My favourite moment of the month: seeing my baby girl wear a pair of sunglasses and making many Bono jokes.

I’ve been creating content about books on Instagram. I’ve long had a complicated relationship with social media (haven’t we all!), but since my attention is already shattered, I thought it’d be fun to experiment with shorter form content while I’m on maternity leave. I’ve been enjoying it way more than I expected. (I don’t think I’m very good at it yet, but I’m learning!) If you’re interested, I’d love for you to follow along. These things matter in the age of algorithms.

To the links…

I made ’s Alison Roman’s Lemony Tumeric Tea Cake and was a little disappointed. This recipe has almost 7,000 five star reviews, but I found it a little bland. It was satisfying to make (love to grind sugar into lemon zest with my fingertips!) and gave me one of my favourite moments of motherhood to date when I hunkered down next to my daughter with the mixing bowl in my hands, imploring her not to scream for 2 more minutes until I got the cake in the oven! The caramelised lemon slices on top were delicious (make sure to slice them thinly, or they’ll be rubbery!), but I probably won’t make it again. I also should have covered it with foil like the recipe said!

I’ve been craving this mint chocolate chip ice-cream cake all summer. I’ve only managed to make it once, but I’ve made the low-fi version (half an ice-berger with two generous spoons of mint chocolate chip ice-cream and a crumbling of bourbon creams) again and again.

This slow-cooker lasange was delicious. The filling felt a little fiddly and the layering was not easy to accomplish with a whimpery baby, but it was worth the work! Two days of delicious, flavourful lasange and no crusty oven dish to wash.

I’ve never heard of a savoury granola, but I’d like to try this one.

I enjoyed this curmuodeonly piece about 25 years of mobile phones (even Ireland’s paper of record is publishing listicles now.. no shade, I love a listicle!)

Hanna Kozlowska wrote a book while pregnant! No way could I have done it!

An excellent piece of writing advice

I added a few things to my Autumn bucket list from ’s list. With a tiny baby, it’s so easy to sit at home and just wallow/worry. Feels good to get out and about!

A little late maybe, but here ares some suggestions for the end of summer. (cc )

A lovely reflection from on documenting our lives (& our children’s lives) and how impossible it is. I also bought one of those ‘line of day’ five year journals early my pregnancy and have enjoyed filling it out, though I almost never do it on the same day. (Bedtime with a tiny human is already hard enough 😵‍💫)

Dare you to read this without crying.

on the vulnerability of hosting. As I said in the comments, I’ve always admired Rachel’s ability to build IRL community. I’m often the organsier in my social circle, and I wish the chronic last minute cancellers understood how much it stings to have poured so much into putting together a party only to have people pull out at the last minute. I know things happen - illness, small children, other demands - but part of being in community means showing up, even when you’d rather melt into the couch with a tub of ice-cream.

For the last year, I’ve been unable to wear most of my clothes. First, I was pregnant. Now I’m breastfeeding every 2-3 hours and can only wear things that have easy boob access and that I don’t mind getting milk stained. These two things have really changed how I think about what I’m wearing. I’ve been making spreadsheets, shopping lists and gathering images probably because my brain needed some visual interest in a moment that feels both monotonous and thrilling. All this is to say that I love delving into other people’s interpretations of style (which is distinct from fashion). This is great example of that - a complete packing list for a week on the beach.

I couldn’t finish watching Heartstopper after I realised the characters were closer to my daughter’s age than my own. I started watching Couples Therapy Season 5 on ’s recommendation. I enjoyed it. The episodes felt digestible, but emotionally complicated enough to be fulfilling. (The fact that I find watching other people’s therapy relaxing is perhaps something I should talk about with my own therapist!)

Related: This conversation about erotic transference in therapy.

I watched the first episode of Rooster, and enjoyed it but I’m not sure I’ll go back to it.

On a particularly exhausted day, I started watching Furious. It’s a post-Epstein story of a female serial killer trying to get revenge for the abuse she experienced as a teenager. It was perhaps a strange thing to watch while the baby napped next to me, but I love a female-centric thriller especially those which reach beyond the tropes of crime shows (See also: Unbelievable)

Ta-Nehisi Coate’s conversation with Hasan Minaj. I’m a longtime fan of Coates’s work, but the clarity of his moral framework is particularly striking in this conversation.

A cooking columnist returns to the kitchen after losing her limbs.

They don’t want you to read. on the friction of reading. An excerpt:

Reading is technology that’s full of friction. Settling into somebody else’s words is magic—their voice…inside your head! But it takes focus and, even more importantly, it takes time. Reading, for many, requires quiet or at least concentration. You can’t read while walking the dog or doing the dishes or in the car. Text doesn’t autoplay when you log into a news site and when you finish a story, most sites don’t throw another one at you like YouTube does. This will sound precious as somebody who writes for a living, but it’s not exactly a fair fight. What makes reading so vital, so fulfilling, is friction. And the internet is trying to eliminate friction in every way possible.

I found some great book recommendations in these lists of books from MFA syllabuses: one and two. Thank you and .

I enjoyed this conversation with Ann Friedman on the book she couldn’t sell. (“We would literally buy anything else from you,” said one editor!)

Thank you for reading. If you’re new to my work, I’ve got a full archive to explore. Here are some favourites. Likes, shares and comments also help my work to reach more people. If you’d like to receive future newsletters in your inbox, make sure you’re subscribed:

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What’s the best thing you’ve consumed this month? I’d love to hear about it in the comments! 👇🏻

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Newborn care is a deeply embodied experience. Pregnancy rewired my brain and body so that my only focus was on sustaining my daughter. But I want more. In particular, I want to use my brain! (This is probably why I’ve been consuming so much. I’ve always enjoyed the easy company of a good book, podcast or show but it’s become essential since I started spending all my time with a tiny human!)

For the next few years my daughter will require a lot of hands-on care and attention. I want to find a way to make things, while also caring for her full-time. I know I’ll be a better parent and partner if I also maintain a connection to myself and my work. I also know that my daughters’ needs are so overwhelming right now that I often struggle to find 2 minutes to brush my teeth! I am breastfeeding her exclusively so we’ve never been apart for more than an hour, and I haven’t had a full nights’ sleep since… well, I don’t even want to think about it.

But this matters to me. I am desperate to write, and willing to sacrifice things (sleep, socialising, having a clean house) in order to do it.

Most days, I can scrounge together an hour or two while the baby naps or while my wife is caring for her. On the weekends, I aim for a little more. Sometimes, I use that time to rest. Or to enjoy life’s simple pleasures like peeing with the door closed without scream-narrating to a tiny person that she doesn’t need to be scared, that I’ll be back soon. Or reading a physical book without worrying that turning the pages might wake her from a nap that it took me more than an hour to coax her into taking.

I know that adding writing to my plate is a little nuts. She wasn’t even 2 months old when I started trying to find time for it! But I also knew how sustaining writing a little each day would be for me. Often, I feel more nourished and supported by an hour with my journal than I would after an hour long nap especially if I spent most of the hour admonishing myself for not sleeping sooner which TBH is how I was spending a lot of my nap times. For me, creative work and rest aren’t necessarily opposites. In my experience, a lack of time isn’t always a hindrance to good creative work. I want to see what might be borne from the chaos of this moment.

I also learned the (very!) hard way that I couldn’t work the way I used to. I’ll spare you the details of the meltdowns I precipitated because I was too distracted by my work to realise that nap time had sailed past and she hadn’t so much as considered closing her eyes. But the fact that my old ways of working are no longer suitable doesn’t mean that all my work needs to stop. I just needed to find another way, to approach the question from another angle.

I set about making a plan that would fit the following criteria:

• Be very flexible. If I had a free 20 minutes, I want to be able to use them meaningfully. (Or to choose to pitter them away scrolling the internet. Either choice is OK, but I want to be intentional about it.)

• Less of a creative schedule than a creative practice.

• I want to set up my work so I can dip in and out of it.

• No deadlines. I want a plan that I can’t fall behind on. The last thing I need is more pressure.

• Built on the premise that staying in relationship with my work, showing up to do a little as often as I could would allow great work to accumulate.

• Allow my brain to think through creative questions, while my body was busy with the menial tasks of newborn care. I wanted to feel in conversation with my work, like it could keep me company while I rocked my girl to sleep or changed nappies at 4am.

• Prevent me from disappearing entirely into the domestic sphere. I want to re-establish a connection with the world, beyond my family and the mom groups. I want to be in conversation with readers, writers and creative peers.

• I want a plan that won’t take me away from this precious moment in my baby’s life. I need to remain very attentive to her. I want to read books and do tummy time, and I need to breastfeed for 2+ hours a day. I don’t want to do anything that might interrupt that.

• I want to acknowledge what I’m already doing, rather than beating myself up for not doing more. Most days, I manage to write a little, either in my journal or on my phone. Most days, I have a little headspace to think about things beyond my family. I want to celebrate and build on those wins.

• I can’t execute my ideas right now, but that doesn’t mean that my creative instincts have stopped. I want to find a way to capture those ideas, knowing that I might someday have time to pursue them. (Or if I don’t, it’s still meaningful to track them.)

• Accept that I will sometimes be more tired because I choose myself or my work over sleep. I’ve decided that I’m fine with that.

• I’ve also accepted that there will be some days/weeks/months, when I’d have zero headspace for anything beyond my family. I am also fine with that.

My hope is that by making some space for my work, it would help me feel more like myself, less lonely/isolated and more fulfilled as a person and a parent.

What I wanted to do

I had a long list of the things I wanted to do. I wasn’t just craving the blue sky thinking of creative work, but the whole enterprise: gathering ideas, organising my files, drafting and redrafting, sketching concepts, brainstorming on structure, making physical things I could reach out and touch.

But really, I had a few priorities:

• To continue writing and sending newsletters.

