'Choice is a myth': memoirs of childhood poverty and addiction in Coventry highlights inequality trap

Holly Lawlor and Aisling O’Mara. Photo by Ste Murray.

Poor by Katriona O’Sullivan adapted by Sonya Kelly at The Belgrade Theatre, Coventry from 1 – 9 May 2026. Directed by Róisin McBrinn.

Review by Amanda Burden

1987: a year etched in the heart of every Sky Blues fan - the first and only time (so far) Coventry City lifted the FA Cup. This weekend, as the city turned sky blue once again to celebrate a return to the Premier League, with the now-legendary open-top bus rolling through the streets, those memories came rushing back. I was 11, in the living room with my football-mad dad and brother, all of us half out of our minds as the final whistle blew. Just a few streets away in Hillfields, Katriona O’Sullivan was also celebrating as she watched the same scenes, another child caught up in the city-wide moment of collective joy. But that’s where the similarity ends.

While I grew up with the security of a loving home - clean bed, clean knickers, and parents who kept the world at bay - Katriona’s childhood was marked by chaos and neglect. Born to parents battling addiction, she grew up without many of the basics most of us take for granted: consistent food,  security and safety from abuse.

Katriona at different times of her life. Photo by Ste Murray.

It is from this starkly different starting point that Poor, the stage adaptation of O’Sullivan’s memoir, begins.

Adapted by Sonya Kelly and directed by Róisín McBrinn, the production at the Belgrade Theatre charts Katriona’s journey from a tumultuous childhood in Coventry, through to teenage motherhood, homelessness, addiction, and  ultimately, academic success. The story is told through a dual structure, with Katriona split between her younger self (the excellent Holly Lawlor) and her adult self (the also incredible Aisling O’Mara), the two swapping perspectives as they share the narration.

This device is highly effective, allowing past and present to take the stage together. Lawlor’s young Katriona is vivid and open, while O’Mara's adult  brings the fierce determination of a woman blasted by trauma but refusing to let it define her. Their interplay becomes the production’s emotional anchor, reinforcing the idea that survival is not a single turning point, but a fragile process fraught with pitfalls and barriers.

Aisling O’Mara as Katriona and company. Photo by Ste Murray.

The early scenes are polarised, veering between moments of lightness and true family bonding, and the gritty reality of addiction and poverty. However, as the narrative moves into Katriona’s teenage and adult years, the joyous moments become fewer and further between. 

Some of the most powerful moments come in the depiction of addiction, recovery, and the tentative steps back into education. These scenes are handled with incredible restraint, avoiding sensationalism and instead allowing the stark facts to take centre stage. The play highlights the importance of the individuals who intervene at crucial moments - teachers, mentors, and programme leaders - whose belief in Katriona helps change the course of her life.

What is clear, both in the production and in O’Sullivan’s own recollections, is that her story is not simply one of individual grit. Looking back, she describes her escape from poverty as a series of fortunate moments falling into place. There were teachers who had the time to notice and help, youth workers with the resources to support vulnerable teenagers, access programmes that actively pushed her towards education, and state-funded childcare and counselling that made it possible for her to stay there.

Memoirs of Katriona O'Sullivan with Hilda Fay as Tilly (dancing). Photo by Ste Murray.

O' Sullivan today is clear that many of the supports she relied on no longer exist or are so underfunded as to be out of reach. The play quietly reinforces this uncomfortable truth: that stories like hers are not just rare, but increasingly impossible. It challenges the age-old narrative that hard work alone is enough, suggesting instead that the system itself can either open doors or slam them shut. As the young O' Sullivan herself notes, "choice is a myth".

The set itself - a striking grid of beige-grey Mondrian-esque blocks - cements the shifting ground under O' Sullivan, transforming from 60s tower block to Hillfields terrace. Doors appear and disappear within the panels, echoing chances taken or missed. The whole structure moves at pivotal points, closing in prison-like on characters or opening out into possibility.

Poor by Katriona O'Sullivan. Photo by Ste Murray.

Watching Poor now, after a weekend when Coventry again turned sky blue in celebration, it’s hard not to draw a  parallel. We’ve seen a return to glory days on the football field; you come away hoping we might also see a return to something better and kinder off-pitch - a social safety net that catches people before they fall too far into a poverty trap, and gives them a real hand to climb out.

Poor is hard-hitting and entertaining, allowing us to share O' Sullivan's crushing lows and ecstatic highs. But more than anything, it reminds us that behind every “success story” is not just resilience, but a system that, when performing at its best, made that success possible.

For tickets and further details: https://www.belgrade.co.uk/events/poor/