The Facebook Post That Changed My Life
A story about loneliness, taking a chance and accidentally creating a community.
In June 2019, I wrote a throwaway Facebook post asking whether anyone fancied joining a brunch book club.
At the time, it felt like such a small thing. There was no business plan tucked away in a notebook, no carefully considered brand strategy and certainly no ambition to build what Brunch Book Club has become today. I wasn't thinking about logos, partnerships or community-building. I simply had an idea that, to be honest, was entirely self-involved: I loved books, I loved brunch and I wanted to make friends.
I'd moved to London two years ago and, much like anyone starting at the bottom of their career ladder, I was broke. From the outside, my move to London looked like an exciting new chapter, my Sex and the City era if you will, and in many ways it was. But excitement and loneliness have a funny way of existing side by side. I had left Nottingham behind and with it the wonderful friendships that had shaped my life up to this point — the people who knew me so well that making plans required little more than a quick text and the promise of a dancefloor (Kay, you still owe me a dance!!)!
“Looking back now, I realise I wasn’t building a book club as much as I was trying to create the kind of room I’d always wanted to walk into myself.”
London offered endless opportunities of fun and frivolity, but it also had a way of making me feel anonymous, unseen, uninvited. Every weekend seemed full of possibility, yet I often found myself with nowhere in particular to be, no one to share it with and no money to spend it on (did I mention the salaries offered for entry-level jobs are a joke?!). I was trying to work out not only who I was in this new city, but whether I could create a life here that truly felt like mine.
Books had always been my constant, to the point that one degree wasn’t enough for me so I masochistically went on to complete an MA. However, further education has a funny way of sapping the joy out of the very thing you love. My return to reading for pleasure was slow, but inevitable. Books had always been waiting for me. Books have long been my comfort and escape during difficult periods and my way of understanding both myself and other people.
Brunch, meanwhile, had always been my favourite excuse to gather those I loved around a table and lose hours in conversation and prosecco. Somewhere between the two came a simple thought: perhaps there were other people in London who were searching for exactly the same thing I was.
So I wrote the post.
When I read that post back now, what strikes me isn't what I wrote. It's everything I didn't. I didn't tell anyone that I'd recently moved to London. I didn't explain how lonely I felt. I didn't mention that, despite being surrounded by millions of people, I'd never felt further away from the version of myself I recognised. I'd left behind a huge network of family and friends. The kind of friendships built over years. The ones where someone knows your coffee order before you've even sat down. The ones where plans happen because they're assumed rather than arranged.
London was exciting. It was also overwhelming. I was trying to figure out who I was in a city that seemed to move at twice the speed I did. Work was new. The streets were unfamiliar. Every weekend stretched out in front of me with endless possibility and absolutely no plans. Loneliness isn't always dramatic. Sometimes it simply sounds like spending another Saturday wandering around Waterstones because at least books feel familiar. I loved reading. I loved hosting people. I loved those conversations that begin with a novel and somehow end with your childhood, your relationships, your dreams and the things that scare you most. I kept wondering the same thing: If I needed this... perhaps someone else did too.
So I pressed "Post."
I remember refreshing Facebook over and over again.
One notification became five.
Five became twenty.
And then something quietly shifted.
People weren't just saying they liked the idea.
They were telling complete strangers they were lonely too.
Looking back at these comments when I started Brunch Book Club seven years ago, I thought I was creating a space to talk about books. I wasn't. Not really. I was creating an excuse for people to find one another. The books were never the destination; they were simply the invitation.
Exactly one month later, we met for the first time at Revolution, Leadenhall Market.
I wish I could tell you I felt calm.
That I looked every inch the confident host.
The truth is, I was terrified.
What if nobody came?
What if everyone regretted saying yes?
What if conversation dried up after five minutes?
What if I'd persuaded a group of complete strangers to sacrifice their Saturday for something that simply... didn't work?
I remember walking to the venue with that strange mixture of excitement and dread that accompanies every leap into the unknown. I had no idea whether people would actually turn up, that I’d be the only person sat at a table booked for 16. Boy was I wrong! Instead, arriving bang on time, I found the table already half full with a steady stream of others arriving shortly after me. Unlike the events of today, I was absolutely flying by the seat of my pants. There was no seating plan, no prepayment, no emails, just me and my Beyonce notebook of potential discussion questions and a hope and a prayer!!
Our book was Queenie by the incredible Candice Carty-Williams and there was plenty to discuss. Looking back, I couldn't have picked a more fitting first book. The parallels were obvious, Queenie was about a young woman in her twenties unsure of who she was navigating love and life in London, it was the perfect pick.
September 2023, Jocelyn’s wedding.