• To make things with my hands (cooking, building ikea furniture, creating her baby book, art projects of various kinds)

• To keep an intellectual record of this time, which I decided to do through my monthly link roundups. In the future, I imagine that I’ll look back and see that I was circling themes that ended up threaded through my own work.

• To be in conversation with folks (readers, writers, other creative peers).

• To make some space for creative work away from the rhythms of the internet. I’ve been publishing a weekly newsletter for 2+ years. Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time in the internet’s content cycles but having a newborn has a unique ability to drag you into the present moment. I’m in no hurry to rush back to the demands of publishing, and didn’t want this hunger for creativity to mean that I spend more time online or was slowly dragged back into the drudgery of capitalism.

This feels like a good moment to acknowledge the privilege that enables me to do this. I’m currently receiving maternity benefits from the Irish state, so I’m not under pressure to earn money (yet!). It feels important to mention the things I’m leaving aside in order to do this too. Namely cleaning the house (I spotted a dead fly under the bed this morning when I bent to put on my socks!) and paying any sort of attention to my appearance (showed up to a class with my shirt unbuttoned last week because I was writing until the very last moment!). Plus, you know, sleep!

What I’m NOT doing

Just as importantly, I’m clear on the things I’m not doing. No freelancing. No 1:1 consulting work. Nothing that requires me to show up at a particular time/place. No social media (at least for the moment. It fries my brain too much and in this moment, my brain is already quite fried.) No meetings. No “official” professional commitments.

I’m a couple of weeks into this new plan and while it hasn’t always been easy (ask me about the tiredness!), I’ve noticed a significant improvement in my overall sense of wellbeing. I haven’t produced much of anything1 but I have reestablished a conversation with my work, and can feel some small shoots of momentum begin to take root. But this was never about productivity.

It’s about structuring my life to make space for creativity. It’s about building a writing career that can survive interruption, and modelling what it is to prioritise yourself alongside your caring responsibilities.

Thanks for reading. This is one of those topics that feels ripe for conversation. How do you think about your creative work during life’s busy seasons? I expect I’ll hear from parents, but I’d also love to open the conversation to those with other kinds of limitations (chronic illness, mental health challenges, long hours at your “day job” etc).

👇🏻 Let’s chat in the comments

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For years, I used to compile link round ups that tracked all the things I was reading/watching/listening to. At some point, I stopped sending them out. They take a decent chunk of time to put together, and that was time I wanted to spend on my own writing. But it’s a genre of newsletter I love. It’s a great way to track how your passions and interests evolve as well as finding community around ideas that you can’t stop thinking about. In this age of algorithmic curation, I’m even more enthusiastic about getting recommendations from real embodied humans with all their idiosyncrasies.

I’ve been compiling this one since May so it’ll be a bumper edition.

To the links…

While waiting to pop, I watched Ponies (a story about female friendship disguised as a spy show), The Pitt (always good, though the birth storylines felt a little too real!) and this Tony Blair documentary which was a study on self-delusion.

I saw The Drama after a hot and sticky hospital appointment. Enjoyed it, though the twist didn’t really make sense to me. If you love someone, you love them despite their crazy/mistakes/shitty behaviour. To me, it was a story about a neglected kid who had a stupid idea when they were young but never acted on it. People are always more than the worst thing they’ve ever done, especially if they didn’t actually do it. Still, I enjoyed this weird-in-the-best-way story.

This is the podcast I was listening to when my waters broke.

In the early days of motherhood, I couldn’t watch/read/listen to anything. I just gazed at my girl in awe. We’d put on a TV show and I’d just stare at the wall instead. It didn’t last long - maybe 10 days? - but it was a distinct moment and I wanted to capture it.

Then I watched a lot of YouTube clips of Stephen Colbert’s final few weeks of shows (the last one was terribly male, but some of the others were fun!) and the Obama Presidential Centre’s opening. Say what you want about the Obamas, but they know how to throw a party! Will always remember singing along to Stevie Wonder while trying to settle the baby:

🎶 “Here I am baby
Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours
(You got my future in your hands)”

Right now, I’m watching lots of World Cup matches not because I particularly enjoy soccer but because it is a global event that reaches beyond the minutiae of day to day life and lets me feel part of something bigger. Love to see the underdogs thrive, especially teams from outside Europe.

I’ve been craving intellectual stuff to balance this deeply embodied experience, but this book review about “My Year in Paris with Gertrude Stein” by Deborah Levy felt completely beyond my comprehension. A pity, as I love Levy’s work. Might return to it in a different moment (An aside: The Maris Review is a great shout for thoughtful book recs!)

This conversation between and made me feel smart. (Didn’t get to finish it coz the baby cried, but I must return to it!)

Olivia Wilde on Call Her Daddy. I don’t listen to many Call Her Daddy podcasts (they’re awful long!), but this one about Wilde’s new movie The Invite, the cost of having her relationship life play out in public and how our culture treats mothers who still want to be artists/desirous beings was really good.

I don’t watch many podcasts on YouTube - the whole concept of watching a podcast feels a little weird tbh - but The Interview is an exception. Loved this conversation about wanting to be on your death bed thinking “I did everything I really wanted to do”.

Another video podcast that really works: The Dish is fun and always makes me want to cook and eat. The rare example of branded content that can stand on its own.

AOC in conversation with David Axelrod. She’s particularly insightful on the concept of personal ambition while American society is facing such huge societal challenges.

We brought the baby to see her first film in the cinema: Power Ballad, John Carney’s latest film about a wedding band singer-songwriter who meets a boy band star struggling to establish himself as a “real artist”. It’s quirky, sweet and set in Dublin. The perfect respite for two deeply exhausted Moms. (Watched with the perfect cinema snack of popcorn mixed with Malteasers, with a portion of breastmilk for the baby!)

I’ve been prioritising books over articles/newsletters, but I here are two thought-provoking snippets that may have particular resonance for writers:

Sarah Gilmartin on her latest novel:

“The novel began for Gilmartin with a triangle, where geometry meets psychology. “Triangles have an inbuilt sense of loss and inequality,” she says, two versus one, “a great source of tension.””

on ‘Fat Swim’ which I can’t wait to read:

“Story collections are carrier bags for the multiplicities of life rather than the singular thread a novel can demand. What else is the body if not a carrier bag for all the selves we have ever been and will be?”

I loved this two-part series on the most important books of the last decade: part 1 and part 2. I loved how it’s framed. These aren’t necessarily the best books or the books that sold the most, but the books that had the biggest impact on the overall cultural landscape. (from )

A timely and essential conversation on queerness, family and parenting: (from ) A snippet:

“The birth of my daughter four years after my mom died also changed my perspective. Becoming a parent helped me realize how lucky I was to have been raised by a mother whose respect for children was countercultural in a society rife with adult supremacy, coercion, dominance and condescension toward children.”

Favourite travel destinations. It was so nice to dream about a big trip while being trapped under a breastfeeding child for hours everyday.

The inadequacy of the term “sandwich generation” from

A little inside baseball-y maybe, but I’m always curious about folks’ reasons for staying or leaving Substack. Obviously it has a professional resonance for me. Substack is my writing’s primary home right now, but beyond that, I’m fascinated by how tech platforms and their priorities are shaping creative careers. As writes “If your company did internal “restructuring” that resulted in you taking a $5K pay cut in 12 months, you would leave.”

Two newsletters I love (Samin Nosrat’s and Pandora Sykes’s) talked about colour studies courses in the same week which, of course, made me want to do one too. This isn’t the moment for it, but maybe someday.

I appreciated this perspective on pronouns which is both useful in that particular case, and also thought-provoking in how I think about pronouns more generally.

The legal mess around The Tell makes me feel both sad and angry. This is a good summation. I read the book and didn’t really connect with it. The narrative felt much too tidy for something as life-destroying as sexual trauma. (cc )

Reads like the next big Gone Girl-style thriller.

Lastly, let’s chat about books.

I’ve been reading lots - here’s the full list - but some highlights include:

Fiction

We All Want Impossible Things by ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Beautiful and sad. I adored this book. It’s the story of Edi and Ash who’ve been best friends for 40 years when Edi is diagnosed with terminal cancer. For a book about death, it’s surprisingly funny, quirky, even a little sexy. My first book by Catherine Newman but it won’t be my last.

Rejection by Tony Tulathimutte ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Some of the best writing about internet culture (both fiction and non-fiction) that I’ve ever read. Love the execution of the ‘novel in stories’ concept. Unique, striking, unforgettable.

Frida Slattery as Herself by Kinsella ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Evocative novel about the intersection of romantic and creative partnerships. It reminded me of Sally Rooney (who almost always writes about the dynamic between two people), while also being distinctly itself. I’m a fan of Ana Kinsella’s work and was not disappointed by her fiction. It covers similar ground (working in the creative industries and the complicated bonds that are formed around that work) to books like Margo’s Got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe and Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin. A lovely portrait of Dublin over the last two decades too - here are some snapshots of Frida’s Dublin if you’d like to see.

Cal by Bernard MacLaverty ⭐⭐⭐⭐

One of the best books about Northern Ireland I’ve ever read. How is this book not more celebrated? I heard about it through Anne Helen Petersen’s conversation with Maggie O’Farrell and will be recommending it far and wide in the future. It’s a short, moving story of a young man who gets pulled into the conflict in the North. It’s best experienced without too much context I think, so I’ll leave it at that except to say that it has one of the best ‘last lines’ I’ve ever read.

Memoir:

A Truce That Is Not Peace by Miriam Toews ⭐⭐⭐⭐

A cleverly structured and emotionally rich story of sisterhood, suicide and finding a new way through breath-taking grief. There’s a lot about writing in there too, which I enjoyed.

Blood, Bones, & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef by Gabrielle Hamilton ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

One of the best memoirs I’ve ever read. I loved her non-linear style, and the depth in her sentences. If you’ve even a passing interest in food, I think you’ll enjoy this!

