Stories I'd Tell You at Dinner

How a dream became a 2025 scheme 🔥

Hey friend,

“Do you reckon you could jump off the jetty?” My husband dared me. Tom, our six-month-old, was busy pulling the hair on Zac’s arm with both of his chubby fists, beaming while he worked.

Georgie, our four-year-old, diligently carted tiny, silicone buckets from the waters edge to a hole on the shore and Henry, our six-year-old, was in the middle of his swimming lesson. No one needed me right now. Zac was back to work the next day. This was the last day of leave, whereas I had two weeks of VacSwim stretching out before me with all three kids.

I paused. There was no good reason to not do it. I learned to drive a car when I was six years old. I rode motorbikes and jumped off the cliffs at Blackwall Reach as a teenager. My Dad, who taught the Tactical Response Group to drive, wouldn’t teach me to drive a car on the road until I could complete reverse figure eights at high speed. I backpacked through Scandinavia in my early twenties and climbed down a ladder cut into the ice to swim in the freezing ocean underneath. I’m not an adrenaline junkie. Anxiety comes more naturally. But I’ve made a point of doing things that scare me.

Photo by Corey Serravite on Unsplash

The jetty was not very high, but my stomach clenched. All those brave things were a long time ago. I decided to walk along the jetty and at least check it out. I jumped off the lower jetty first, no worries. But then I stood at the edge of the tall jetty in the calm cerulean sea. It was a long way down.

I tried to clamber underneath the white metal railing, but my hands were wet and slippery. What if I slip and fall at a funny angle? Then there was a school of blowfish circling beneath. What if the blowfish sting me? Next I watched two teenage boys climb over the railing. They clung to the railing, arguing over which one of them would jump first. What if the boys slip and hit their heads on the way down?

After the boys jumped, I decided to climb over the railing like them. My feet skimmed the wooden planks on the other side of the railing. I planted my left foot delicately in front of the right foot facing back towards the shore. My dry hands clutched the top bar until my knuckles ached. I looked over my right shoulder. The water seemed a lot further down from this side of the railing. My heart banged frantically at my ribs.

I rehearsed all my reasons for climbing onto this stupid jetty. You can do scary things. You’ve done worse. You can’t let fear win. You can’t walk off the jetty not having done it. I want to show the kids you can do scary things. But the longer I considered the eddying water beneath me, the more the panic clamoured within me.

Six years ago, I started praying for courage to write online. I prayed and prayed and prayed for two years. I was so scared to fail in public.

Four years ago, I started writing a newsletter for the Playgroup I coordinate. I eased myself into it by sharing dates for the term, fun things to read, and fun places to go for Mums of little kids. I figured no one would pay that much attention to me.

I was surprised women did not hate it. I prayed and prayed and prayed for courage to write my own newsletter. It seemed selfish to do something just because I liked it. But the quiet nudging in my heart would not quit.

Two years ago, I screwed up all my courage to start The Sunday Morning Snuggle. I was convinced I wanted to do something just for the joy of it. The desire for joy co-existed with terror of failure with an audience.

I was surprised that women read The Snuggle. They email, text, and comment. Women share it with their friends. The joy of sharing has far outweighed the fear of failure.

I’m allergic to being a therapist on the internet, but the fact is, I am a Clinical Psychologist Registrar. I’ve loved stories all my life as a reader, writer, and psychologist. I’ve worked in child protection, prisons, child trauma services, hospital rehab wards, and private practice.

I’ve seen firsthand the difference it makes when we put down our distractions and sit with each other's pain and joys. Everyone has a story. Christian women go to therapy too. Honest storytelling is healing. Honest stories are more encouraging than a social media algorithm. We hide because we think we are alone in our emotions, struggles, and doubts.

Similarly, I’ve been reading

Coffee + Crumbs

for seven years. I adore their honest storytelling for mothers. I’ve laughed and cried. Their stories prompted me to be honest with my own friends. Clinical work and

Coffee + Crumbs

both informed how I run a playgroup, a women’s Bible study, and a newsletter.

I created the spaces for women that I needed myself. Space where I felt welcome to turn up as my full self. Space to process my life without fear of judgement. Space grounded in the hope of the gospel. I am not exaggerating when I say this bedrock of truth, beauty, hospitality, and encouragement has changed my life.

But when I looked around the media landscape for Christian women in Western Australia (WA), I saw nothing like

Coffee + Crumbs

. Christian women’s content is pretty limited. All the Christian women I know get their women’s content from the USA. And most of it is focused on mothers in the early years.

I think there is a place for us to share our stories. Enter:

Five years ago, a dream dropped into my heart: a hyper-local, online magazine for Christian women in WA. In 2025, God-willing, I am launching a collaborative storytelling website called Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner with a team of local Christian women. We will share honest and beautiful essays, poems, and photos with you.

The writers include

Amy Stopher

,

Jill

W, Tenielle Neda, Khaiah Thomson, Mariah Hlatywayo, Bethany Smith, Pearl Roycroft, and Sarah Burt. We have women working in ministry, women working in healthcare, women working in motherhood, women who are fiction writers, poets, photographers, dancers, and musicians. We have women from rural towns and the city and serving overseas. There are so many ways to be a Christian woman.

We plan to launch a podcast called The After Dinner Mint with

Britt B

, Rachel Steadman, and Maddy Rhodes. We will interview local Christian women about what they’ve learned about God through suffering. We’ll also have honest conversations about what we are learning.

These are the stories we would tell you at dinner. These are the stories we pass to you, along with the bread and the wine, not to make us look good, but to remind ourselves of His goodness.

Eventually, I uncurled myself from my cramped position where I clung to the railing. I cast myself into the water with a splash. The worst part was the split second before I jumped. But afterwards? I floated off the jetty with a grin I hadn’t had since I was a teenager.

Preparing to launch Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner feels a lot like standing on the jetty railing, waiting to jump. My worries eddy beneath me, What if I can’t work out the technical side? What if no one likes it? What if I fail? Joy and fear wrestle within me. I rehearse all the reasons for climbing up here. I can do scary things. This the space that I needed in WA. I want to encourage Christian women. I trust God will provide everything I need.

How You Can Help 🎉

1. Subscribe – I’ll be sharing more information in the coming weeks, but for now, I would be so grateful if you could please check out Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner and give us your email address. That way you’ll get everything straight to your inbox when we launch.

2. Pray - Please pray for wisdom, patience, and peace for me. There are so many things to learn (and so many ways to fail in public!) I have no training in journalism, marketing, public relations, advertising, editing, audio production, or theology, but this dream has been a quiet whisper in my heart for the last five years. I am scared but I trust God will provide everything I need.

   Please pray for the team, that we would love God and each other well. Pray we make beautiful things all to his glory. Pray our words encourage women in Western Australia.

What about The Snuggle?

I’ll slow it down to monthly rather than fortnightly posts. My word for the year is gentle. I’m trying to be kind to myself. I want to run Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner in a sustainable way. But I love writing here and I plan to keep doing it for fun.

TLDR

1. Please check out Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner and subscribe 🍸

2. Please pray for the team and me 🙏

Tell me in the comments (or hit reply to this email):

1. Tell me about a time when you trusted God and he provided.

2. Tell me about a time when you were completely unqualified for the task but God trained you

3. Do you know any of the beautiful women in the Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner team? (WA Christian circles = 2 degrees of separation😅)

4. Do you have a word for the year? (This is the first time I’ve tried it. Mine is gentle)