Introducing: The Westley Chronicles

Or: How One Small Boy and His Rottweiler Are Slowly Unravelling My Sanity

Let me be clear: this is not a thought-leadership series.

You will learn nothing here about optimising workflow, growing your small business, or nailing your next performance review.

This is a survival diary.

I’m a single mum, working full-time in business support, with a small biz as a career coach, a mortgage that looks like a bad joke, and a never-ending list of handyman jobs that make duct tape the best money I spend all month (my search history is basically a trade certificate at this point).

I spend my days helping people find balance and fulfilment, yet I live in a circus starring Westley, the toddler anarchist; Nathaniel, the seven-year-old voice of reason who’s already over it; and one very confused Rottweiler.

And sometimes, mid-sentence, I’ll just pause — because I’ve caught myself saying things like, “You can't bring a hammer to Woolworths” or “Stop bashing things with that duck,” or (without understanding it's full meaning) I'll use the word "Chicken Jockey" in a sentence.... and what shocks me most is that I’m not shocked anymore.

There’s a special kind of existential crisis that comes when you realise these words now roll off your tongue as naturally as scheduling a board meeting once did.

And honestly, if I don’t start writing these stories down, one day they’ll find me at Woolies, rocking by the self-checkout whispering — invisible grapes: $12, chocolate with a suspicious bite: $9, egg massacre that finally broke me: priceless.

So instead of screaming into the void, I’m publishing The Westley Chronicles: a weekly series of short, true stories about the chaos that unfolds in my house. The kind of stories that make you laugh so hard you forget your coffee’s gone cold — or at least remind you that you’re not the only one out here trying to raise tiny humans while keeping the wheels on life.

And YES (because I can hear you asking), I use ChatGPT to help me pull these together. Basically, I hit record, trauma-dump about my day, and ask it to format the mess so I don’t sound clinically unhinged. The stories are 100% true (believe me, I have photos). I just use AI to make them readable — because God knows, they were barely liveable to begin with.

I’m not much for social media. I barely use Facebook, don’t really get Instagram, and I’ve never had a Substack. What I do have is LinkedIn.

And honestly, this place has enough “inspirational” posts about resilience, leadership, and optimising your potential. If I took a drink every time someone used the word authentic, I’d be face-down in my keyboard before morning tea.

What LinkedIn is missing, in my opinion, is the true, messy inbetween stuff — the behind-the-scenes blooper reel of parenting while trying to run a business. The moments where your toddler locks the dog in your car with your keys, or interrupts a Zoom call to negotiate bedtime with the tenacity of a UN delegate.

So that’s what this series is — my way of confirming I’m not the sole adult surviving on caffeine and delusional optimism held together with dry shampoo and duct tape.

Each week, I’ll share another real-life episode from the frontline — the grocery-store debacles, daycare prison breaks, dog-napping incidents, Peppa Pig sermons, and why my sanity is hanging by a thread thinner than the elastic on a pair of Shein undies two sizes too small.

There’s no grand lesson.

No “five key takeaways for working mums climbing the career ladder”.

Just laughter, truth, and a little solidarity for anyone doing their best to stay upright while life throws eggs (literally and metaphorically).

And as for where it all begins?

Let’s just say it involves a forced staycation, some art supplies, one small boy with big ideas, a green Rottweiler, and a mum-van that will never be the same again.

If it’s not for you, no hard feelings — just hit “unsubscribe.” Overflowing inboxes are the real pandemic, and I respect that.

But if you’re in? Buckle up. Bring wine. And let’s laugh-cry our way through together.

It's great to have you here. As the saying goes, misery loves company, but laughter's cheaper than therapy!

See you in the comments,

Trinity