Famesick by ⭐⭐⭐⭐

A dishy and fun memoir about Hollywood, fame and illness. Loved reading about the behind the scenes of Girls, and the complex (& sometimes exploitative relationships) that underpinned it

I Remain in Darkness by Annie Ernaux ⭐⭐⭐⭐

I continued working my way through Ernaux’s vast canon with this short, moving book about her mother’s decline due to Alzheimer’s disease. Written in her usual spare style, it’s desperately sad while also being impressively nuanced. It speaks to the complexity of the mother daughter bond which I expect will feel even more layered after I’ve read Ernaux’s other books about her mother. (Thanks to who recently wrote about this book in her newsletter and inspired me to pick it up!)

Non-fiction:

Everybody: A Book about Freedom by ⭐⭐⭐⭐

A fascinating essay collection about what it means to have a body and how it intersects with the concept of freedom. Laing writes about queerness, psychoanalysis, prisons, protest, violence and authoritarianism. I’ve got a mixed history with Laing’s work. I didn’t so much enjoy “The Lonely City” as I felt powerfully seen by it. I was living in New York at the time and felt incredibly lonely all the time. Laing writes about art a lot which isn’t always my vibe, but this was a great read. The sections on Laing’s own non binary identity were especially good.

Second life: Having a Child in the Digital Age by ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Insightful memoir on the intersection between technology and early parenthood. There are some very funny moments (her pre-baby “crafting project” still makes me laugh!) alongside rigorous analysis of the motherhood industry from abortion laws to tech bros “innovating in the women’s health space” to capitalism seeking to make a quick buck off parent’s fears and anxieties. Learned a lot, made me think. Strong recommendation.

Thank you for reading. If you’re new to my work, I’ve got a full archive to explore. Here are some favourites. Likes, shares and comments also help my work to reach more people. If you’d like to receive future newsletters in your inbox, make sure you’re subscribed:

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Let me know your thoughts on this format! Do you like link round-ups, or did you sign up for more original writing? As my work evolves post-baby, I really appreciate your POV.

What’s the best thing you’ve consumed this month? I’d love to hear about it in the comments! 👇🏻

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Earlier this summer, our little girl arrived. She is perfect - wriggly and determined and already entirely herself. She arrived safe and well, after a multi-day labour odyssey. It wasn’t easy (nothing about this experience has been easy!) but I am very proud of how we found our way through.

The last few months have been a fog of breastmilk, sleeplessness, panic and a deep, unshakeable love. As I write, she is sleeping soundly and I’m trying to get my brain to function in the linear way it used to. Nothing works the way it used to. My brain and body have been rewired with a singular purpose: keep this child alive. As the weeks pass, I find myself moving towards a new normal, a life which has a new, tiny human at the centre of it.

As expected, I’m nowhere near ready to return to work. I’m not even sure what “my work” means right now. But I have started to steal a few moments each day to write which helps me to feel more like myself.

I’ve been a little surprised by how much I love the work of motherhood. I go about my days chatting with my daughter as I feed, burp and change her. We spend time reading books (baby books are dull and are almost entirely plotless, so we’ve expanded beyond that narrow genre!) and making faces and getting to know each other. Everyday, she changes. Everyday, she becomes a little more herself. There are times when it feels like drudgery. The cluster of tasks required to keep a baby alive can be menial and repetitive, and I can’t begin to describe the exhaustion I feel at having not slept through the night in months. But there’s also the beauty and magic of watching a new consciousness take shape, watching a new person become who they are. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.

I am feeling the urge to get back to my creative work. My wife has returned to her job and I do sometimes envy her life beyond our newborn bubble. I’m trying to figure out how to incorporate my own creative/intellectual life alongside full-time mothering.

But there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I want to go lift my daughter out of her crib and hug her tight. I want to use my body to feed and burp and change her, as we chat about our plan for the day. I want to move through life with her by my side, and see the whole world anew.

Welcome to the world sweet baby girl. I’ve waited so long to meet you ❤️

A few bits of business:

If you’ve reached out to collaborate or to ask for my help, I’m sorry that I haven’t responded. I’m planning to be off work until at least September so please don’t expect a reply before then.

While I’ve been off, lots of folks have asked to join the SurvivorStack directory. If you write about trauma (broadly defined) and would like to be included, please let me know. The criteria for inclusion are outlined in this post and I’d be delighted to spotlight your work.

Thank you for reading. If you’re new to my work, I’ve got a full archive to explore. Here are some favourites. Likes, shares and comments also help my work to reach more people. If you’d like to receive future newsletters in your inbox, make sure you’re subscribed:

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Let’s catch up! 👇🏻

I’d love to hear your reflections on this post. In particular, I’m wondering how you’ve navigated big life changes, while also trying to stay connected to yourself? It’s a question that most new parents navigate, which means that there are often more cultural conversations around it. But what about other big life events? How might a new diagnosis or the end of a defining relationship or a fresh chapter of any kind shape your self-perception and your day to day life? I’d love to discuss in the comments.

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I had lots of plans for my final post before starting maternity leave. I wanted to compile some monthly favourites, or share some of the best advice I’ve received or write about this weird in-betweeny moment as I straddle the line between the before times and what comes next. But I’m in my third trimester and feeling huge, achy, reflux-y, nauseous and exhausted all the time. I feel so lucky and grateful, but wow has it been difficult. My body has been through a lot over the last year, and it’s perhaps unsurprising that I’m limping across the finish line like a wounded athlete.

I plan to be back to a regular writing schedule (& hopefully others things, like a return to our monthly creative gatherings, a continuation of my work on The Artist’s Way, some longer-form projects, maybe some yoga) in the Autumn. I hope to write a few newsletters over the summer months too. Dispatches from the front lines of early motherhood, and how it intersects with trauma, recovery and creativity. But for now, I need to be on the couch with a blanket over my knees and a pile of books for company.

Some things to read while I’m away:

I’ve been sharing some of the things I’ve learned rebuilding my life after trauma on Notes. It’s a bite-sized format that doesn’t take a lot of time to create but they’ve been resonating with folks more widely than I expected them to. Here’s a sample:

One thing I have been trying to prioritise is reading. It helps me to feel more like myself, and more like a writer. I’ve read 21 books so far this year, and share mini reviews on Storygraph if you’re looking for recommendations. Here are my 12 favourites from this year so far. Expect a mix of fiction, non-fiction and poetry: (thanks to for bumping Annie Ernaux’s A Woman’s Story to the top of my list, and shout out to for recommending “I’ll Tell You When I’m Home”.)

Finally, here are a few of my most popular posts which you might have missed:

How writing helps me process pain, manage triggers and make space for a more joyful life.

My wife and I will be celebrating our first wedding anniversary in a few months. Here are some of the things that helped make our Big Day feel special.

One of my favourite essays about faith, trauma and Catholicism (When I meet readers IRL, they always want to chat about this one!)

A short list of things that give my life meaning

As promised, I’m pausing paid subscriptions until my regular publication schedule returns in the Autumn. No action is needed from you, but you won’t be charged until I’m back at work.

See you on the other side,

Clare x

💕 If this piece resonated with you, please tap the heart below to help spread the word.

💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear from you! Feel free to share your thoughts as I embark on this new adventure, the best things you’ve read recently or what you’re hoping to create over the months ahead.

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Today, I’m delighted to welcome Esmé Weijun Wang to Life after Trauma. Esmé is the author of the New York Times-bestselling essay collection The Collected Schizophrenias (2019), as well as the novel The Border of Paradise (2016), which was named one of NPR’s Best Books of 2016 and one of Electric Literature’s Top 25 Novels of 2016. She is the founder of The Unexpected Shape, which provides different kinds of online education for ambitious memoir writers living with constraints of all kinds. You can sign up for her Reasons for Living newsletter, follow her on Instagram or visit her website to learn more about Esmé’s work.

Welcome Esmé, I am delighted to be in conversation with you. Before we start, can you describe where you’re answering these questions? I’m curious about the sounds, smells, tastes and emotions that surround you as you sit down to engage with these questions.

I am currently answering these questions at the beginning of the life of my new and improved office. I just got back from a very intense, productive writing residency, trying to finish my revisions for my new novel, and I realized that I really need a space to keep my work away from my rest. That’s always been my preferred set-up at residencies.

Because of my several disabilities and chronic illnesses, I have, for the last many years, kept a bed in my office. Yesterday, I took the bed out of the office and put it downstairs, and I began to envision what it would be like for this room to feel more like the writers’ room that I want it to be. It smells like the chai milk candle that I have that is lit. My little dog Daphne has curled up on my meditation cushion, which she absolutely took over, which is fine because I love her. They say she only has about a year to live, maybe less. Congestive heart failure.

I am trying hard to stay in one piece. It sounds melodramatic, but it’s true for me as someone who has experienced certain kinds of abuse, which is something that I write about a lot in my current novel. In my humble opinion, it really does break you in some ways for the entire rest of your life--even with therapy, even with EMDR, even with all of these different treatment modalities. I have been finding difficulty in knowing how to grieve, and so that is where I am. I’m sitting on a pink velvet recliner, and it is a cloudy day.

I’m so sorry to hear about Daphne’s illness, Esmé. A pet’s illness can be such a devastating burden to carry. I’m so grateful to you for making time to have this conversation, despite all the heavy things you’re navigating in life right now. I’m curious what drew you to writing about personal or painful experiences?

I was drawn to writing about personal or painful experiences because it was the material that I felt most capable of rendering interestingly. I wouldn’t say that it was necessarily cathartic, but I would say that it felt like the things that I wanted to say or depict were not things I had been able to find in my reading life.

