Hi, I’m Warrior—FGXW.
If you’ve landed on this page, maybe you’re wondering who’s behind the stories, the blog, and this growing digital space. This is where I share how I got here—and why this work matters to me.
Here, you’ll learn about my lived experience of domestic violence and coercive control—and how those experiences affected my neurodivergent brain in ways I’m only now beginning to fully understand. The childhood wounds are part of the journey too, but this story starts with losing both of my parents within nine days of each other. In the deep fog of grief, I missed the red flags that were there to warn me of the danger I was drifting into.
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🧬 GenX. Survivor. Storyteller. Spiritual Warrior.
I grew up feral—like so many GenX kids—raising myself in the absence of constant parental guidance. My parents weren’t neglectful by choice; they were just busy trying to survive the economic collapse of the 70s. Keeping a roof over our heads while sky-high interest rates threatened to take it away.
A brown envelope through the letterbox was enough to make my mum faint. That’s the kind of pressure we all lived under.
Fear was ambient. Stability was a myth. We didn’t talk about trauma—we joked about it.
We became resilient, sarcastic, emotionally fluent. Saying things like “I’m fine” and “That didn’t hurt.” Because admitting pain? That wasn’t safe. Or helpful. Or allowed.
🧠 Neurodivergent Before There Were Words For It
I was part of a C Section birth research project as a young child. That’s how my dyslexia was picked up in pre-school. At the time, I was assessed as having a high IQ and was considered gifted. But the other traits—sensory overwhelm, emotional intensity, hyperfocus, scattered thinking, deep empathy—were never named.
The professionals said, “watch and wait.” And so everything I was got folded into one label: dyslexia.
My parents later made the difficult decision to relocate, which removed me from the trial and placed me into a mainstream school system. From that moment on, I learned to hide my intelligence just to fit in. The teachers had no interest in the odd child.
No one mentioned ADHD. No one explained neurodivergence.
I was told I was bright, but chaotic. Gifted, but lazy. Creative, but disorganised.
I now know I was neurodivergent all along.
I wasn’t broken. I was wired differently.
These aren’t flaws—they’re superpowers.
And the day I finally understood that was the day I stepped onto a new path:
The Feral GenX Warrior’s Way