Everywhere We Go

A happy house can hold many stories at once: a Dublin childhood in crowded flats, a love found under theatre lights, twins born on a date that tied past to present, and a long illness that forced two good people to rewrite their future. We sit with Anne as she opens the door to all of it—how sharing half a bag of sugar on the balcony shaped her sense of community, why Dermot’s gentle wisdom made her a kinder version of herself, and what it takes to face Parkinson’s and Lewy body dementia without losing your humour or your heart.

The conversation moves from tenderness to toughness. Anne explains the shock of a fast-moving diagnosis, the invisible labour of home care, and the day the safest choice became the hardest: choosing a nursing home. She breaks down Ireland’s Fair Deal scheme in plain language—solicitors, valuations, court affidavits—and names the guilt many carers carry even when they’ve done everything right. Out of that pain comes practical advice: document relentlessly, accept help, protect your health, and do the things you’re planning now because tomorrow isn’t promised. Dermot’s legacy lives on in Youthreach students who say he changed their direction with respect and real talk, and in two daughters who stand up for themselves and others with clear eyes and warm hearts.

There’s joy threaded through the grief. Anne’s a beloved school traffic warden—“only the lollipop lady,” she jokes—who turns Christmas gifts into charity, sees children’s quiet COVID losses up close, and keeps a neighbourhood stitched together with a wave and a kind word. She talks about acceptance as everyday practice when Susanna came out, and how homemade “Come Dine With Me” nights, bingo with friends, and bargain champagne became small, steady anchors. The message you’ll carry with you is simple and brave: be kind, ask for help, make ordinary days big, and tell people you love them while you can.

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A life can pivot on small brave choices: saying “I am—and what,” booking a one-way ticket for dance, or opening the door to a love that feels simple and true. Rebecca sits with Paul Kinsler to trace those pivots—from a childhood shadowed by addiction to a future shaped by chosen family, honest partnership, and the kind of home you build with your own hands.

Paul shares how a caring mum and early responsibility forged resilience, how naming himself stole the sting from schoolyard slurs, and why he believes empathy grows when we listen to stories unlike our own. We travel with him from choir stalls to cruise ships—Alaska skies, seven-course suppers, and late-night shows—before he returns to Ireland, meets Mark, and discovers the steady magic of clear communication. There’s a moving look at 22 May 2015, marriage equality as both romance and rights, and the practical reasons legal recognition matters when life turns urgent.

We also step inside the house that Instagram knows: budget DIY that empowers, mistakes turned into how-tos, and a belief that you don’t need deep pockets to create a warm, stylish home. Paul talks teaching dance on Zoom, why connection beats choreography right now, and what kids need after a year of screens. Penny the dog gets her moment, of course, and so does the couple’s next big chapter—exploring surrogacy abroad, navigating Irish law, and holding onto hope through a long process. It’s a conversation about love that shows up, community that protects, and the quiet courage of building the life you wish you’d had.

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A school project snowballed into a citywide lifeline. Brandon (18) and Aaron (16) open up about building Dublin Homeless Awareness from a Transition Year sleep-out into a disciplined outreach and response effort that books rough sleepers into hostels, de-escalates crises, and works shoulder-to-shoulder with the Simon Community, Gardaí, and Dublin Fire Brigade. The story is raw, unsentimental, and full of the practical detail that usually gets lost: kit checks at 6 p.m., radios that finally reach across the Liffey, PPE drills, and the hard call to walk away when someone refuses help.

We get inside the nightly circuit—laps past the GPO, Henry Street, and the canals—where myths crumble fast. Many who end up on the street didn’t start with addiction; trauma, mental health, and a financial tailspin often come first, with alcohol or “rocks” becoming a grim coping tool. Hostels can be cramped and unsafe, so trust is scarce. The lads explain why boundaries protect everyone: no cash handouts, no exploitative photos, and a safety hierarchy that puts volunteers and teammates first so they can return tomorrow. They also reveal the logistics behind compassion: storage they don’t have, donations that ebb and flow, and volunteers paying for their own first responder training because the work demands competence, not just goodwill.