One example I use a lot is the experience of hallucination. I had read plenty of books about people experiencing hallucinations and what that was like, but I had not heard or read a lot about what the sensation is like: How do your toes feel? What tingling occurs? How does the mind feel instead of just thinking, “Oh, I thought I saw something, but I didn’t.” The brain is also doing a lot of sensory work; there’s a lot of heat being generated, there’s all these things that I don’t think get written about enough.

So I decided that I wanted to write about those things. As I grew further into my writing career, I realized that there were other things I wanted to say about personal, painful experiences; in particular, sexual abuse, which is a big part of my current novel that I am working on revisions for. It’s the hardest book I’ve ever written, and I’m really hoping it’s the best book I’ve ever written.

I assigned myself these things. Then I bash my head against the wall and ask myself why the heck I assigned myself these terrible assignments? But I think it’ll be worth it in the end, and I hope that it will help readers understand what it is like to feel very isolated in the world because of the way you developed due to trauma.

I’m struck by how your instincts as a writer were informed by your experiences as a reader, Esmé. One of the things that drew me to writing about sexual trauma is that there was so much silence around the topic. It’s a heartbreakingly common experience, but it’s also something that our society doesn’t have a lot of language around. I can’t wait to read your new book, though I can imagine that it hasn’t always been easy to write it. Can you share a little about the role rituals play in your writing life?

I have some very elaborate rituals, but one I’ll share here is that I try to read something first that will get my blood pumping, whether that’s poetry or prose or nonfiction or whatnot. I just want to get myself into the space of places where words are doing the things that I would love my words to do. A challenge or a dare, if you will.

How do you manage triggers that arise as you write? Do you have particular techniques or practices for grounding yourself while you’re writing about painful things?

I talk to my therapist. A lot. There have been times during the writing of this book that I had to talk to my therapist every day.

Therapists are the unsung heroes of so many great books! Do you notice physical responses when you write? Does your breath, posture or nervous system change? And how do you work with these changes?

and I have discussed this too (we are long-time, very good friends): she has long panic attacks. This happens to me as well. I also dissociate.

Me too! I’ve gotten a little better at navigating dissociation as I’ve gotten more experienced as a writer, but it can still catch me off guard sometimes. How do you decide what belongs on the page, and what you keep for yourself? Put another way, how do you set your boundaries as a writer?

To be honest, it’s usually not about boundaries. It’s about how good the writing is when I make an attempt to get it down. I deal with ethics and such later.

But I also do keep certain things with a big fence around them. A lot of things about my marriage are in there. Certain events in my life are ones I don’t think I’ll ever write about, because they’re not totally mine to share.

You referenced your reading life earlier in our conversation. What are you reading now?

I’m reading my first Knaussgard and actually like it. The School of Night.

Last question: What piece of work are you particularly proud of? I’m curious about the work that feels true to you, even if it’s not “the best” or the “most celebrated”.

I’m particularly proud of the chapter “Knifeless” in my debut novel, The Border of Paradise. It’s about suicide and trying to keep someone you love from killing themselves, and also facing the question of what you do when they are simply very determined, and they are in such agony that you wonder, Maybe. Maybe I should just let them go.

Thank you so much for being here, Esmé. I’ve loved having this conversation with you. For those who are new to your work, I’d love to recommend your essay collection The Collected Schizophrenias too. I read it shortly after it was published in 2019 and it was a seismic book for me. We have lots of writers in our community so I wanted to shout out The Unexpected Shape writing academy too.

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections on my conversation with Esmé. What resonated with you? And what made you think differently about your own approach to writing about trauma? Let’s discuss in the comments!

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Sunday will be Mother’s Day in Ireland. Regular readers know that it’s a complicated, painful day for me. My mother died in a car accident when I was 19. I’ve spent the intervening years grieving her, and finding a way to live with her absence. With each new stage of life, there’s a new layer of loss to be navigated. This year, as I prepare to welcome my first child, it feels especially poignant.

I don’t have much to say about the complexities of this new era of mourning just yet. It feels like a messy tangle of grief, loss, pain and rage. I need to live it, to find my way around the contours of this new dimension of grief, before I’ll be able to write about it. In moments like this, I rely on other people’s perspectives on the unique pain of motherlessness.

What follows is a collection of essays, books, poems and other resources that capture the raw agony of losing a mother. Most are about mothers who have died. But some are about mothers who are absent through illness, neglect or for some other painful experience. If you’re missing your mother, I hope you might find some solace here.

Dead Mom Essays

The Love of my Life by

“The first time I cheated on my husband, my mother had been dead for exactly one week.”

The Unmothered by Ruth Margalit

“A year later, my diary reads, “Hardest thing: overhearing colleagues tell their mothers ‘Love you’ on the phone. So casually.”

My Mother is Gone, But Her Edits Remain by

“I still can’t draw a line between where her voice is speaking to me, and where I learn to speak.”

This is a Dead Mom Essay by Maddie

“We were out running errands last week, and three days later, she was dead!”

The Long Goodbye by

“The other morning I looked at my BlackBerry and saw an e-mail from my mother. At last! I thought. I’ve missed her so much. Then I caught myself. The e-mail couldn’t be from my mother. My mother died a month ago.”

Matricide by

Unfortunately, this essay isn’t available online, but it’s probably my favourite essay in her book The Unspeakable.

Mother Hunger by

“Our culture struggles to acknowledge the shadow side of motherhood—the absence, the insufficiency, the harm that can occur in this most primal relationship. Until recently, we’ve lacked vocabulary for this particular wound until counselor Kelly McDaniel offered a term, which became the title of her brilliant book that captures this specific deprivation: Mother Hunger, describing "the pain of missing the nurturing, protection, and guidance that are supposed to come from having a good mother." This concept has become crucial to understanding my own relationship with my mother and why this time of year prompts agitation and dissociation.”

Fifteen Years Without my Mother by

“I will not tell you everything. You don’t need to feel that agony. You cannot. Or, maybe you have. I will tell you: no one told me how she died until I arrived at my mother’s house, on Mother’s Day 2010. On my flight from Fairbanks to Seattle I gazed out into the pink sky and pictured my mom’s spirit, thinking she had died from cancer.”

Happy You-Survived-Your-Mother Day by Gabriel Mac

“Because loving myself is the hardest, most crucial thing I do, and engaging with people who set me back is not an option.”

Dead Mom Books

• How We Fight for Our Lives by

• I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jeanette McCurdy

• Wild by

• Motherless Daughters by (I didn’t read the whole book but the first chunk of it was comforting to my newly bereaved self)

• Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H-Mart, which was excerpted in The New Yorker:

“Sometimes my grief feels as though I’ve been left alone in a room with no doors. Every time I remember that my mother is dead, it feels like I’m colliding into a wall that won’t give. There’s no escape, just a hard wall that I keep ramming into over and over, a reminder of the immutable reality that I will never see her again.”

• I also enjoyed her interview on the Death, Sex & Money podcast.

Dead Mom Poems

• Time Is a Mother by Ocean Vuong (including two poems from the collection: Theology and Snow Theory)

• When All the Others were Away at Mass by Seamus Heaney

• Marge Piercy’s The Day My Mother Died and My Mother’s Body.

Other Dead Mom resources:

• This piece of wisdom from a Big Salad newsletter about Motherless Daughters: ( , )

  “I invented the mom I need. When I am really down, I close my eyes and imagine a giant mother who can hold me the way I hold my babies. She tells me everything I need to hear. She loves me in the exact way I need, which is very different from the way my real mother is able to love me. It has been really wonderful.” — Anonymous”

• Stepmom, especially this scene.

• Wild - the movie

• ‘This Is Too Mother You’ by Sinead O Connor

• A Dead Moms Club Reading List

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear about the resources that have helped you navigate grief and loss in your own life. Are there books, articles, podcasts or films that sustained you through your pain? I’d love to hear about them.

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Before we start, a brief disclaimer: I can’t predict what early parenthood will be like. Parents might read this piece and roll their eyes at the naivety of trying to do anything but keep a small human alive. I might look back on this essay in a few months and shake my head at my cluelessness. But holding onto the thread of who I was before having a child feels essential to maintaining my sense of self. I wrote this essay knowing that there’s a lot I don’t know about what lies ahead. I also know how important writing is to me and that I want to try to protect it. I hope that will be possible, but only time will tell.

This is a long essay. You might need to click ‘read in browser’ to see it in full!

Our first baby will be arriving soon, and I’m doing lots of things to get ready to meet them. I’m filling the freezer with post-partum meals, buying boxes of baby supplies and preparing for my own period of convalescence after the birth. One of my goals for this chapter of life is to stay connected to myself. I am so excited to meet our child. I can’t wait to be somebody’s mom. But I also know that I will always be more than just that role. With that in mind, I’m trying to be deliberate about making time to write and maintaining a connection to my deeper self through my creative work.

To be honest, this isn’t always easy. I’ve been quite sick throughout my pregnancy; as I type, the nausea is roiling through my tummy and reflux is searing my upper digestive tract. I haven’t felt well enough to sit at my desk in weeks and do pretty much all my work from the couch with a blanket over my knees. Despite these challenges, I’ve tried to sustain my relationship to writing through these trying months. There are good days, and bad days but on the whole, I’m proud of how I’ve managed it.

What follows is a list of the 20ish things that have helped me to keep creating through this busy time. I’ve also included a handful of things that really didn’t work. Some are practical. Others are more existential. Some are about finding ways to be more “productive” in the sense of getting my writing done and ready to share. Others are ways of thinking about writing at a time when I honestly have very little capacity to write much at all.

Many of us go through periods where our creative work needs to take a backseat to other life priorities. Whether it’s care-giving, managing health issues or intensive periods of other kinds of work or stress, few of us have the luxury of being able to devote long hours to our creative work. For most of us, writing happens in stolen moments, crammed between our other obligations and responsibilities. Perhaps you’ll find something useful in this list of frameworks that have been guiding me over the last few months. As always, I’d love to hear your ideas and reflections in the comments. I’m especially curious about the things that make your writing life feel more possible. It doesn’t matter how small or silly it might seem to you. If it helps you get your work done, I’d love to hear about it.

