibly talented Sarah J. Baker on misogyny terrorism. I was particularly interested in her thoughts on the groups that form on social media and dark corners of web that provide a place where angry and disenfranchised men find relevance and community.

Relevance and community that morphs into radicalization and action against what these men consider to be their enemy.

That enemy of course is the feminist movement.

Her story caused me to reflect on my own experience and the bizarre and rapid path to the Men’s Rights Movement that…

Ever felt like you were knowingly walking into quicksand? That sense that perhaps you should let a stranger’s comment go through to the keeper.

Wondered whether you should just let it go?

That’s me, sitting here at my computer. I’m at a crossroad, do I respond, or let it be?

I guess if I publish this, you’ll know which way I went.

The peril of writing about male violence.

I have been writing on Medium for almost two years. More than half of my stories relate to my experience of living in the prison that is long-term domestic abuse. A confusing and gradually soul destroying prison that…

At the time of writing I have been a follower of Jesus for 2311 days plus a few hours. The last six plus years have been wonderful and devastating, freeing yet isolating, the most challenging but also the most rewarding years of my life.

But lets back up a bit.

In late 2014, at 42 years of age, I was in deep despair. At that point I had been with my then husband for 23 years, married for 18. After four miscarriages we had one child, a strikingly handsome, loving and severely intellectually disabled son. …