I’m Liza Shaub. I grew up in a family where humor was a survival skill, grief was a constant companion, and forgiveness was never simple—or guaranteed. My writing lives in the overlap: the places where love and loss, anger and acceptance, chaos and grace all jostle for space.
My upcoming memoir began as a way to make sense of my mother’s ALS diagnosis and everything it set in motion—illness, caregiving, family rupture, and the long shadow of uncertainty. But the story grew into something bigger: an exploration of what it means to keep living, loving, and laughing when nothing is tidy and nothing is finished.
I don’t write to offer answers or wrap up pain with a bow. I write to name what’s hard, to let it breathe, and to trust that readers can hold complexity alongside me. If you’re looking for a roadmap, you won’t find one here. But if you want company in the mess, you’re in the right place.
Before I was a writer, I spent years in tech and sales—learning how to navigate complicated systems, and even more complicated people. Now, I’m more interested in the emotional systems we inherit, the stories we carry, and the ones we finally choose to put down.
I’m a mother of three daughters, a sister to three unforgettable siblings, and a Baltimorean who still asks her husband Rane when he’ll be home from golf. Most days, I’m just trying to answer my daughters’ questions about everything (and occasionally, my own).
Thank you for reading, for sitting with the untidy parts, and for letting these stories be a little bit yours, too.