Brandon shares how family addiction shaped his resolve and ethics. Aaron traces a recovery arc from a car accident to DJ sets, using his platform to raise funds and plan a future awareness festival. Together, they sketch a blueprint for sustainable impact—trustees to carry the torch when college calls, a minibus to extend reach, training that keeps young volunteers safe, and clear coordination with services. It’s an honest look at homelessness in Dublin, told by the people who meet it face-to-face every night and refuse to turn away.

If you care about homelessness, youth leadership, and practical change, this one’s for you. Follow Dublin_Homeless_Awareness on Instagram for the response phone, donate snacks or kit if you can, and share this episode with a friend who still believes the myths. And if this moved you, subscribe, leave a review, and tell us what you learned.

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A cap and gown, a crowded Great Hall, and then—her waters broke. Carmel thought she was walking toward a diploma; she walked into motherhood instead, delivering a premature baby she didn’t know she was carrying. That shock set off a chain of moments that would test everything: a terrifying delivery, an ICU baptism, and a ward where no one asked how she was. Years later, the ripples were still moving—through hospital corridors, school days cut short by appointments, and the uneasy space where you look “fine” but live with pain.

We sit with Carmel and her daughter, Sertia, to trace a 14-year journey to a diagnosis that should have come sooner: bilateral spastic cerebral palsy. Along the way, they faced misdiagnoses, whispered judgments, and outright accusations—“anxious mother,” “Munchausen”—that could have broken their trust in themselves. Instead, they doubled down on advocacy. A neurologist’s rare and vital apology changed the tone, opening the door to medication, physiotherapy, and life-changing surgery to bring heels to the ground and ease relentless spasticity. But the body isn’t the only battlefield. For Sertia, OCD and depression became ways to wrest control back from chaos; CBT, medication, and fierce honesty helped her climb out of the void and claim a self beyond labels.

Out of the dark, they made something bright. A too-expensive beach bag sparked a creative bet they took on themselves, and Amare Makes was born—a mother–daughter accessories brand built on craft, colour, and care. It became therapy for hands and heart, a bridge to community, and proof that joy is not cancelled by hardship. We talk about Ireland’s welcome, the sting of being disbelieved, what apology can do in medicine, and how to measure progress when some days still hurt. If you’ve ever felt “not sick enough” to be heard or “too much” to be helped, this conversation offers solidarity and practical hope.

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A makeup page that hid “the mum” inside its name, a holiday spent apart, and the quiet sentence that changed everything: “You can always come home.” We sit down with makeup artist and creator of The Makeup Mentor, Tracy Lorie, to unpack how a private person found the courage to speak publicly about prenatal depression, OCD spirals, and the messy, necessary work of co‑parenting with grace.

Tracy walks us through the day‑to‑day realities that don’t make the grid: matching cutlery to soothe panic, crying in the car between bridal bookings, and finally saying yes when a GP asked, “Are you okay?” She shares the practical tools that helped—boxing to reset her nervous system, family backing that made space for healing, and boundaries that kept outsiders’ opinions out of decisions made for Tilly. We trace the legal maze without legalese, the emotions behind letting a child spend Christmas away, and the unexpected trust built with her ex’s partner—complete with photo updates and crafts that made two houses feel like one childhood.

There’s tender honesty here about choosing no more pregnancies after trauma, naming guilt without letting it define you, and remembering that a child’s “fun house” time doesn’t erase a mother’s place. COVID raised the stakes—months apart, nasal swabs, six weeks away—but it also revealed a resilient system: clear communication, child‑first choices, and a willingness to do the hard thing for the right reason. Along the way, we talk small business in a pandemic—73 weddings moved and the grit it takes to keep a creative career alive.

If you’ve ever felt alone packing a bag, unsure whether you’re allowed to start again, Tracy’s story offers both compass and permission. Subscribe, share with a friend who needs it, and leave a review telling us the moment that stayed with you. Your words help more parents find the support they deserve.

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A lump, a choice, and a promise to keep living. That’s where our conversation with the Roach sisters takes off: three women who built a buzzing salon in Swords while facing down Hodgkin’s lymphoma for the second time—and found a life-saving donor match within their own family.