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Things I’m doing to keep writing through this period of pregnancy/early motherhood:

1. Decide on a few priorities and operationalise those. I have very limited capacity, and can’t do everything I’d like to do. Prior to becoming pregnant, I imagined myself furiously working to complete my writing projects before taking some time off to spend with my baby. I imagined myself being flush with creative energy, likely because I’d read about lots of women who rush to finish books in their final trimester and thank their babies in the acknowledgements section for waiting until the writing was complete before they arrived. All I can say to my past self is Hahahahahahahhahaha! What I’ve learned is that the sacrifices inherent in parenting don’t begin when the child arrives, but as soon as you start making space for them in your life. After a year of fertility treatment and many months of pregnancy, I’ve accepted that my body can only really manage one big project at a time and the work of conceiving, growing and birthing a baby is more than enough for now.

2. A solid (but flexible) editorial calendar can make writing feel more possible. I’m really proud to have not missed a newsletter deadline over the last year. You mightn’t have minded if I missed a Tuesday here or there, but for me, it’s been important to maintain the thread of a consistent publication schedule. Planning is the only thing that has made this possible. I use Notion to plan my content, and have a few content buckets that make it easier to get things done. The Understory Conversations, my monthly cultural roundups and larger projects like The Artist’s Advent Calendar have helped give structure to this soupy time.

I’ve had a weekly deadline for almost 3 years, and that structure has been so useful to me. Even at the end of a week when I’ve done “nothing” (except for, you know, growing and sustaining my unborn child). I have something to point to and say: I made that.

3. One of the unsung gifts of having a plan is that it gives you more space to be flexible. Over the last few months, I’ve often had to divert from the plan. I’ve had to set down the targets I wanted to achieve, and learn to give myself grace through my limitations. This hasn’t always been easy, but I’m proud to have kept going despite the setbacks.

4. Celebrate the small wins. Every Most Fridays, I share a quick Instagram story of the things I have managed to do that week. It helps me to maintain a sense of momentum, and to appreciate the progress I’m making even when it doesn’t feel like much.

5. When you have limited time and resources, being organised makes writing possible. When I do have a little pocket of time or energy to write, I know exactly where to start. I almost never spend any time wondering what to write about, or debating where to start. I have my editorial calendar, know my deadlines and know what needs to be created by when. I might only get an hour a two a week of good writing time, but I am determined to use that time well.

6. Operationalise the things that matter. There’s so much I’m not doing, and I feel bummed about that. But there are a handful of things that I have worked hard to prioritise. Those tasks matter to me individually, and they also help me to stay connected with my work and the world. For me, that’s a weekly newsletter, a daily(ish) Note and a bit more intentionality around my Instagram content. I’m hoping to retain this rhythm until late March when I will give myself the gift of some extended time off. Nobody is listening to Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In advice anymore but one nugget I retained from her book (which I never read) is: don’t leave before you leave. When you know you’re going to be taking time off soon, it’s easier to withdraw from the things that matter to you. Physically, I can’t do nearly as much as I could do pre-pregnancy but I haven’t been willing to withdraw from work entirely.

   That mindset shift - of staying connected and in the conversation, rather than retreating entirely - has helped the last few months feel like a pause or a reorientation, rather than the complete abandonment of a career that means so much to me.

7. A logical filing structure rarely makes the list when writers talk about their “process” but it’s essential for my work. Even if I’m not writing for long stretches, I’m always accumulating snippets, thoughts and ideas that might someday accumulate into something more. Keeping my ideas organised means that when it’s time to explore a big, meaty topic on the page, I’m not starting with a blank page. This popular essay on how writing helps me process my pain was born from more than a decade’s worth of small accumulations on this theme. Over the years, I’ve learned to build structures that can contain my big, messy complex book-length stories. I’ve figured out how to capture the small day-to-day details that give my work texture, and to situate them alongside much broader themes. Organising my work as I go is a gift to my future self. In a few months/years, I’ll come back to the page and find my notes organised sequentially and ready to be shaped into something meaningful. Creating a logical filing structure is an important ballast, especially when you’re not able to stay close to your work on a day to day basis. Here’s an example from the book/essay series/as yet undefined longform project on motherhood:

An aside: I find this nerdy side of the writing process deeply fascinating and am always curious how other writers do it. What do the idiosyncrasies of your filing system reveal about your work? If you’re interested, I’d be happy to share my weird, hoardery filing habits in a future essay.

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8. Inspired by ’s approach1, I’ve made lists of things I can do to advance my writing on both high energy days and low energy days. Today is a good energy day, and I’ve spent most of it wrestling my drafts into shape. On low energy days, I can still do a few things to advance my career: share some Notes, reach out to writerly pals and colleagues, sketch some ideas towards a future essay, add the 600+ books I’ve read to my new StoryGraph account, read, organise my work. It all counts. Even if I don’t get much writing done, I still feel connected to my identity as a writer.

9. I’ve had to let go of my plan to publish newsletters during my maternity leave. My goal was to share the behind the scenes of my path to motherhood2. I didn’t want this newsletter to go dormant for 6+ months, and liked the idea of sharing the path to this moment while I was navigating the trenches of newborn life. But it’s not going to happen. That’s partly because my pregnancy has been more physically difficult than I expected and partly because I ran out of time. Aside from those practical reasons, it also just doesn’t feel right. This story isn’t complete yet. I’m still in the thick of living it. I don’t want to go back and edit the early chapters knowing what I know now. It also feels strange to write about our little one before they’ve arrived, like I would be sharing them with the world before I’ve even met them. As often happens in my writing life, it stopped feeling right, so I stopped trying to do it (at least for now).

10. Accept that I might lose people. I saw a significant dip in subscribers when I announced my pregnancy and friends, I get it. If motherhood is a complicated topic for you (which TBH I think it is for almost all of us), I totally get why you wouldn’t want emails from me in your inbox right now. I respect any reader who decides to quietly opt out of something that triggers them. What’s more difficult to navigate is the fact that when you stop feeding the algorithms, they forget you. The platforms writers use to build their careers are not built for the natural rhythms of creation where productive periods exist alongside fallow periods. I’ve worked really hard to grow my audience and it stings to see those numbers stagnate or even ebb away. It stings, but it’s also OK. Because honestly, I’m in the midst of a huge life transition and writing isn’t the most important thing in the world to me right now. I plan to get back to my creative work one day, but for now I am happy to take a step back and embrace a different rhythm of life.

11. Trust my instincts. Listen to my resentments. Prioritise my body. There have been a few moments over the last few months when I’ve had to take a step back from writing in order to take care of my body. This hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been necessary. When something starts to feel like a drain on my resources, I’ve learned to pause, ask questions and reconsider my priorities.

12. Simplifying my task management system. Last year, I invested a lot of time getting set up on Notion. I built out my goals and corresponding tasks and created elaborate calendars for my newsletters, social media outputs, everything else... Initially, it was great. Then I got pregnant and I was too sick to even open it. These days, I have a much simpler system for managing tasks.

13. Related: set fewer goals. Last year, I set more than 20 goals. This year, I set 4:

    1. happy, healthy family,

    2. a financial goal (basically, don’t go broke while on maternity leave!),

    3. some writing goals (stay connected to it) and,

    4. some friendship/community/hobby goals. (not to get isolated, to read as much as I can, to cook for the people I love).

14. Fuelling myself with quality content. One of my greatest comforts through these last few months has been the company of other people’s creative work. I aim to have an audiobook, a print book and a kindle book on the go at all times. I have a handful of shows, podcasts and a little poetry to keep me sane too. This might seem like a secondary or frivolous task, but bringing a bit more intentionality to how I’m spending my attention has been one of the most important things I’ve done to sustain myself over the last while.

15. Refreshing how my work looks. In this moment of rapid life transition, my old about page felt dated and stale. I re-wrote it, adding new pictures and trying to make it feel more like me. Same with my website.

16. Experiment with some new things that fit the shape of what my brain can do these days. Inspired by and the success I’ve seen other writers have on social media, I’ve been experimenting with sharing more on Instagram. My goal is to find readers, to improve my discoverability as a writer and to expand the reach of my work. Mostly, I’ve been talking about books, which are a deep passion of mine though I don’t write about them very often. It’s a hobby that I hope will sustain me through the early days of motherhood. My challenge is to find a way to be present and engaged with social media, while also staying away from it as much as I can. For me, too much time on my phone consistently correlates with poor sleep, anxiety and grumpiness. I’m still trying to find a balance that feels right, but it’s been nice to experiment with a format that feels new.

17. Both the most difficult and the most important thing I’m doing right now is practicing self-compassion. My body can’t do any more than it’s doing. It’s an exhausting, scary, busy time and I often feel way out of my depth. Writing has been a balm and a comfort through this time. I haven’t really been “successful” as a writer over the last few months, but it has sustained me in deep and profound ways. I’m grateful for that. (I’m also ambitious for more, and need to be patient about that.)

Some things I tried that didn’t work out:

I’m proud of these wins, but there were a couple of things that didn’t work out too.

1. I started sketching a new fiction project last November. I had an idea while on holiday, and wanted to build a structure that could hold the seedlings of this new world I dreamt up. I imagined myself thinking about my characters while pushing the pram around the park. I had no ambitions in terms of word count or even completing the story. I just wanted to have something fun to play with through the early days of motherhood. But even that was beyond me. I haven’t had the headspace for this new project and had to let it go.

