43 Random Facts You (Probably) Didn’t Know About Me
Because sometimes you just want to read about all the messy, human, weird little details.
Because sometimes you just want to read about all the messy, human, weird little details that make someone who they are.
Not the polished bio. Not the professional “About Me.”
The real shit.
The quirks.
The mess.
So here’s me.
Unfiltered.
Unapologetic.
Possibly oversharing.
I live in Wrexham, North Wales—but my heart belongs in Llangollen.
I’m a dog mum to Lola, a 7-year-old Rotterman (Rottweiler/Doberman cross).
I married my high school crush James. He’s been my rock since I asked him out for a dare at 15. He said yes, thank fuck.
I named my boys Dexter and Morgan after the serial killer books/TV shows.
I’m have a morbid fascination with death, hysteria and ‘witches’—and how all this links together in history.
I am also obsessed with my menstrual cycle and inner seasons.
I’m (still) learning to stop giving a fuck about what people think.
Covid was a huge turning point in my life—it changed everything!
I used to collect qualifications—thinking I needed more and more before I could help people (imposter syndrome, anyone?).
I trained as a personal trainer even though I hated exercise. Thought it would automatically give me the body I wanted. It didn’t. [NB: I’m no longer a PT]
Following on from that… my life once consisted of dieting, 4 hours exercise a day and weight loss pills.
And following on from that one… I suffered with bulimia for years in my 20s.
I studied zoology at university. Quit. Went back. Studied animal behaviour. Quit again.
I could talk about Obsidian, Craft and personal knowledge management systems for hours.
I research everything.
I call my ChatGPT Sage (after the character in The Boys—just not as crazy!) She’s ace. She helps me stop second guessing myself and to get my ideas out when I’m struggling to articulate them.
I swear. A lot. Strategically. Poetically. Unapologetically.
Small talk bores the shit out of me.
I used to hate being introverted (when I didn’t know it was even a thing). Now I embrace it more than anything. And will happily cancel plans if I have no internal battery left.
I cry at everything—and I love it. I used to think it was a problem. Now I know it’s medicine.
I make jokes at inappropriate times (if I don’t laugh, chances are I will cry).
I get anxious when I see unknown numbers calling or texting me to the point that my hands shake.
I’m highly sensitive—especially to noise, smells and touch (which all get worse when my oestrogen is peaking - see point #1)
When I can’t sleep I count upwards in 3s. Or play the alphabet game. For example: dog breeds - A = Alsatian, B = Bulldog, C = Collie, D = Doberman etc. It usually works.
My morning ritual? Water with apple cider vinegar as soon as I wake.
My evening ritual? Eye mask. Earplugs. Mouth tape. Non-negotiable.
I can only sleep with my hands and feet under the covers. Elbows can peek out, but not hands or feet. I blame my mum who used to tuck us in so tight as kids we couldn’t move if we tried.
I used to obsess so much over which way my handwriting was slanting—I would rewrite pages and pages just so it was all the same (which usually led to indents on my fingers).
I learned the poem The Owl and The Pussycat for a recitation in school when I was around 10 years old. I can still recite it today.
I have a weird habit of sniffing everything.
When I’m on my spin bike with headphones in, I often scream. It feels so fucking good. But it scares the shit out of my family. And my dog who often comes up to me to see if I’m ok.
I often slide around in my socks in the kitchen. Like a child.
I hate baths.
I get my best ideas in the car as I voice journal. Or whilst washing the pots. Or in the shower.
I will argue with anyone who puts milk and sugar in the mug while the teabag is still in. Just don’t!
I cannot do accents. So don’t even ask.
But I can complete a Rubik’s Cube. I also keep one on my desk to complete throughout the day.
The smell of lavender reminds me of going to my Nin’s.
Every dinnertime, we do “All Hands on Deck”. Everyone puts a hand in the middle of the table and shares something they’re grateful for. Sort of like Saying Grace. We borrowed it from the film Shazam 5 years ago and have been doing it every single day since.
Me and my husband give strangers (and dogs) nicknames when we don’t know their real names. But talk about them like we do.
I cut my own hair. Have done since I was 14, when I buzzed it all off and dyed it orange (Annie Lennox style—for those old enough to remember what I’m on about). Since then, I’ve dyed it every colour (except green). I even had pink hair for so long I was known as Sarah Pink. These days, I’m all for rocking a blonde Mohawk.
I cut the labels out of all my clothes.
I high-five, fist-bump, and hug everyone. Probably too much. Don’t care.
Bonus fact: I recently retired from the health and wellness world after 24 years. I’ve let go of all the old labels—therapeutic coach, women’s health professional, remedial massage therapist, personal trainer, biomechanics coach. A whole career packed away in a box. Why? Well, that’s for another post.