We go back to the early days in Oldtown, the mischief and the loyalty, and how losing their dad pulled them even closer. Christine leaves school to master hair, Katie pivots from the airport to beauty and operations, and their mam, Gina, quietly becomes mission control for everyone. When Carla’s relapse arrives after eight golden years—and just as the lease gets signed—the decision is brutal: six months to live or a stem cell transplant. The sisters fly to Spain to break the news, cry on a Ryanair flight, and then do what this family always does: make a plan.

You’ll hear how an ultra-rare 100% sibling match turns up in Katie, what stem cell harvesting actually feels like, and why transplant day can be both underwhelming and terrifying. Carla crashes into graft-versus-host disease, spends seven and a half weeks in isolation, and then crawls back through routine, top-ups, and the sacred 100‑day scan. In the midst of it all, the family stages a tiny wedding between treatments—nurses cheering, fairy lights on the ward, a borrowed bouquet, and Mam’s ring. We don’t dodge the hard bits either: the letter that says “ovarian failure,” the fear of Covid when immunity is paper-thin, and grieving a grandad across the Irish Sea in lockdown.

This is a story about Irish family, small business resilience, and medical courage. It’s about a salon that chooses intimacy over scale, clients who become a support network, and a mam who can fix anything from oncologist calls to missing emails. If you’re searching for real talk on stem cell transplants, GVHD, relapse, fertility decisions, and how to keep a business alive under pressure, you’ll find it here—wrapped in warmth, humour, and the kind of love that refuses to break.

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A single line from a child can rewire a parent’s life. When Bev’s daughter wished for “the happy Mammy” from the zoo lights, it wasn’t a throwaway comment—it was a mirror. What follows is an unflinching, strangely joyful journey through grief, postnatal anxiety and psychosis, birth trauma, and a cervical screening delay that could have ended everything.

We start where she didn’t: the motorbike accident that injured her niece and planted guilt she wouldn’t name for years. Then we sit beside the hospital cot where baby Emily fought and died, and with the family that weathered more loss again. Bev explains how Irish stoicism—be grand, keep going—hid the damage until motherhood cracked it open. She details the compulsions, the catastrophic thoughts, and the moment in a lift when she finally let herself cry. She also shares the hospital scare with Piper that stitched old trauma to new fear, and the miscarriage she endured at work because duty felt safer than stopping.

The hardest pivot comes with a phone call: high-grade cervical changes from a 2014 smear that never reached her. She takes us through the waiting, the Googling spiral, the LLETZ procedure, and the decision to use her small platform to get women to book their smear tests. Then comes Otis’s birth—fast, dismissed, and scarring—and the registrar who suggested mental health support. That conversation unlocked six years of unpredictability and the choice to accept therapy. We talk generational patterns, raising kids in quieter homes, and rebuilding confidence after bullying. And because Bev is a stylist, we celebrate how clothes can become care—how helping others feel right in their skin helped her claim her own strengths.

This is a candid, compassionate listen for anyone navigating maternal mental health, trauma recovery, or cervical health. It’s also a nudge to stop pretending you’re fine and make the call—book the smear, ask for help, tell the truth to someone you trust. If this resonated, follow the show, tap five stars, and share it with a friend who needs a brave, hopeful story today.

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You don’t expect a 24-year-old to hold a house of nine together—twin boys, four younger sisters, and a grief that still knocks the wind out of you—but Chantelle does it with a stubborn love that feels like home. From Seville Place pride to years of relentless bullying, from a dad who died of cancer in prison to a mam who lit every room she walked into, her story is a map of heartbreak and the hands that carry you through it.

We trace the moment her waters broke at nineteen weeks—just a day after Kelly’s stage four diagnosis—and the long weeks that followed: memory boxes prepared, temporary hospital releases to sit by her mam’s bed, and the emergency section that brought Chester and Chase into a packed NICU. Born survivors, home in two weeks, two small suns for a house bracing for goodbye. Dublin rallied: fundraisers, pink streets, “Kelly from the block” on every poster. A last-chance trip to Germany, difficult choices, and then palliative care, music at the bedside, rain and sun at the graveside. Hard mercies, honestly told.