2. I wanted to complete The Artist’s Way eBook that I started developing last summer. My ambition was to create a downloadable resource for people who want to do The Artist’s Way though a trauma-informed lens. I thought I’d host another exploration of The Artist’s Way in either Autumn 2026 or Spring 2027, but for the folks who didn’t want to wait until then, this eBook could provide resources and support as they set out to explore their creativity. But I couldn’t do it. My brain wouldn’t cooperate. I hope to return to this project at a later date but I have to admit that I was pretty bummed not to be able to complete this piece of work.

3. Lastly and most importantly, I’ve really missed the deep work of my longer-term writing projects. Over the last few months, I’ve had to focus only on what absolutely needs to be done. That has meant leaving aside the various essays and book projects that have kept me company over the last few years. I really miss them. I’ve missed getting into the world of my work, and tinkering with my sentences. I’ve missed grappling with how my past self messily processed her trauma. I’ve missed the satisfying work of creating new worlds in order to better understand the one we live in. I long for the intellectual companionship and challenge of being ensconced in work that’s unfolding away from the publishing rhythms of the internet. Projects that exist for my own satisfaction and enjoyment, that will hopefully someday find readers but for now, are completely mine. This is the thing I’m most eager to find my way back to. I know it’s unlikely to happen anytime soon, but it’s my long term goal and I’m determined to stay close to it.

Thanks for reading about how I’m thinking about my writing in this transitional moment. I have a couple more essays lined up for you before I start maternity leave at the end of March. Stay tuned for the latest installment of my “Things I Can’t Stop Thinking About” column, some reflections (& a reading list) on Mother’s Day and a thoughtful conversation about writing trauma with award-winning writer . Until then, let’s chat in the comments!

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I’ve been struggling to write. I’m in my third trimester, and experiencing the kind of bottomless exhaustion that feels intractable and permanent. One thing that has helped me to feel more like myself is to have the company of other people’s creative work through this time. Even if I can’t manage to sit at a desk or compose more than a sentence or two, I am finding sustenance and relief in stories. Here are some of the things I’ve been reading, watching and eating over the last month. But first, here’s a round up of the things I’ve published.

I published the findings of our community survey on surviving sexual violence. Huge thanks to everyone who has shared their experiences via the anonymous survey. (It’s still open if you’d like to share your perspectives. You’ll also get a 50% discount on paid subscriptions as a thank you too.)

I wrote about the importance of remaining “on nodding terms with the people we used to be” (to quote Joan Didion), and shared my unedited (& therefore quite cringy) 2014 Proust Questionnaire. This essay feels thematically linked with the recent instagram trend of sharing pictures from 2016.

I loved sharing this conversation with on comfort reading, writing as emotional release and the power of survivor stories.

When life is difficult, I return to reading. So far this year, I’ve read (& listened to) 12 great books. If you’re curious about the full list, check out my Storygraph account. Here are some favourites:

• Loved and Missed by Susie Boyt ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

• Still by Julia Kelly ⭐⭐⭐⭐

• All Consuming: Why We Eat the Way We Eat Now by Ruby Tandoh ⭐⭐⭐⭐

• Heart the Lover by Lily King (audio book) ⭐⭐⭐⭐

• I’ll Tell You When I’m Home by Hala Alyan ⭐⭐⭐

• Trust by Herman Diaz (audio book) ⭐⭐⭐

Loved and Missed by Susie Boyt ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
This book blew me away. Devastating story of a woman who cares for her grand-daughter because her daughter is the thrall of drug addiction. Complex, messy, human. The title is about about loving and missing (the target) rather than the way you’d assume it (on a headstone, for example).

Still by Julia Kelly ⭐⭐⭐⭐
A beautiful book about grief and mother-daughter relationships. It’s structured around the late woman’s autopsy, so each chapter is built around a body part and how she used it during her life. Really felt like I got to know the author’s late mother a little.

All Consuming: Why We Eat the Way We Eat Now by Tandoh ⭐⭐⭐⭐
A fascinating look at food culture, and how we’re all shaped by trends and tastes that are exist beyond our personal preferences. Would recommend to anyone interested in how internet culture (influencers, how queues drive virality), in particular.

Heart the Lover by Lily King (audio book) ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Listened to this on audiobook, and really enjoyed it. I didn’t find it as moving as some folks who read the print version, but still very glad I read it.

I’ll Tell You When I’m Home by Hala Alyan ⭐⭐⭐ (recommended by )
Powerful story of becoming a mother, searching for home and battling addiction. Told in a braided format, the prose is lyrical and beautiful (as you’d expect from a poet) though it was perhaps a little too ‘all over the place’ for my taste. I like a bit more structure, a bit more rootedness, a bit more clarity around the book’s themes. But a beautiful, unique story, compellingly told.

Trust by Herman Diaz ⭐⭐⭐
Beautiful story, well told. Love a twisty/alternative POV ending. Great in audio

The best things I read on Substack were:

• ’s illustration of her book-writing process.

• ’s advice for her pre-baby self. (& some more general advice)

• ’s advice for hosting an at-home writing retreat. (I can’t do this now, but I hope to someday!)

I’ve been prioritising audiobooks, but also enjoyed this duo of podcasts about different aspects of having children: a life changing IVF mix up and what it’s like to raise children in a digital age.

I’ve been watching a lot of “fine, but not great” TV over the last month, but the thing that stayed with me the most was this video from about goals and neurodivergence. Lexi has a broader understanding of productivity and recommends creating a list of actions that are suitable for both high and low energy days. I loved her humane, holistic approach and sent it to a bunch of pals. (Big thanks to for the recommendation.)

I’ve been dealing with the twin pleasures of nausea and reflux, so eating has been more fraught over the last few weeks. I’m leaning into comfort foods: mashed potatoes, homemade raspberry muffins (via ), this orzo with spinach and feta (with more than 20k 5 star reviews!) and pancakes (via - don’t skip the melted butter).

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear about the things you’ve been consuming over the last month. What made you think? What sustained you? What made you want to create?

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Today, I’m delighted to welcome Shawna Ayoub to Life after Trauma. Shawna is a brown, queer, Durham-based writer and instructor. She teaches through Survive Your Story, Center for Creative Writing, and is Director of Programs for Literary Liberation.

Welcome Shawna, I am so grateful to be in conversation with you. Before we start, can you describe where you’re answering these questions? I’m curious about the sounds, smells, tastes and emotions that surround you as you sit down to engage with these questions.

When I sat down to compose my responses, I was in a waiting room. I’d taken my wife for a follow-up appointment. A woman in a wheelchair was softly moaning. As we waited, I read through the questions. I found the blue light pleasant, but my agitation rose. For a moment, I couldn’t place the reason for my unease. We were sitting by large, bright windows. Fall light was shining on us. The woman in the wheelchair began to cry louder. As the others in the waiting room looked at her, her volume increased. It was difficult for me not to go talk to her, but she wasn’t masked and medical waiting rooms post-COVID are already such a gamble. I heard someone remark that the woman clearly wanted attention. I thought, “Of course she does. She’s in pain and she’s looking for answers. Whatever is happening inside her is unseen. We all need to be witnessed.” I gripped the arm of my chair and decided to wait to answer these questions until I was at home in the privacy of my office. I’m here now, comfortable in a cool silence and deeply relieved.

Wow, this tiny anecdote really illustrates your commitment to witnessing others especially during difficult moments. It feels like a very fertile place to begin. I’m curious what drew you to writing about personal or painful experiences?

My writing was necessary. I came to it very young, with the help of my mother. It was a way to process my very big feelings. I witnessed violence early and regularly. I also grew up as part of the Lebanese-American diaspora resulting from the Lebanese Civil War. Middle of the night calls throughout my early life were common. It was how my father learned which members of our extended family had been injured or killed. This plus persistent poverty and racism contributed to an instability I didn’t know what to do with except try to capture it with words. I made poems, then stories, then found my way to memoir which has been my happy place because I get to be fully honest on the page.

I really relate to this, Shawna. For me, writing is first and foremost a tool for survival. I’m curious about what your writing routines look like these days. Do you have a favourite time of day to write? A favourite prompt?

I’m getting the most value out of silent write-ins. Gathering in a virtual co-working space for a dedicated time period forces me to stay committed to getting my writing done. In that environment, I’m willing to use that time and space for myself. I’m more likely to do the writing (or work) that feels the best to me. I often begin by asking myself: what can I leave behind? What can I set down? What am I carrying that no longer serves me? This allows me to write in a way that frees me from unnecessary emotional and mental clutter.

What do you wish readers understood about writing that deals with difficult or traumatic topics?

I wish readers who don’t share my marginalisations were able to still relate. There have been plenty of times when I’ve shared work by marginalised writers in classes I teach only to have readers openly state they don’t see the point in having to read that type of story because they can’t relate. However, that is the point. Reading allows us to stretch. It grants us the opportunity to try out new perspectives. If mental flexibility was practiced through reading about challenging topics, I think we would experience less victimisation because the predators who may have learned to be predators through internalised norms could learn otherwise. Reading authentic survivor texts can change the world.

Absolutely! Reading survivor stories was transformative for me at a personal level. I think it can have a similar impact on a societal level too. Creating these stories isn’t always easy though. How do you manage triggers that arise as you write? Do you have particular techniques or practices for grounding yourself while you’re writing about painful things?

Breathing is my best friend when it comes to triggers. Early in my writing practice, I used to sit with a hot cup of tea and just hold it until it cooled. I wrapped my hands around the mug whenever any hard feelings arose. That grounded me. Gradually, I shifted toward aromas, and that naturally led me to breath. I still love a hot cup of something, especially if it has lavender in it.

Hot drinks are essential for me too! How do you know when writing is helping you move through something, versus when it’s retraumatising?

When I have strong physical responses to my writing, I know that I’m not ready to do that work yet. I feel my throat choke up, my shoulders tense, my thighs clamp shut. I need to be able to relax into my body in order to let the words flow.

