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I developed dissociative identity disorder as a result of chronic childhood abuse.

Yep, that’s right. Multiple personalities. Lots of them.

But not because I was mad. Not because I was mentally ill.

But because dissociation is the only way a child’s mind can deal with overwhelming trauma.

Dissociation isn’t a sign of something going wrong in the brain. It’s a sign of something going right. It’s there to protect us, to keep us sane by compartmentalising the trauma into different parts of our brain.

But that’s only part of my story. A bigger part is how I’ve recovered from DID. And an even bigger part is how I believe in hope, recovery and life. I blog about the bad stuff, the good stuff, and the beautiful stuff.

Want to be inspired?

Come and join the conversation.

Latest Blog Posts

Distress is not illness

Distress is not illness

I’m not comfortable with the term ‘mental illness’.

I know there’s a lot of rhetoric around ‘parity of esteem’ for physical illness and mental illness, and that’s why the term has been pushed to the fore. But for me, mental illness and being traumatised are two different things.

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It’s not fair

It’s not fair

It’s not fair that I have to pay for my own therapy. It’s not fair that I’m all alone. It’s not fair that I’m so unwell. It’s not fair that there’s no support. It’s not fair that I’m in so much pain. It’s not fair that I was abused.

You’re absolutely right. It’s not fair.

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Starting

Starting

So I did it.

I took the plunge, did what I’ve said forever I was going to do, and I started a blog. Cue angels and harps and fireworks and the X-Factor winner from three years ago to make the moment memorable.

Or not.

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We have to do the work

We have to do the work

Therapy is hard work.

But often it’s the therapist who feels it most. It’s the therapist who anguishes in supervision over whether they’re doing the right thing, saying the right thing, responding in the right way. They doubt themselves, yearn for progress, hurt with the suffering of their client.

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Child sexual abuse

It's not a definition or some bullet-points on a page, a menu of things that were done or could have been done, or might yet be done. It's something to do withme as a person, the me that I'm so scared to show you, that I'm so scared to be, because of what happened,...

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What is it like to be me? – I am DID

What is it like to be me? What is it like to be the me that is me-not-you, different, alone, DID? You – in my minds you are you-not-us, but who am I to you? Can you know me? Each day me – tip-toeing through life (your life, your world, your complex unknowable system...

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The body remembers

I hate my body. It was there, always there, during the abuse. My mind went away but my body could not. My mind could forget. We parcelled up little chunks of our mind, bit by bit, and sent them off into dim little rooms where they could be forgotten and not heard. We...

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