The One Where Goldilocks Leaves - Politically Homeless in Northern Ireland

As some of you may know I’ve recently stepped back from politics. And honestly, it’s been both a relief and a kind of heartbreak.

There’s no space in Northern Irish politics where I can be all of myself. None. Every space demands a sacrifice — a silence, a compromise, a denial of some part of who I am. And I’ve run out of pieces of myself to trade just to fit in.

I’ve wrestled with this for a long time. I tried to belong. I tried to be useful. I thought maybe, if I just worked hard enough, I could wedge myself into a political home. But all I found was a constant battle between my values and the tribal boundaries drawn long before I was born.

So here’s who I am. No spin, strap in for "utter woke nonsense" I can hear it now!!

I don’t support Israel, I do not support Hamas but I do think there should be a 2 state solution, I do not hate Jewish people. I call my city Derry, I’m pro-choice. I’m pro-equality. I have no issue with the Irish language. I welcome immigrants. I’m deeply committed to ending violence against women and girls. I don’t get the loyal orders. I’ve worked with Apprentice Boys and members of the Orange Order — I still don’t get it. I played social Camogie and loved it, but unfortunately it stopped when I started working full time again.

I think Bloody Sunday was wrong and I wear a poppy, because I wear it for veterans like my Great Grandfather who was sent from Derry to fight, he was an Irish Catholic fighting.

I do not, and never have, supported any form of political violence. I loathe paramilitaries. I reject the legacy of fear they still exploit. I don’t care what side they claimed to fight for — they made things worse, not better. Having my uncle murdered by the UDA cemented that for me. There’s nothing heroic about terrorising communities or destroying lives.

I dislike the Tories. I dislike what they’ve done to working class people, to public services, to any idea of fairness. I reject the cruelty wrapped up in patriotism. I dislike Tommy Robinson, Reform, and the entire far-right circus that feeds on division.

I’m a feminist. I’m a passionate animal lover. I support ethical, high-welfare farming. but I also believe in harsher sentances for those who destroy our rivers and treat their livestock cruelly. I believe in protecting the environment. I support the police when they do their jobs with integrity, and I have no problem calling out abuses of power when they don’t.

I support the benefits system. I believe it’s a vital safety net — and I say that as someone who has had to use it. It’s broken. Cruelly, needlessly broken. Until you’ve had to navigate Universal Credit — until you’ve sat with the stress, the delays, the shame baked into the system — you don’t get to talk about reform like it’s a spreadsheet problem. It’s a lifeline for people, and right now, it’s frayed to bits.

And yes — I am pro-union.

That seems to trip everyone up. Like being Catholic and pro-union is some glitch in the system. But it’s just my reality. It’s my experience. I grew up with Irish Catholic culture, and I also believe staying in the UK is all I’ve known, having grown up in London. But believe me — with the successive governments in the UK letting me down, my loyalty is dwindling. I’m slowly becoming a persuadable. Does a united Ireland scare me? Yes, because I think it could bring violence back — but that’s the only reason, to be honest. And like Brexit showed us, I’d need all the facts, the figures, and a full breakdown of how it would work — a sort of dummy’s guide, if you like — before I could make that decision. And when I do, it’ll be based on what’s best for my children.

The truth is, our politics doesn’t make room for complexity. Northern Ireland runs on binaries. You’re in or you’re out. Green or orange. British or Irish. Left or right. Loyal or disloyal. And if you try to step outside that? The system either ignores you or crushes you.

I’ve sat in rooms where I had to swallow back words I believed in because they didn’t fit the party line. I’ve watched people nod along to ideas they clearly didn’t believe just to keep a seat at the table. I’ve left meetings feeling like I needed a shower. That’s not democracy. That’s performance art.

Here’s where the fun starts — I’ve also felt there’s a real elitism in politics. Did I go to Queen’s to study politics? No. Do I have a degree? No. Did my dad play golf with you at your club? Definitely not. And because of that, I don’t get many opportunities. But when I do — whether it’s as a volunteer or on a casual basis — I make a big impact. Why? Because with my GCSEs and my lived experience, I put everything I have into it. I think differently, I work differently, and that shows. And yes, sometimes that unsettles people. But maybe it should. Because what matters in politics isn’t who you know or where you studied — it’s results. It’s what you do for people.

Politics here is a tightrope walk for anyone who doesn’t colour neatly inside the lines. And I’m tired of tiptoeing. I’m tired of asking for permission to be myself.

I didn’t leave politics because I stopped caring. If anything, I cared too much. From giving a tenner to a constituent who was waiting on benefits — because I couldn’t help her any further, and as I looked into her toddler’s eyes, I felt useless. That was the least I could do. To sitting at 10pm on a Sunday night, still thinking about why legislation wasn’t working and why nobody seemed interested in changing or improving it. I left because I couldn’t be half of who I am anymore. Because I refuse to shrink or split myself into something palatable. Because belonging shouldn’t require betrayal of your values.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, and yes — I’ve been told that makes me “too soft” for politics. But I don’t buy that. Feeling things deeply isn’t a weakness. It’s a refusal to be numb to injustice. It’s exactly what this place needs more of.

And yes, it’s lonely. But it’s also freeing. I don’t have to smile through nonsense anymore. I don’t have to hold my tongue. I can be honest — brutally, unapologetically honest.

I know there are more of us. People who care, who think deeply, who reject the forced binaries. People who want something better but can’t find it in any manifesto. People who’ve been made to feel like misfits when really, they’re just fully human.

So where does that leave me?

Still watching. Still thinking. Still hoping. Still calling out what needs called out. Maybe being politically homeless isn’t a weakness. Maybe it’s a sign that you’re thinking for yourself. I’ve made good friends along the way — and I’ve lost some. I’ve had lots of giggles, you know the kind where you just look at someone and burst out laughing because you’re completely in tune. I’ve eye rolled… a lot. And, according to my son, I developed a serious case of “resting politics face” when I’d clearly run out of social battery for the day.

I’m open to seeing where I go next. I think, as part of my leadership journey, collective civic leadership is for me.

If you’re feeling this too — if you’re fed up with pretending to fit where you don’t — you’re not alone. Let’s stop trying to squeeze ourselves into a system that wasn’t built for us. Let’s start making space.

Frankly,

FiFi G x