As I hadn’t curated a seating plan, I sat at the first available seat which happened to be opposite a woman named Jocelyn. This warm, sunny person who was so friendly and fun also happened to be a doctor! I couldn’t believe it, much to her embarrassment I announced this to the group. I was amazed and delighted that she was the kind of person interested in joining this book club of mine. Little did I know that this incredible woman would go onto become one of my closest and dearest friends in the world! If you'd asked me that morning whether the woman opposite me would one day become family, I'd have laughed.
It’s not only Jocelyn I didn’t see coming, I couldn't have imagined how many friendships began over Eggs Benedict and a discussion about a fictional character. I couldn't have imagined complete strangers becoming housemates, bridesmaids, business partners, holiday companions or simply the person you text when life gets a bit heavy.
The thing about friendship as an adult is that it rarely arrives the way it does in films. There isn't usually a dramatic moment where you instantly know someone will become part of your life. More often, it starts with a nervous hello, an empty seat at a brunch table, and yes, even a loud declaration that 'She's an actual doctor!!'
Without really noticing, people keep showing up. We learn each other's coffee orders, preferred prosecco-to-orange juice ratios, favourite book genres (hi Ishika!). We remember the names of each other's pets, our hobbies, birthdays, loved ones. We celebrate promotions, comfort heartbreaks, recommend books for difficult moments, and somehow, these people who were once strangers become part of your story.
I've watched that happen so many times over the past seven years.
But, at the time, I had absolutely no idea what I'd just started.
It was just one brunch. If it happened again the following month, brilliant. If not, I'd spent a wonderful Saturday afternoon talking about books with a group of genuinely lovely people, and that felt like enough.
None of us could have imagined what those first introductions would grow into.
“I joined Brunch Book Club after a breakup because I wanted to meet some new people and make new friends. Everyone was so welcoming from day one, and it’s been such a lovely group to be part of. We can spend hours chatting about books and life, or just as easily have a few glasses of Prosecco and end up on the dance floor. I’ve even been away with some of the girls! So glad I joined ❤️”
One brunch became another, and then another after that. Before long, books had become the excuse for so much more. There were Christmas dinners complete with paper crowns and Secret Santas, cocktail evenings where conversations about literature slowly gave way to conversations about work, relationships and whatever else was going on in our lives. We welcomed authors, nervously trying to play it cool before inevitably telling them exactly how much their books had meant to us. Somewhere along the way, brunch stopped being a monthly event and quietly became part of our lives.
September 2019.
“I remember arriving at the venue (Martello Hall) a bit nervous as I only knew Taragh - as soon as I sat down and started chatting to the people next to me, I felt like I had found my people! The love for books and brunch was obviously the first clue, but it was hearing the others talk about their lives, their struggles, the fun things they were up to, the cool places they’ve been to that really made me realise this was a group of women I wanted to spend more time with. And 7 years on, I still do!”
Traditions began to form. We celebrated birthdays together. We learnt one another's coffee orders and favourite brunch spots. We remembered each other's new jobs, house moves, heartbreaks and holidays. The conversations became less about introducing ourselves and more about picking up where we'd left off the month before. People no longer came simply because they'd read the book. They came because this had become their people.
Then, just as our little community was finding its feet, the world stopped.
Like everyone else, we swapped restaurant tables for laptop screens and prosecco for whatever happened to be in the cupboard. If I'm honest, I wasn't sure Brunch Book Club would survive. After all, brunch was right there in the name. How could it possibly exist without gathering around a table?
July 2021.
As it turns out, I'd completely misunderstood what we'd built.
Month after month, familiar faces appeared in little squares across my computer screen. Some joined with cups of tea, others with a well-earned glass of wine, and some with whatever was left in the cupboards. We discussed books from kitchens, spare bedrooms and sofas, grateful for the chance to see one another when the world felt impossibly uncertain. We even threw ourselves into those wonderfully chaotic online quizzes that seemed to define lockdown – I still have the Quiz Master sheets if you’re looking to get quizzical. Reflecting now, I don't think anyone logged on simply to discuss the latest book. We logged on because, for a couple of hours each month, life felt reassuringly normal.
“People no longer came simply because they’d read the book. They came because this had become their people.”
That's something I'll never stop being grateful for. In retrospect, I think we all needed those evenings more than we realised.
When restrictions finally began to ease, we couldn't head straight back to brunch. Restaurants weren't quite ready, so we met in the park instead. Blankets replaced restaurant tables, picnic food replaced Eggs Royale and, despite everything we'd all been through, the magic was still there.
June 2021.
From there, Brunch Book Club seemed to take on a life of its own. We discovered new venues, launched book swaps, featured in newspapers, collaborated with charities, welcomed incredible authors and partnered with publishers who trusted us with their books. Every month there was something new to look forward to, and every month there was another nervous newcomer walking through the door wondering if they'd made the right decision. They always had.
