Who The Eff Is Liv?

Who the Hell Is Liv, and Why Should You Care (Unless You’re Really Bored or Slightly Drunk)?

Honestly? You shouldn’t. I’m not a celebrity. I don’t own a yacht. I’ve never dated a Hemsworth (yet). I’m just some semi-functioning adult woman with a passport, a dodgy sense of direction, and the kind of life decisions that make your therapist tilt their head and go, ‘…huh.’

I’m just your average semi-competent woman with a knack for impulsive decisions, a mildly concerning addiction to road trips, and a life that somehow manages to be both enviable and an utter shambles at the same time.

Let’s get the basics out of the way: I was born (10/10, would recommend), grew up (debatable really), made some questionable life choices, did some things alright, and accidentally excelled at a few. I also birthed two exceptional humans who have since grown up, flown the nest, and occasionally message me things like ‘Are you still alive?’ and ‘Mum, why did you post that?’

I went to uni - twice - because clearly once wasn’t financially or emotionally traumatic enough. I became a midwife, which means I catch babies for a living. Yes, I’ve been elbow-deep in the miracle of life more times than I can count, and yes, that does mean I’ve seen more vaginas than the average person. It’s wild. It’s wonderful. It’s exhausting. But it paid the bills and gave me a sense of purpose - until it didn’t.

Somewhere in my late thirties, I started feeling… off. Not in a ‘my chakras are blocked’ way, but in a ‘why do I want to scream into the void while doing my fourth load of laundry’ kind of way. Life had become a repetitive loop of bills, burnout, and broken appliances. My soul was quietly packing its bags.

Then - cue global pandemic and one workmate with impeccable timing - I got a call:
’Wanna do a contract in a tiny, remote WA town in the Kimberley?’
Now, a normal person might have weighed the pros and cons. Not me. I said yes before the sentence even finished. I dropped my secure job, hugged my adult kids goodbye, locked my front door, and sprinted across the country faster than a drunk girl saying ‘YOLO’ at a tattoo parlour.

NSW was in full lockdown mode, so this move doubled as an escape from the apocalyptic toilet paper wars. I peaced out, left my kids, my job, my house, and bolted to WA. They (the faceless souless Covid gods, aka politicians) made me quarantine for two weeks in a bougie Perth apartment - paid (thank you agency gods) - which was basically a spa retreat minus the cucumber water. And the spa. I emerged like a slightly feral butterfly, ready to start life 2.0.

Once they released me into the wild, I flew to Broome and, with zero mechanical knowledge, bought a 2012 Hilux, sight unseen. She had only 60000kms on the clock and a look that said, ‘I may have seen some things.’ She's now at 180000kms and held together by zip ties, bird shit, and hope.

Meet LB - short for Livvy’s Bitch.

Because sidekick-slash-minion was too wordy.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of my new life: contract to contract, town to town, adventure to accidental injury. Since then, I’ve worked in some of the most remote, beautiful, bizarre corners of this chaotic country. I’ve met people who’ve changed my life. I’ve also met people who made me seriously consider faking my own death.

I now find myself in Tasmania, of all places, because why not throw ‘freezing your tits off’ into the mix? Yes, that weird little island where you can experience four seasons in the space of a single hike. It’s stunning, wild, and unpredictable - kind of like me, but with more wombats.

This lifestyle isn’t all roses and road trips. There are challenges. Loneliness. Homesickness. The occasional terrifying spider encounter in a shower cubicle the size of a Tupperware container. But I get paid well, live rent-free, and spend my spare time exploring waterfalls, climbing mountains, crashing drones, and drinking wine in wildly inappropriate locations.

People often say, ‘You’re living the dream.’ And for once, they’re not being sarcastic. I really am. It’s messy, ridiculous, and sometimes held together with chicken wire and emotional resilience - but it’s mine. And it’s brilliant.

So that’s me. Liv. Living, sort of. Laughing, mostly. Crying? Sometimes, but in cool places. If you're into chaotic adventures, feral travel stories, public humiliation, accidental wisdom, and a woman who somehow thrives in the absolute absence of a five-year plan, you’re in the right place.

Stick around. Or don’t. But if you leave, just know - you’re missing out on some top-tier idiocy.