‘She’s quiet,’ said the school reports, ‘no confidence’.
‘A shy girl – one of those who goes scarlet in class when asked a question.’
Were you ever laughed at for being yourself? Did being judged shut you down?
Writing gave me the voice I never had.
Do you want to connect with places in yourself that so frequently go unheard; to drop down from the constant chatter in your head to a quieter, more authentic space? Do you want to move the distress from your body or emotions out onto the page, to transform it, perhaps even into a piece of art?
Why not work with me? When I am not busy writing, I facilitate creative groups, including therapeutic writing, and offer individual support.
For information on groups – contact me.
* * * * * * * * *
Brought up in East Yorkshire…
I attended one of the roughest secondary schools in Hull.
I struggled to process all the complexities and nuances coming into my system every day. My family brushed most of the awkward stuff under the carpet and I tried to hold it all without breaking.
For many of us, the interior is much larger, deeper and more interesting than anyone could imagine. The public face is not necessarily the real face, especially if you’re a highly sensitive person.
Highly sensitive people represent 20% of the population.… It’s a trait, not a flaw, and very misunderstood – a gift that keeps on giving but needs careful nourishment.
A small person can contain so much.
I wasn’t that girl they described. They didn’t know me.
This girl was full of ideas, mischief and emotions, creating games and stories for family and friends. Her playful, pixie-self got her through.
Creativity got her through.
* * * * * *
When I was five, my sister and I shared a double bed. As we snuggled under the covers, I made up stories, to entertain her. If I was lucky, I could persuade her to tickle my feet in part-payment for the service.
I always loved words, inheriting this from my father, who was a linguist. He was from a poor family and when he won a scholarship to Cambridge the school had a day off!
At twelve, I began writing rhyming poems that sounded like something from a hymn book. As I matured, it dawned on me that they were pretty ‘corny’. Despite the praise I received, I stopped.
Fast forward ten years, I was involved in a religious group. Like all of us, I wanted to fit in. But I felt the huge effort having to swallow my true nature… my anger, my humour, my hidden trauma which was, unbeknown to me, bubbling away under the surface. I had learned to be very ‘good’, to live by rules. I felt I had to hide ‘the real me’.
Then one day, I realised that being good wasn’t working. It didn’t make me acceptable.
I got out my pen and began to write a poem, giving myself permission to write without rhyme. And it flowed.
Afterwards I felt satisfied.
Afterwards I felt heard. I said to myself, ‘that is EXACTLY how I feel’
My emotions were mirrored back to me. It was like having an understanding witness who completely ‘got it’; who got me.
Writing became my lifelong companion. Creativity became a joy which I fed and watered. It asks nothing, you don’t even have to be good at it!