The books were never the destination.
They were simply the invitation.
Of course, none of it happened by accident.
What people see is a beautifully laid brunch table, a smiling host and a room full of conversation.
What they don't see are the hours spent reading and annotating books, writing discussion questions, negotiating with venues, answering emails, managing ticket sales, juggling subscription costs and wondering whether anyone is actually going to book this month. They don't see the moments of imposter syndrome, the venue changes, the spreadsheets, or the occasions when a single piece of negative feedback could outweigh dozens of lovely messages. They don't see the financial investment, the emotional investment or the strange reality of always needing to be "on", answering the same questions with the same enthusiasm because, for the person asking, it's the first time they've asked.
There have been moments over the past seven years when I've quietly wondered whether I could keep doing it. Whether I was asking too much of myself. Whether anyone really understood how much happened behind the scenes to make one Saturday brunch feel effortless. To completely honest, there were months when I genuinely considered packing it all in.
But then I'd walk into a room and see someone introducing two friends who'd first met at Brunch Book Club.
Or I'd receive a message saying, "I almost didn't come today, but I'm so glad I did."
Or I'd watch someone who arrived alone leave surrounded by people they'd only met a few hours earlier.
And suddenly, every early morning, every spreadsheet, every discussion question and every moment of self-doubt made perfect sense.
Oh, and yes...
Against every instinct I possessed...
I also created a WhatsApp group.
I swore I'd never do it. It sounded like a logistical nightmare and, if I'm honest, I quite liked the idea of switching off between events. Yet somehow, much like Brunch Book Club itself, it became something far more meaningful than I'd imagined. Between recommendations for new releases, last-minute ticket offers, photos of overflowing bookshelves and the occasional plea for someone to adopt an ARC before it caused structural damage to another flat, the conversations simply kept going. Friendships that had started around a brunch table carried on long after the plates had been cleared away.
As with any anniversary, I've spent the last few weeks looking back through hundreds of photographs from the past seven years. They chart the evolution of Brunch Book Club in a way words probably never could. Different restaurants, different books, different hairstyles and, occasionally, questionable fashion choices. But looking through them, I realised something I hadn't expected.
The atmosphere never really changed.
Looking Back
Christmas 2019.
In those earliest photographs, nobody knew one another. Everyone had arrived alone, taken a leap of faith and hoped they'd made the right decision. Yet if you look closely, there's already something familiar about those first images. People are leaning into conversations. Heads are thrown back in laughter. Glasses are raised. There are no cliques, no one left sitting on the edge of the table wondering how to join in.
The warmth was there from the very beginning.
I don't think I fully appreciated it at the time because I was too busy worrying whether anyone would turn up, whether the discussion questions were any good or whether I'd somehow managed to convince 20+ strangers to spend their Saturday with a group of people they'd met online (somehow more daunting than Hinge!).
Instead, something rather lovely happened.
Everybody leaned in.
September 2020.
We bonded over books we adored and books we passionately hated – I’m looking at you The Cactus. We stayed long after brunch had officially ended, migrating to the pub because nobody seemed ready to go home. We laughed, we overshared, we looked after one another after one too many proseccos and, somehow, a room full of strangers always felt like the girls' bathroom on a night out—the unofficial safe space where compliments are abundant, everyone hypes each other up, you're never left on your own, and we’ll NEVER let you drunkenly text your ex!
That feeling has never gone away.
Over the years, traditions have grown. There were Christmas dinners with paper crowns, birthday celebrations, author events, book swaps and countless brunches where the discussions inevitably wandered far beyond the pages of the book we'd all supposedly come to discuss.
But the thing I'm proudest of isn't any of those events.
It's the culture we've built together.
From the very beginning, Brunch Book Club has lived by one simple idea:
You can sit with us.
It's more than a slogan. It's the standard we hold ourselves to.
What I've loved watching over the years is how that responsibility has been quietly adopted by new members. In the early days, I was introducing everyone, making sure nobody felt left out and keeping conversations flowing. Now, before I've even had a chance to welcome someone new, one of our regular members has already pulled out a chair, introduced themselves and started chatting.
That's when I realised Brunch Book Club had become bigger than me.
The members who first took a chance on this little idea back in 2019 have become the people who now shape the experience for everyone who joins us. They've become the guardians of the atmosphere I always hoped to create: one built on kindness, inclusivity, curiosity and the belief that everybody deserves to feel welcome.
You can't manufacture that.
You can't write it into an event plan or include it in a welcome email.
It exists because hundreds of people have chosen, time and time again, to show up with generosity.
And I think that's the real reason Brunch Book Club still feels the way it did seven years ago.
“I was so nervous before my first event, but I felt welcomed immediately and now I love being someone who can do that for new people, paying it forward.”
