Welcome to Trainwrecks
We're picking up the pieces and embracing the mess of starting over.
Writing is a wild and unpredictable experience. Sometimes, ideas rise so forcefully they spill onto the page as if I’m not the one in the driver’s seat. Others take years to formulate—evolving, expanding, then condensing until they can finally be articulated. I've spent weeks perfecting a single sentence and just minutes crafting a two-page lyric dedicated to Nina Simone. The process is both satisfying and frustrating, soul-destroying and liberating—I’m obsessed with it.
Over the last few years, I’ve been working towards a Master’s in Writing from UC, which provided a constant outlet for creative expression. Now, having submitted my final project, I want to channel some of the energy into this newsletter.
My Google Drive is an archive of Word documents filled with unhinged, inspired, and sometimes quite brilliant musings. I’ve spent years writing poems and short stories, social media captions and personal essays, water quality reports and grant applications, articles and travel guides. I’ve kept diaries from my darkest years—reminders of revelations that only deep pain can provoke. I write to make sense of how I feel. If I’m stuck, frustrated, devastated, or confused, I find it easier to express an emotion in a 2,000-word essay than to sit in front of a psychologist and describe what guilt feels like in my body.
Recently, I followed a friend of a friend on Instagram as he shared his experience of brain cancer treatment. I was completely engrossed—inspired and heartbroken. But the most valuable thing I gained from his content was insight into another human being’s experience.
Whenever I’m moved by someone’s art, I feel my body soften as I’m reminded of what matters (and what doesn’t). Good writing is one of the most powerful tools for dissolving the differences between people. It offers access to another person’s world, with all its struggles and opportunities. It doesn’t matter whether it comes in the form of a novel, a poem, a script for an Instagram reel, or a podcast—if it is well-crafted and written by the right person, it has the power to change the minds of strangers.
In NA (Narcotics Anonymous), there’s a message often repeated in members' shares: “Look for the similarities, not the differences.” Good writing helps us do just that. It helps uncover the common threads in even the most unlikely characters.
The Past Decade
The past ten years have been marked by extreme highs and lows. So, I’ll share a little about my mess—to give some context to the topics I’ll be covering and to help you feel comfortable sharing your own.
I never imagined spending the first year of my thirties in and out of hospital or my 31st birthday in rehab, crying on the floor at my best friend’s feet. I didn’t expect to be single at 32, starting over financially. And I definitely didn’t see myself writing about it—let alone sharing it publicly.
Trainwrecks is for anyone who’s had to start over—whether it’s after illness, crisis, loss, divorce, or hitting rock bottom in some way. Because rebuilding isn’t easy, and no one should have to do it alone.
What is Trainwrecks?
This is a platform for anyone picking up the pieces and figuring out what comes next. If you’ve found yourself standing in the wreckage of your old life—whether through choice or circumstance—you’re not alone.
We talk about the raw, messy realities of starting over. The moments of hope, the setbacks, the shame, and the unexpected joys that come with rebuilding from scratch. Trainwrecks is about moving forward without pretending the past didn’t happen.
This is a space to own the situations that haunt you—the ones that keep you up at night, the ones you think no one else could possibly understand. We all fuck up. Some of us more catastrophically than others. But staying stuck in shame helps no one.
So, if you’ve really fucked up—welcome. Get it off your chest. Share your shit with other trainwrecks who get it.
Who am I?
I’ve found myself in situations so dire I wanted to disappear entirely. I know what it’s like to lose everything and have to start over from nothing. At my lowest, I wished I had a space where people truly understood—where I could hear from others who had rebuilt their lives after everything fell apart.
Sitting in filthy shame did me no favours. If anything, it made things worse. The shame spiral kept turning—until I lost everything.
That’s why Trainwrecks exists. Not to make fun of anyone’s misfortune, not to condone destructive behaviour, but to give us all a place to lay it down. We’re not here to dwell on the past, but to share stories, insights, and conversations that make the road ahead a little easier.
Welcome to Trainwrecks. Thank you for being here.