When that happens, I wait until I can sit with my thoughts and not have so much tension grip me. Sometimes I’ll talk it out. Sometimes I’ll walk it off. I’ve come to trust that the tension will ease. I’ll be ready. The writing will happen. It might take several tries for the words to make sense, but they will.

We have to be patient with ourselves when we embark on this work. That’s a lesson it’s taken me a long time to learn. As you write, how do you decide what belongs on the page, and what you keep for yourself? Put another way, how do you set your boundaries as a writer?

When I’m considering what I will share, I ask myself who it will hurt and how. My first concern is myself. That may sound selfish, but if I’m writing about abuse, I need to ask myself: Am I putting myself in danger? Am I putting someone else in danger?

Next I think about whether I am reacting or writing an authentically thought out piece. It’s easy to write anger. And blogging platforms like Substack make it very simple to publish those raw feelings. But I’ve learned that I need to be ready to share my work. I can’t always take back what I’ve put out there. I’ve learned that the hard way. But I’ve also learned that what I’ve put out there has amazing rewards.

Through the work I’ve published, I’ve consistently received private feedback from readers who see themselves in a line or an experience. There is no better feeling than knowing I’ve helped bear witness or be a mirror. Letting another survivor know they are not alone – touching just one person with any piece I write – that is always my goal.

Reading (and reading about trauma, in particular) has been instrumental in my recovery. What is your relationship to reading? How has it impacted your wellbeing? Your experience as a writer?

I read constantly, usually three books at once. Typically, I check out an audiobook through the library for when I walk, drive or clean, read a book on my Kindle at bedtime, and have a physical book I make notes in. Right now, it’s more than that because my wife and I have restarted our liberatory reading practice. To me, reading is essential. It is secondary to breathing. Through it, I experience other worlds, other perspectives, and I feel seen. Finding yourself in another’s person’s words is beautiful. When I write, I hope readers can experience some level of that through what I choose to share.

What is your favourite book?

My favorite book for years was A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I used to read it twice a year, but the white savior aspect of it all no longer speaks to me. So now, I don’t know. There is so much out there. I think it’s safe to say my favorite genre is speculative fiction. I love alternate futures. I love afro-futurism. I love books where there’s joy and possibility.

What are you reading now?

Right now I’m reading my comfort author Stephen King. But I’m also reading two books I’m really, really excited about. One is How to Be Sick by Toni Bernhard. It was recommended by disability Substacker . I’m excited to be reading it alongside ED Recovery Substacker . I’m also reading ’s Salt Bones, and not nearly as quickly as I’d like. Every line is delicious. I haven’t devoured it because I insist on giving it my full physical and mental attention. It’s too good to do otherwise. Givhan is a fellow survivor, and it comes through in her lyricism.

Thanks so much for these recommendations, Shawna. I’m excited to discover these writers’ work. And thanks for being part of The Understory Conversations. It’s been such a pleasure to chat with you.

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also appreciate:

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections on my conversation with Shawna. What resonated with you? And what made you think differently about your own approach to writing about trauma? Let’s discuss in the comments!

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I had a sliding doors moment last week. I lifted my hand to knock on my therapist’s door, and saw my wedding ring on my hand. As I lumbered my bulbous pregnant belly up the steps to her office, my mind flitted through all the other times I’d made this short walk before. When I first started seeing my therapist, I was deeply traumatised. I was lonely, isolated, and unable to cope with the usual ups and downs of life. Aside from work, I barely left my small, grotty apartment. I wrote. I read. I watched a lot of television.

That chapter of my life happened almost a decade ago. Since then, I’ve moved house, changed jobs and started a new relationship. The infrastructure of my life is completely different, but my therapist’s office remains the same. It’s the only environment I still inhabit where I was once so traumatised.

I’ve written about these sliding doors moments before. When I told a story on stage about the night my mother died, I felt my current self collide with my past self. The storytelling venue was close to the office of the solicitors I hired just after my mother’s death. It was where I went, aged 19 and shattered by grief, to try to figure out how I could find my way through the legal mess my mother left behind1.

When I stood on stage that night and talked about how her death had upended my life, I felt my younger self lingering in the back of the crowd. She couldn’t have imagined this life I have now - happily married, expecting my first child, living a full life.

I had this collision of past and present in mind when I rediscovered a copy of The Proust Questionnaire I completed way back in 2014. I had just returned to Dublin after a year in New York. I was working in a charity, travelling a lot and desperate to be able to write. I was single (or more accurately, unknowingly closeted) and experiencing a level of loneliness and isolation that it would take me many, many years to dig my way out of.

The 2014 questionnaire felt like an artifact from my past self. That year wasn’t a turning point in my life. To be honest, life got a lot worse before it got better. The following year, I would be diagnosed with C-PTSD following a work trip to Gaza. Soon afterwards, I’d take a job in a toxic organisation and spend a few years working to legalise abortion in Ireland. I had many more years of bad relationships with men, horrible bosses, deep loneliness and intractable trauma ahead of me.

But that isn’t the whole story. I got to move beyond those chapters, and rebuild my life on a much firmer foundation. I came out, fell in love, got married and embarked on the fertility treatment that resulted in this pregnancy. I was able to buy a home, and drop a domestic anchor. I became more established in my career, more able to find stable, secure employment. I accumulated more lived experience of managing trauma; of breathing my way through triggers on the yoga mat, of sorting my way through my pain on the page, of meeting people who could hold what I’d been through and still want me to be in their lives. I got older, and life got easier.

I’m in another of life’s transitionary moments at the moment. During our latest community gathering, I was reflecting on how my creative work has evolved over the last few months. My brain and body have moved into a new zone. I’m less interested in writing and professional ambition. My focus has shifted toward my family and preparing the nest we’ll bring our little one home to. Some of this shift is practical: I’m buying car seats, gathering donations from friends with younger children and taking antenatal classes. But it’s also been a profound psychic shift. I’m evolving from an entrepreneurial worker bee into a mother hen2.

It’s a moment where my past and present selves feel concertinaed together. I inhabit them both while also glimpsing an exciting new future.

It’s also perhaps the reflective calm that comes before our world explodes into the chaos of newborn life - dirty nappies, sterilisers, achy exhausted bodies and more love than we know what to do with.

To mark this transitionary moment, I’m sharing my unedited & therefore vaguely cringy Proust Questionnaire from 2014. I’ve lightly annotated it with the fresh perspectives I’ve garnered over the years, and hope that you’ll be gracious with my past self as she tries to find her way.

My Proust Questionnaire (2014 version)

What is your greatest fear?
Success. Being alone. Being laden with regret. Fucking up in a big way. (That’s 4 fears!)

Notes from present day: It’s striking that I didn’t mention fear of death/loss. I suspect my 2014 self didn’t think she had much more to lose..

What is your current state of mind?

Read more

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Last year, I invited folks who’ve experienced sexual violence to share their experiences via an anonymous survey. I wanted to understand how people rebuild their lives in the aftermath of sexual trauma, and how our society could better support them. Today, I’m proud to share the results with you.

As many of you know, this project grew from my personal experience of sexual violence. I’m among the two million people in Ireland have experienced some form of sexual violence, and yet there is almost no data on how our experiences have impacted our lives. If we want to serve survivors, we first need to understand them better.

The survey consists of 26 questions. They’re all optional, but most people completed the vast majority of them. On average, respondents spent about 12 minutes completing the survey. I know this is a big ask. Talking about sexual trauma is never easy, especially when you’re pouring your heart into an anonymous answer box on the internet. I deeply appreciate every single person who took the time to share their experience. Truly, thank you for helping me to better understand this community and how my work can (hopefully) make a difference in their lives.

What follows is a summary of the results that I think will be most interesting to you. Expect a mix of graphs alongside comments from respondents. I’ve added a handful of my own comments and perspectives throughout too.

The survey is still open and will be accepting submissions on a rolling basis. If you’ve experienced sexual violence and would like to share a little of your experience with me and the Life after Trauma community, you can take part here. As a token of my gratitude, I’m offering a 50% discount on paid subscriptions to everyone who completes the survey.

Take the survey

Before we dive into the data, here are four key overarching trends.

1 For the vast majority of us, sexual violence is something we overcome largely on our own.

In the immediate aftermath of an assault, 78% of respondents didn’t contact any support services. As they worked to rebuild their lives, a further 72% said that they received no support from the criminal justice, health or child protection services, nor charities/NGOs. Similar to other research, this survey found that 98% of respondents did not go to court as a result of their experiences.

2 The impact of sexual violence is severe, long-lasting and multi-dimensional.

Respondents experienced experienced a wide range of negative outcomes, including flashbacks, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem, dissociation, sleep issues, relationship challenges, chronic pain, impacts on their ability to work or study, substance abuse issues, eating disorders and feelings of isolation and blame.

3 But more than three-quarters of respondents have also experienced some form of post-traumatic growth.

Just 4% of respondents hadn’t experienced post-traumatic growth in at least some areas of their lives, while 16% has never heard of the concept. Respondents cited a wide range of practices as being instrumental in helping them to rebuild their lives, including therapy, physical practices (yoga, exercise) meditation, creative practices (journalling, art therapy), support from loved ones and other survivors, volunteering and campaigning for change.

4 Many respondents don’t connect with “survivor” language.

When I speak or write about my experiences with sexual trauma, I refer to myself as a survivor. But this language doesn’t feel right to everyone. Two-thirds of respondents think of themselves as “people who’ve experienced sexual violence”, rather than either victims or survivors.

Onto the data itself..

The survey asked respondents’ about their experiences with these services:

“I did not have the words to tell someone what was happening.”

“After one incident, I reported to local police and was told that it was a he said, she said, and “next time, you should just say no”. It was devastating.”

“It was not safe for me to report what had happened to me.”