Chantelle opens up about becoming a legal guardian with her nanny, the daily choreography of school bags, hairbrushes, and dinners, and the quiet heroism of her partner Daryl and the neighbours who never stopped showing up. She shares practical advice on spotting bullying—withdrawal, appetite shifts, dropped hobbies, compulsive scrolling—and straight talk on checking phones, calling schools, and meeting the other family with calm resolve. There’s warmth too: her love of cooking, the Instagram that unexpectedly took off, and the way food keeps Kelly’s voice in the room.

This is a grief story that refuses to be only sad. It’s a survival story that doesn’t pretend to be easy. And it’s a love story—of a mam whose laugh arrives before she does, and of a daughter who keeps her promises. If this conversation moves you, subscribe, share it with a friend who needs hope, and leave a review to help more listeners find these voices.

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If you’ve ever looked successful on the outside while barely holding it together on the inside, Deborah’s story will feel like a hand on your shoulder. We invite you into a candid, warm conversation with the youngest of the Wheeler sisters—co-owners of Dublin beauty salons and a skin clinic—about family loyalty, building a business from a kiosk to multiple locations, and the messy middle that never makes it to Instagram.

Deborah opens up about taking a bank loan at 22, earning her place beside her sisters, and being responsible for over 30 jobs—then watching COVID shutter doors for months. She doesn’t sugarcoat the fear or the grief; instead, she maps the habits that kept her moving: planning in uncertainty, adapting services, supporting a team, and accepting that some days you only manage the basics. Her mental health story runs deeper still. She explains panic attacks in plain language, shares what CBT and counselling taught her, and reveals the small rituals—lists before bed, ten-minute meditations, music escapes—that help her reset. Grief after her aunt’s death and a melanoma scare taught her to face mortality early; therapy gave her a way back to steady ground.

There’s light throughout: the joy of a Rome wedding with Wayne, the banter about making a moody man dance, and a love of skincare that’s really about dignity and care. We talk image retinol masks, glow powders, and why a fresh body scrub can lift a Tuesday. Deborah’s take on social media is refreshingly fair—respect for creators who do the hidden labour, and a personal plan to blend beauty with mental wellness content. Above all, she returns to a simple, powerful idea: happiness is perception and practice. You don’t fake positivity; you choose useful thoughts, protect your energy, and try again tomorrow.

If you’re a founder, creator, or anyone navigating anxiety while you carry others, this conversation will meet you where you are and leave you stronger. Listen, share it with someone who needs hope, and if it resonated, subscribe and leave a review—what lesson will you put into practice this week?

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Phones rang, targets blinked, and a small office across from the Phoenix Park taught us how to sell, how to stay calm, and how to show up for each other. We bring Marguerite Penrose and our pal Julie Hannah back to revisit Ryanair Direct—the reservation centre that became a launchpad for our careers and a permanent home for our stories.

We swap the origin tales—interviews where you had to sell a pen, four weeks of training that separated the chancers from the lifers, and the terror of the first live booking with someone always listening. We dig into the commission game, the “not ready” button wars, and the weirdly intimate teamwork that forms when you’re counting bookings on paper and passing targets across the floor. Then it’s the press trips: vegetables thrown at a heated Italy conference after agency commission cuts, a Sardinia hotel that turned into pool‑party chaos, and the French double where oxygen masks dropped and a cracked cockpit window forced everyone to breathe through the fear. Along the way, we own the legendary nights—drag shows at the Pod, Halloween pellet‑gun mayhem, spiking scares, and the moments where friends carried friends home.

At the heart is Kenneth—his mischief, kindness, and the courage of coming out with the help of a tight crew. We talk about the pilot strike that wasn’t, O’Leary standing on a desk to call it off and handing out Jervis vouchers, and why visible leadership and simple thanks still matter. What lasts? Sales craft, pace, thick‑skinned empathy, and friendships that endure long after the phones stopped beeping. If you ever worked a floor like ours, you’ll feel this one in your bones.

If the memories made you smile, hit follow, share this with your old crew, and leave a review—then tell us the workplace story you still can’t believe happened.

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