I’m Lisa Connolly, a poet, writer, counsellor and recovery support worker. I’ve learned through my own journey that life’s darkest moment's can lead to the brightest transformations. My story is one of survival, resilience, and finding strength not just in myself, but in sharing that strength with others.  

My life and my journey was not what it seemed to outsiders. Behind closed doors, I faced abuse where my sense of self was slowly chipped away at for nearly a decade. When my world finally shattered, it was brutal. My husband left with £350,000 which was all of the money we had to buy a house, leaving me with nothing. He publicly paraded his temporary new life, while I struggled to feed my children, and needed to go to food banks for the first time while waiting to claim benefits.  

Despite the turmoil, I made sure to keep my children’s lives as stable as possible for a year before considering moving house to be closer to my family. It was important to hold onto our routines (even while I was breaking inside.) I found support in unexpected places and that helped me through some of the toughest times. Through small acts of kindness, I realised I wasn’t as alone as I felt.  

Determined to give back to my community, I threw myself into helping others. I worked extra hours as a dementia caregiver and became a Cub Scout assistant leader where my children attended, then a football coach for children eight and under, and even a science workshop presenter for primary schools. The weight of keeping everything together as a single parent was heavy, but I kept going, knowing I was setting an example for my children. I was then able to afford for us to move to a beautiful new house near to my family, a fresh start away from all of the trauma.  

A turning point came when I felt comfortable opening up more at the Freedom Programme, where I connected with women who had lived through similar experiences. It was there I began to share my poetry, finding healing in sharing my words. I had always written, but I kept my work to myself, until I realised how much others resonated with it. One of my poems was shared by Jess Phillips the MP and that moment gave me the confidence to keep sharing. I later participated in a research project at the University of Birmingham, contributing 16 poems.   

Now, my poetry speaks of more than just trauma. It tells a story of rising from brokenness, of rebuilding from the ashes. My words, just like my life, are not defined by what I went through but by how I overcame it. This year, I completed three years of training to become a counsellor, and for the first time, I will have my graduation photo proudly displayed in my parents’ and grandparents’ homes.  

At 42, I’m in a place where I can finally look back and see how far I’ve come. To anyone feeling broken, I want to say this, though it may feel like an ending, it’s the start of something new. Our trauma doesn’t define us, how we rise from it does. I’m proud to use my poetry and my voice to remind others of their own strength. Life is a blessing, and I am grateful every day for the chance to give back.