“I didn’t tell anyone for a long time”

“I repressed the memory for months. Once I remembered I told people I trusted. The first people [I told] were great. The next person I told didn’t believe me. I didn’t tell anyone else for a decade.”

“I have no faith in the courts. NONE”

“In a perfect world, I would report what happened to me, but I don’t have the energy or resilience, resources or support to do that.”

Respondents also spoke about having both good and bad experiences within the same organisation and getting “hit on” when they reported their assaults.

How has sexual violence impacted respondents’ lives?

“Ever since it happened, I’ve been a wreck. Nothing in my life is stable. It has genuinely destroyed so many aspects of my life”

“It has done great emotional damage to romantic relationships and made trust and intimacy basically impossible.”

“I have a high level of distrust of self and others. When I think I have resolved the trauma, it seems to seep through the cracks and present more PTSD.”

“I don’t trust men until I’ve known them a VERY long time.”

“Sexual violence made me think I was an object and it took years to change that belief... now I coach others and have a life filled with meaning, but it took 60 years.”

“There’s a sense of self blame and people thinking [I’m] damaged.”

“I have chronic health issues that I wonder are created or amplified by sexual assault and not trusting my decisions or my body”

“Holding onto the stress of the event has impacted my memory, my brain, my menstrual cycle, my eating habits, my sleeping habits, how often I leave the house, my relationship with men. Dealing with it is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I’m so proud of myself for getting myself through the past 5 years.”

“Shame, internally blaming myself, no longer in touch with my family & whilst glad about this in many ways, I feel isolated and cut off from that part of my life”

How have you rebuilt your life after sexual violence?

A wide range of practices and supports helped respondents to rebuild their lives, including:

“A close relationship with God”

“Writing about my experience was a fundamental part of my journey”

“I’m still in the middle of it but having a strong support system and writing has helped”

“It has taken everything - physical, emotional, spiritual disciplines”

“I slowed my life down a lot”

“Time, distance and counselling helped me get better”

“Talking about it, sharing it”

“My own reading on how society responds to and deals with victims and how problematic it is. This has allowed me to feel less alone.”

“Art has helped me to heal so much from many things.”

“My own self awareness got me through the aftermath of my attack.”

“Medication. Since being medicated, I have space in my brain to read, work, live, shower, hang out with friends, engage with therapy. I don’t know where I’d be without my psychiatrist and my medication. My symptoms were too debilitating before hand.”

“I think I will always be in the process of recovery. I do believe that therapy, yoga, and the creative process have been for me, the most beneficial.”

When asked what they wished people understood about sexual violence, respondents spoke about a number of themes:

The isolation and prevelence of sexual violence:

“How isolating it is and how painful it is when the perpetrator gets to live life as normal even when everyone knows what they have done.”

“That it is more common than we think”

“I wish people understood that it is so insanely common, that it’s not something that’s far removed or out of reach, that people you meet on the street, in work, in college, have experienced this. It’s the worst heartbreak imaginable, but it is invisible unless we speak about it, nobody is speaking about it, but anyone who has experienced it, knows how easy it is to happen to anyone.”

The severity of the impact:

“How severely it affects every aspect of your life and health.”

“It’s not just a bad incident that happens and you just get over it, it’s deeply painful and effects every aspect of your life”

“That it can impact all areas of your life. Just because you can’t see the impact doesn’t mean the person is not struggling.”

“The effects can continue to emerge years later”

“That’s it is violence, regardless of the sexual nature.”

That survivors are never at fault:

“It’s not because you ‘asked for it’ in terms of clothing or behaviours. Nothing excuses it”

“That there is no reason at all to accept it as normal or expected or ‘just the way it is’ and that it is never, on any level, the fault of the victim.”

“That no one asks for it, no one wants it, and nobody deserves it. And it’s a lot easier to hold if you have others to talk about it with in a safe way and safe space.”

The language we use when we talk about sexual violence

“I think it’s way more important to be able to talk about these things rather than specific words we use.”

“I don’t like the word victim or survivor. I’m just a person.”

“After years of therapy and self healing I feel more like a survivor.. it is something I experienced, but does not define who I am anymore.”

“I don’t mind all three [options]. However there were times where I felt rushed to identify as a survivor when sometimes I think it is important to let people realise they were a victim of a crime and not rush them to labelling it as something else. Survivor can feel empowering when you chose to use it, but when pushed to be used it can feel hollow and isolating”

“It depends on the day or context in which I find myself”

“Hate victim, hate survivor. I didn’t survive. I’m a different person.”

“I’m not a victim, and survivor sounds grandiose. I prefer thinking of myself as someone who has experienced sexual violence.”

The survey asked respondents to reflect on what would have made the biggest difference to their recovery from sexual violence. If you haven’t experienced sexual harm and want to support the people in your life who have, I hope you’ll find some direction here.

“Being believed. Compassion. Knowing I was not alone in my experience.”

“If I had talked to people about it sooner and got support straight away. I needed someone in my corner. I didn’t have that.”

“Having a safe place to escape to after it happened. I desperately wanted to be picked up and dropped to a retreat of some kind where I could spend several weeks in nature, sleeping, crying, being held by safe people.”

“Sharing with the right people and getting adequate support”

“To know it was safe and I would be believed”

“Being believed and holistic aftercare”

“To not have kept it a secret for 50 years”

“It helps to know that I am not alone”

“People think it breaks us forever, and that just isn’t true. I never stopped believing in the possibilities of healing.”

Demographic details

• 80% of respondents to this survey were female, 2% were male and 16% were non-binary. 2% preferred not to say.

• 63% of respondents were aged 30-50, 20% were aged 50-70 and 6% were aged 18-30.

The survey is still accepting responses if you’d like to have your say. It’s is open to all survivors of sexual violence aged 18 or over. You can skip as many questions as you like or stop at any time. If you would find it useful, here is a simple grounding exercise too.

Take the survey

As a token of my gratitude, I’m offering a 50% discount on paid subscriptions to this newsletter to everyone who completes the survey. Paid subscribers have access to my complete archive, including my Ask Clare column, the resources I recommend to survivors and more personal essays (including this deep dive on my wedding). You’ll find a link to access this 50% discount at the end of the survey. (If you have any issues accessing it, please let me know!)

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💬 In the comments, I welcome your reflections on these results. Are there things that surprised you? Or things that sadly didn’t come as a surprise at all? I’m so curious to hear your perspectives.

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My creative work has slowed over the last while. It’s not a surprise: I’ve been growing a new human. But this chapter has made me think about the importance of creative inputs and how they make our work possible.

I’m starting a new column to curate the things I’ve been consuming over the previous month. It’s less a link round up, and more a chronicle of the things that have burrowed deeper into my heart and mind. I plan to share the TV I watch when I’m exhausted, the podcasts that keep me company on long walks and the books and articles that make me stop and think.

I think of these roundups as cultural care packages, as invitations to go think more deeply about the culture we’re consuming and how it fuels our creative work. I hope these posts will be a place not just for recommendations, but for connection. Many of us work alone, sitting in our individual rooms wrestling with our words.

But creative work rarely happens in isolation. It’s informed by the people in our lives and the culture we consume.

What follows is a round up of the things that have kept me company over the last month. Expect a mix of books, articles, podcasts, TV shows, films and recipes. But first, here’s a round up of the things I’ve been writing.

I was blown away by your lovely response to my baby news earlier this month. Pregnancy is a tender time, and I was nervous to share our news but your love and encouragement really warmed my heart. Particular thanks to the queers who’ve reached out to welcome us to the wide world of queer parenting. Embarking on this adventure in a family that exists outside the norm is a nerve-wracking thing, and y’all have made us feel so welcome. 💕🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

I loved sharing this conversation with on writing trauma, staying with triggers, the land’s “indifference to ambition” and how the body always tells the truth before the mind does.

I can’t believe it’s been three years since I published this essay about male violence and Ashling Murphy’s death. Sadly, I’m not sure much has changed. Here’s the link to read about the time a man spat on me on the street!

Lastly, I wanted to share this essay on the troubling overlap between sexual violence and disordered eating. It feels especially relevant during January (aka Diet Culture season).

Reading has been one of my most important forms of rest as I muddle through my third trimester. I’m hoping it’ll continue to be a companion through all the change that lies ahead this year. To better track my reading (& to get some nerdy stats at the end of the year), I created a Storygraph account.

Earlier this month, I also shared my best books of 2025:

The best things I read on Substack were:

• ’s Lessons from the Worst Year

• ’s advice on writing a novel piece by piece

• on the terrible first draft that led to her bestselling book Quiet

Longtime readers will know that I’ve been reflecting on the role faith plays in my life. I grew up Catholic but left the church in my early 20s, and have been spiritually homeless ever since. I would love to be part of a progressive faith community that would help me to hold and live alongside life’s biggest questions. I have zero energy/mental capacity to devote to this right now, but I was very moved by this episode of ’s Death, Sex and Money. It’s about one of America’s first gay inclusive churches and how the community grappled with the AIDS crisis. The podcast is built around audio cassettes that were discovered under the church floor alongside interviews with members of the community. It concludes with a rousing rendition of a hymn that was new to me but has been rattling around in my brain ever since.

January means a lot of time watching TV/films. I enjoyed lots of things you’ve probably already heard of:

• Heated Rivalry. It started slow, but I’m so glad I stuck with it. Sobbed my way through the final episodes.

• Down Cemetery Road. Emma Thompson as a spunky detective grieving her murdered husband and trying to unearth a conspiracy.

• Nomadland. Beautiful, moving, very Oscar-y.

The best thing I watched this month was a documentary called Lilith Fair: Building a Mystery. It’s about an all-female festival that toured the United States and Canada from 1997 to 1999. The documentary chronicles how Lilith Fair challenged the male-dominated music industry and laid the foundations for artists like Taylor Swift and Beyonce to thrive. