About Me

One of my earliest memories is playing with my parents' LPs. I remember my favorites were the cover of Fame the musical and the New Seekers album, and I still adore the hippie styles. I would sing Karen Carpenter songs relentlessly and put on mini performances for anyone who would listen, especially my mum who would parade me in front of others. My parents were definitely my biggest fans even back then. 

 I would learn a song by heart and belt it out daily for months at a time. Animals, singing, and performing were my happy place. I also had big dreams of being a vet, but as I got older and realized I didn't have the brains for it (I was dyslexic and couldn't even remember my times tables), I decided being a vet nurse would be sufficient. Deep down, I knew I wanted to be acting and singing on stage, but that wasn't considered a "proper job." I also had two left feet and couldn't dance to save my life. 

I did work experience in a vet’s and worked my way up to becoming a nurse. At the same time, I worked in the local pub as a karaoke host, but I felt unfulfilled. Boys came into my life, and I was awful at dating. I seemed to have a knack for picking guys who would mess me around and crush my self-confidence even further. But I never learned my lesson and lost most of my twenties.

I finally built up the courage to go to college to study Musical Theatre. My voice didn't fit every genre, but I felt alive. It was official that I was definitely shit at dancing, and my dance teacher made sure to remind me of that. She couldn't understand why I could sing but couldn't dance. Despite that, I decided to continue my studies and pursue my degree. The course was less dance-oriented and focused more on acting. 

Over the years, one particular guy stuck around, even though I knew it was kind of stupid. I was determined to fix him, convinced that we were meant to be together. He never really supported my passion, but I was determined to have both him and my dreams.  However, my relationship was falling apart, and deep down, I knew it. Everyone knew it. I had this idea to use my upcoming musical showcase to speak to my waste-of-space fiancé. I planned to pour my heart out on stage, thinking he would have to listen and see me. What could go wrong?  Well, he dumped me a week before the show. My wedding was so close, and I had to pay for most of it. My dad took me to pick up my wedding dress, and it was a heartbreaking moment. 

At the time, we lived next door to my parents, but he moved out, taking half of the items I had bought on my credit card. The shame was intense. I had always known he was a tosser, and most of my friends had told me so. 

A couple of months later, after intense counseling and a trust deed, I was skin and bones, a size 6. I had never been a size 6 before, so I felt great. I had another acting exam, and this time, I decided to make a musical film and throw him off a cliff. I used my gorgeous wedding dress as a prop and got another A for my efforts. 

My shipwreck of a relationship turned out to be useful, so for my last exam, I decided to write a comedy one-woman show filled with all my true-life dating disaster stories. The show was about a woman who falls in love with her therapist. Little did I know that it wasn't too far from the truth because not only did I come out with a musical theatre degree, after I left uni I reconnected with my old tutor and in the end we hooked up. 

Life was looking up, or so I thought. 

But life can be cruel, and although I got a brand new wedding dress, my dad was suddenly diagnosed with terminal cancer. He passed away three months before my big day. He gave me the most precious gift ever. My dress wasn't ready, so the ladies at the dress shop offered to close for an hour so that my dad could see me in the sample dress. My mum did my hair, my big sister did my makeup, and my little sister took the photos. It truly was a magical family event. 

Fast forward three years, and my husband and I are cramming in as much sun, sea, and sex as we can afford because we're getting older.

We realized that making babies was trickier than we first thought. I also found that going through IVF had its benefits, as it helped me overcome my fear of needles. On the flip side, being the ripe old age of 35, I was considered geriatric, so I was fast-tracked up the list. Every cloud has a silver lining, right? 

We now had an incredible little boy, and I was lucky enough to take a full year off for maternity leave. I was determined to breastfeed and didn't take any advice from my poor old mum. In my head, she was old school, and I felt that my husband and I could handle everything ourselves. I'll admit it now, I was a bit of a control freak and had a tendency to micromanage. But in my defense, I inherited these traits from my hardworking mum. We were very alike. 

After a second failed round of IVF, we decided to take a break and save some more money. To our surprise, we fell pregnant naturally. 

Next came COVID-19. My pregnancy was consultant-led due to my controlled epilepsy, but everything was going fine until we had to make a decision about how to have our baby. I had an emergency c-section with my first child, which was quite traumatic, and we were kept in the hospital for nearly a week. I was desperate to have a natural birth or at least attempt it. But then lockdown happened, and we were told that my husband couldn't attend the birth unless I was in active labor. The consultant who made the decision looked about 16 years old and seemed unsure of the details. The receptionist whispered about their colleagues being off due to COVID-19. My nerves started to fray. I didn't know my new baby, all I knew was that I needed to get back to my family as soon as possible. My mum was also unwell, and although we spoke on the phone every day, it just wasn't the same. We were staying apart to keep each other safe. I could see her rapid weight loss as time went on. She only had phone appointments with doctors and various consultants who seemed to pass her from pillar to post. No one seemed to be reading her notes, and each phone call had to go through the same process. She needed a physical appointment. In the end, I decided on an elective c-section, which turned out to be a blissful experience. I was in and out of the hospital in 24 hours. My gorgeous little family was complete, at least one part of it. But my mum was still sick. 

Mum didn't meet the baby until he was 6 weeks old. We followed the rules and she moved in with us for 3 months. She was in her element with the kids. She was frail, but just having her there made all the difference. She was skin and bones. It had been months since I had seen her in person, and I begged her to go to A&E to get some tests as soon as possible. She agreed to phone her consultant and promised she wouldn't get fobbed off. 

When she was finally seen by her consultant, she was admitted to a ward on the spot. She was put on a feeding tube and a drip. He mentioned just how emaciated she was. She was in the hospital for a week and gradually put on a little weight. We thought, hoped we were finally out of the woods. They had done another routine scan just by chance, and that was when she was diagnosed with cancer. It was terminal. Apparently, the cancer had been there in the original scan the year before, but it had been missed. How can life be so cruel? It felt personal. I've known lots of people who have had cancer, and they have recovered or at least had some time. Why weren't we the lucky ones? Everything we had sacrificed had all been for nothing. We were going to lose her anyway. I was full of regret for lost time.

Not long after, Mum developed a bad infection which turned into sepsis. We were told she wouldn't last the night, but they would try and move her to a hospice. In true Mum style, she kicked sepsis' ass and made it through the night. We got to the hospice, and we were lucky in the sense that the COVID restrictions had just changed that week, allowing 3 people in for visiting. The hospice was like the Ritz, which was a nice surprise. Dad's experience was like a horror movie. It was an open ward, and he could literally hear his fellow patients die. It was horrific. Mum, on the other hand, had a spanking new building with a terrace garden. 

Now, she was expected to live about a week, but we found ourselves living in this family bubble for 6 weeks. Every time Mum was improving, they would try and discuss going home, but she would take another infection, so her bed was safe. This period of my life feels very surreal. I was still breastfeeding my youngest, but I would leave my family at 10 and return at 7 in the evening to feed him to sleep. I didn't even have a thought for how my hubby was managing to hold down his job with a 3 and 1-year-old during a pandemic. I am so thankful for the time we had together.

So life now is manic, erratic, and full of fun. I love my life, my family, but life is short, and I'm determined to follow my heart and dreams. My gorgeous boys started school and nursery, and I got back in touch with my agent! I want to give acting a proper go. I got onto Spotlight, Equity, made a showreel, and finished it off with a really cool acting mentor and tutor. Life once again is looking up. I have a supportive family who are my reasons for finding the courage to take charge of my own destiny. 

If you would like to connect feel free to message me. 

Thanks for reading 

Mhairi x