We take a look back at the life lessons we’ve learnt from Carla and Lisa over the past year.
Sometimes TV characters aren’t just entertainment, they’re a mirror. They reflect us back to ourselves, in all our chaos and contradiction. They show us the mess, the magic, the heartbreak, and the heat. They remind us that life is rarely tied up in nice pretty bows – it’s complicated, it’s exhausting, and sometimes, it’s quietly beautiful in ways we didn’t expect.
Coronation Street’s Carla and Lisa are two such characters. They’re not saving the world or setting off fireworks, they’re just trying to make it through without completely falling apart. And in doing so, they’ve shown us something quietly radical: the power of everyday resilience.
These women are navigating grief, love, parenting, and identity, while also remembering to put the bins out and pretending not to cry into their red wine at The Rovers. They’ve fallen for each other not with grand speeches, but with gentle glances, mugs of tea, and the kind of trust that grows between people who’ve been through too much to waste time pretending.
Carla and Lisa aren’t aspirational in the glossy, social media-perfect way. They’re aspirational because they feel real. Because we see ourselves in them. Because they’re still choosing to show up – for each other, for their families, for something better.
Here are five life lessons these two characters have taught us (so far).
Grief doesn’t come with a manual, and that’s okay!
Lisa lost her wife in the line of duty. Full stop. That kind of grief? It doesn’t politely fade in the background after a while. It lingers. It seeps into the school run, into 5am text messages, into awkward silences and family dynamics.
What Coronation Street captures so poignantly through Lisa’s story is that grief is not solely defined by the overt displays of sorrow – the moments of quietly breaking down in the car on a random Tuesday in May, or the heart-wrenching task of gathering a partner’s clothing to take to the the charity shop. While these are real and valid expressions of loss, it reminds us that grief also resides in the quieter, braver acts that often go unnoticed.
It is found in the effort to show up for one’s child, even when weighed down by sadness. It’s present in the simple, yet monumental, act of getting out of bed each morning, getting dressed, and attempting to engage with the world when everything feels impossibly heavy. These everyday gestures, which are so easily overlooked, become acts of quiet resilience.
Perhaps most courageously, grief is reflected in the willingness to let someone new in. Even when the heart feels like a locked door, bolted shut by loss, there is profound strength in opening it, even slightly, to the possibility of connection and healing.
Through Lisa’s journey, Coronation Street offers a powerful reminder: grief is not only about mourning what was lost, but also about the small, determined steps taken towards living again.
Lisa doesn’t grieve perfectly. And that’s exactly the point, because no such thing exists.
You’re never too old to discover something new about yourself
Carla has long navigated relationships with men – some meaningful, others tumultuous, and at least one that now feels like a cautionary tale from another lifetime. Romantic love, for her, was shaped by compromise.
Then Lisa entered her life unexpectedly. Not with dramatic declarations or cinematic flair, but with something far more enduring: quiet companionship, thoughtful conversation shared over glasses of wine, an offer of a job for her daughter, and moments of eye contact that lingered just long enough to suggest something unspoken. There were no fireworks, yet a quiet spark began to take hold.
What makes Carla’s journey so quietly radical is its refusal to conform to the expected narrative. There is no grand ‘coming out’ scene, no identity crisis laid bare. Instead, there is a subtle shift. A woman recognising a change within herself, not with fear or confusion, but with acceptance, quiet clarity and courage.
In embracing this unexpected path, Carla reminds us that love is not always loud or easily labeled. Sometimes it arrives gently, without fanfare, not because it demands attention, but because it feels deeply, undeniably right.
And honestly? It’s never too late to surprise yourself.
Single parenting is a full-time job (that comes with no holidays, ever)
Lisa is doing everything, and we do mean everything. She’s trying to keep her daughter’s world together with emotional tape and sheer willpower after the loss of her other mum. She’s going to work, juggling late nights at the station with raising a troubled teenager. She’s nodding and smiling and saying, ‘I’m fine,’ when she’s anything but.
There are days when she feels completely out of her depth. Days when she’s so exhausted she can barely summon the energy to get out of bed, let alone explain how heavy everything feels. But she shows up anyway. Because that’s what single mothers do. Not because they’re superhuman, or because they want medals, but because if they don’t do it, no one else will.
Lisa isn’t perfect, but that’s what makes her so real. So recognisable. Watching her is like watching every overwhelmed, loving, caffiene-fuelled parent finally get the recognition they’ve quietly earned a thousand times over. She embodies a quiet kind of heroism through a fog of grief, and keeps showing up, even when everything inside says she can’t.
She’s not just surviving – she’s carrying someone else’s world on her shoulders. And somehow, impossibly, still finding room for love.
Real intimacy isn’t about grand gestures – It’s about feeling safe
There’s nothing flashy about Carla and Lisa’s connection. No orchestral music in the background, no spontaneous kisses in the rain, no sweeping monologues by moonlight. Their bond unfolds in the quiet, in the moments between moments.
It’s in the way they speak to each other – gently, deliberately – especially when the world around them demands noise and performance. There’s a softness in their interactions that can’t be faked. A kind of emotional fluency, built not on grand declarations, but on showing up, again and again, in small, meaningful ways.
They remind us that intimacy isn’t always physical. It’s not always about touch or romance or fireworks. Sometimes, it’s simply asking, ‘You okay?’ and truly wanting to know the answer. Sometimes, it’s holding space for someone when their life feels like it’s falling apart – not trying to fix it, just being there, and perhaps cooking the odd unappreciated meal. Sitting beside them in the wreckage without flinching.
In a world that so often confuses drama with depth, Carla and Lisa offer something far more rare, far more precious: safety. The kind that lets you breathe. The kind that says, without words, ‘I’m going nowhere.’
Families truly do come in all shapes and sizes
Lisa lost her wife. Betsy lost one of her mums. That kind of loss leaves a space in a family that can never be ‘fixed’ or ‘replaced.’ It’s not about filling a hole or patching up a broken picture, it’s about honoring what was there, while slowly and carefully creating something new.
Then Carla came in. Not as a replacement, not as a someone to fix things, but as someone who chose to join a family already full of complexity. She stepped into a world that was raw and real, holding space for grief, hope, and the everyday chaos of family life.
What Coronation Street shows us so beautifully through their story is that family isn’t always defined by blood or tradition. It’s about choice. About the people who show up, not just when things are easy, but when they’re heartbreakingly hard. It’s about the simple moments: sitting together on the couch after a long day, sharing jokes, wiping away tears, and knowing without a doubt that you’re safe. That you belong.
Whether it’s navigating grief and love together with late-night cuddles, discussions about murderers on the run over pizza, or finding a way to tell a teenager that her mum accidentally shot her, Carla and Lisa remind us that there’s no single ‘right’ way to be a family. It’s messy and it’s complicated, but it’s beautiful.
At the end of the day, love is what builds the walls. And if you’ve got that, no matter how unconventional or unexpected your family might look, you’re already home.
Carla and Lisa aren’t superheroes. They’re just two women trying to survive the everyday chaos with heart, humour, and the occasional hostage situation.
But in between the daily life, the grief, and the glances that last a beat too long, they’ve quietly taught us some of the biggest lessons about family, loss, and what it means to keep going anyway.
More of this, please ITV.
Images copyright of ITV