The Birth Of Jenster

When I started writing Jenster, I knew it wasn’t only about telling a story. It was about finally looking honestly at what had happened—and at the person I had been while it was happening. There was a time when I mistook chaos for passion, when someone’s presence made me feel seen, wanted and alive. It was intoxicating. But what felt like freedom gradually became something else. For years, I tried to make sense of it. The hardest part wasn’t the betrayal. It was realising how far I had drifted from myself. That reckoning became the beginning of something new. Jenster emerged from it—not as a victim, but as the part of me that refused to stay silent, refused to give in, and eventually learned to trust her own instincts. Writing the book became a way of understanding not only what happened, but who I became because of it.