Part 4: How trauma stopped me from enjoying fiction
And the genre switch that got me out of my slump
When I was heavily pregnant with my second child, I decided to start an online book club for people who – like me – were once avid readers but had fallen out of the habit.
Hugging my printed manuscript in 2021
There were plenty of things I thought were to blame for this shift: social media and the hours of mindless scrolling…sleep deprivation since having kids…the lack of a commute while I was on maternity leave…
But it was only after I’d had about three panic attacks while reading Maggie O’Farrell’s masterful memoir, I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes With Death, that I finally figured out what was preventing me from engaging with fiction: my unresolved trauma.
In the case of this particular book, the writing was so sublime that I pushed my way through until the blisteringly visceral end. Finishing it felt like a relief, but at least two of her ‘brushes with death’ were so close to my own experiences (in relation to childbearing) that reading about them had, at the time, felt like I was reliving the most terrifying and upsetting moments of my life. The fear and dread that consumed me as I turned those pages are testament to the power of O’Farrell’s writing, but were such physical and real feelings that, for a long time after, I began to shun books (and certain films and TV shows) altogether once more.
My virtual book club fell by the wayside, and I felt like I’d never be able to connect with literature and stories again.
But then a few things happened.
Firstly, I finally sought support for birth trauma and began to process what had happened to me in 2015. I began to understand that things like O’Farrell’s book were ‘triggering’ my PTSD, and that ‘avoidance’ was a common reaction. It was just sod’s law that I was avoiding something (stories) that had always brought me such happiness and stimulation.
Next, I began to pick up a different kind of book. I realised I’d always been subconsciously snobby about my reading material, always opting for more literary novels than commercial. As soon as I started reading more ‘uplit’ and rom-com books, I began to fall in love with stories again. I started seeking out TV shows that made me smile instead of shudder. And I leaned into my ‘guilty pleasure’ of enjoying made-for-TV Christmas movies, intentionally removing the ‘guilt’ element and truly embracing my love for them instead. After all, why should we feel guilty for things that make us feel good?
The final thing that happened was the big old global reset: covid. As I wrote last time, in the depths of 2020’s winter lockdown – and over Christmas as I filled my brain with formulaic yet cosily familiar festive movies – I began to write my own Christmas rom-com.
I never intended the novel to explore all the themes I’ve just mentioned above in relation to trauma, comfort and joy. Yet the very act of writing it taught me something fundamental as the words poured out of me: what brings me comfort doesn’t necessarily bring others comfort – and vice versa.
Each of us is likely dealing with our own difficulties and traumas – known or unknown. Some people find comfort in horror stories that shrink their own problems in comparison. Others love documentaries about plane crashes (I still can’t get my head around this one – is it because the aviation industry always learns from the tragedies I wonder? Does that subconsciously provide hope about the human capacity to evolve and improve?). Others love the human drama of Love Island. And I love the predictability of made-for-TV Christmas movies.
Funnily enough, so does my novel’s protagonist…
I finished the first draft of the novel in seven months and printed it out so I could hug it – just like it had hugged me all those nights I’d written it while my children slept. But, even though I was incredibly proud of myself for writing 90,000 words of escapist comfort, little did I know that I still had a lot of work to do…EDITING. More on that next time!
My debut novel, It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas, publishes in August 2025. It’s a love letter to cheesy Christmas movies, British suburbia and nineties nostalgia. Click the book image to pre-order!
