At the beginning of my first counselling session I found myself unable to move or speak. I’d struggled with selective mutism as a teenager at school, but I hadn’t experienced it this severely for many years. When my counsellor asked me why I’d come for counselling, I felt like I’d lost control of my entire body. Instead of being me, I was watching the scene from outside myself. As the sessions progressed I became a little more able to talk, but my extreme response made me reflect on some of the difficulties I’d had with dissociation as a child, and the possible reasons behind them.
My mother was chronically ill throughout much of my childhood. She was later diagnosed with myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (more commonly known as ME/CFS), but for much of her life she was treated as a malingerer by the medical profession who had little to offer her in the way of support or treatment. During the period when I was having counselling she told me that her illness and the lack of support she received meant she struggled to look after me and fulfil my emotional needs when I was a baby and a young child. Learning about this, and talking it through in my counselling sessions, helped me understand why I grew up feeling there was something wrong with me, and why I’d experienced issues with dissociation and anxiety that continued into adulthood. It helped me acknowledge and work through suppressed anger, fear and sadness.Â
It was writing my memoir that enabled me to seek counselling and face up to my own chronic illness – which I’d spent years denying – and tell my own story in my own voice. The opening sentence is: ‘I am not a memoirist.’ Reading that back now, three years after writing the words, I’m reminded of how uncomfortable I had felt when I first started writing about myself. It wasn’t until part-way through that I realised my narrative lacked personal engagement. It became clear that I needed to explain why the natural world is so important to me, and explore the ways I engage with it, particularly when I’m bed-realmed (not able to get out of bed) with chronic illness. But this was way out of my comfort zone, so I enrolled on a diploma in creative non-fiction hoping it would help my confidence. As I began to retell my own story with the support of my tutors, I realised the process was going to involve facing trauma from my childhood that I’d repressed for decades. Following the advice of my writing mentor, I started to see a counsellor to help me cope with addressing difficult experiences from the past.Â
My mother and I have always had a good relationship as adults, but counselling has improved it further and helped us understand each other better. I don’t believe I’d have been able to write the book without the counselling, but I wouldn’t have had the motivation to arrange counselling without the book. I see both as part of the process of understanding and healing.Â
Since counselling I’m much kinder to myself, and I hardly ever find myself beginning sentences with, ‘I feel bad because…’. I also find it easier to bring this understanding and kindness into my everyday relationships with other people. Instead of being someone who wouldn’t talk about chronic illness to anybody, even myself, I’m now looking forward to discussing the issues in my book with other people at talks and festivals over the next few months. I hope that sharing my experiences will help readers who have been in the same situation to feel less alone, and help others understand what it might feel like to live with chronic illness and anxiety. Having completed a year of counselling and published my story, I now have the confidence to say ‘I am a memoirist’.Â