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Learning the World.

Musings on relocation, exploration and other general oddities.

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abortion

Remembering to forget

I’m tired. I’m *really* tired. And overwhelmed. I think we’re all tired. I know why I’m tired. We’re over a year into a global pandemic and I have a toddler and brain full of anxiety and ADHD, so I get *why* (my toddler is a joy, my brain I’m 50/50 about tbh). But I’m also tired of remembering things. Remembering to make dinner, to pick up more nappies, to send cards for birthdays and birth days. Remembering where I put that mask I like, or those clothes she’s not grown into yet, or the suncream. And, of course, remembering things that perhaps I’d rather forget.

For the last three years, every April through to late May, my social meejia has been throwing up “memories of this day”. Many of them are from 2018 – somewhat inevitably, as by the end I was posting and sharing constantly. Sometimes I can tell from the list of names in the preview what the memory is, and whether I want to see it or not at. Not often enough though. Sometimes I remember from the date (a good friend’s birthday was the Claire Byrne debacle). Sometimes I am plesantly surprised by a happy memory from *other* years (in May 2012, for example, I bought a wedding dress. And in April 2013, Thatcher died). Mostly though, I get blindsided by things I’d rather forget. Because although I am deeply, profoundly glad that we have repealed the 8th Amendment, I’m still really fucking angry that we had to do it at all. And remembering all the things that happened is just so much for my already tired mind.

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Why I’m (still) marching

This post was originally published here as part of the Abortion Rights Campaign’s “why I’m marching” series relating to the 2020 (virtual) March for Choice.


Alright I confess – I won’t actually be marching anywhere this year for International Safe Abortion Day. Perhaps I’ll do a couple of laps of the garden with my toddler, and get my wife to follow us yelling “our bodies, our lives, our right to survive!” Perhaps I’ll even rope the neighbours in to lean over the wall and call us babykillers, just for the feel of the thing. Perhaps not.

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Why I’m Marching: Last year I marched while pregnant, this year I’ll march with my daughter.

I wrote this piece for the “Why I’m Marching” series on the Abortion Rights Campaign‘s website (Original post here). I’ve written a few times here about abortion and the campaign, if you’re really desperate to know what else I think.

This year’s March for Choice is on 28th September. There is still work to be done in Ireland and around the world in realising reproductive justice. I hope you can join us.

Continue reading “Why I’m Marching: Last year I marched while pregnant, this year I’ll march with my daughter.”

What a difference a year (or two or three) makes

This time last year, I was stuck in Belfast, at the mercy of Sneachtageddon, writing about daffodils  – and, like many others who campaigned for Repeal, I was looking forward to May with a mixture of trepidation and hope. Today, it’s unseasonably warm out – although it did just start raining – and I’m once again looking forward to May with a mixture of trepidation and hope. But this year, it’s because I’ve to finish building a new person in the next two months – and in May will be faced with the terrifying task of naming them (as well as the whole pushing a rugby ball sized thing from my vagina, but let’s not think about that too much right now). But I also have bodily autonomy, and that’s pretty amazing too.

Continue reading “What a difference a year (or two or three) makes”

Fuck you Simon Harris.

I have other things to be writing today. I have more thoughts about Dumbledore – even after the shitshow that was the new Fantastic Beasts film. There’s an essay I need to write to get another scholarship cheque, and I’ve programs to write up for work, and y’know a masters dissertation to write at some point. But today, I am too angry to write any of that. Because the Dáil is debating Ireland’s post-referendum abortion legislation. So, brace yourself folks, it’s time for another abortion rant. Specially, about how very DONE I am with politicians. Particularly, Simon Harris.

Continue reading “Fuck you Simon Harris.”

Lessons learned.

My current status: emotional whirlwind. A week after the polls have closed, I almost still can’t quite believe that we won the referendum to repeal the 8th. A landslide no less. I think it’s going to take a while for that to sink in. There has been many media/internet opinions on how the campaign was won – many, sadly not emphasising the grassroots feminist aspect, and ignoring the importance of donuts, or correctly folding t-shirts. But today, I am not going to give you another hot-take – instead, in another attempt at using writing as personal therapy, I’m going to talk about genies, ants and growing up.

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Vote Yes. Please

I am tired. I am very tired.

I’m tired because I don’t remember the last time I had an evening off or a good night’s sleep. I’m tired because I’m not eating properly, or exercising, or taking care of myself, and my body is feeling that. I’m tired because I work a physically and emotionally demanding job. But mostly, I’m tired of asking people to give women the right to make their own decisions. I’m tired of asking people to vote Yes on Friday.

But I’m still doing it. So, for one last time, please vote YES in the referendum this Friday.

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Register. Then Vote. Please.

In November 2016 while living in Seattle, I wrote a (very) short blog post asking people to vote, particularly for those who are disenfranchised but have to live with the consequences of that vote. Now, nearly 18 months later and back in Ireland, I find myself once again asking for people to make sure they’re registered in time to vote on an issue that massively affects me but that I have no control over.

I’m talking, of course, about the upcoming referendum on the 8th Amendment.

Continue reading “Register. Then Vote. Please.”

Talking ’bout a referendum…

As a non-resident immigrant living in the US, we had limited political agency (I retained overseas voting rights for the UK, my husband was wholly politically disenfranchised) – and we were specifically warned about getting “too involved” in anything political by our relocation team. At times, as you may imagine, this was incredibly frustrating – especially during the global clusterfuck that was 2016. So one of the things I promised myself when I moved back to Ireland was that I would get involved in the causes that matter to me. One of those things – and the one I mostly yell about on the internet – is abortion rights.

Continue reading “Talking ’bout a referendum…”

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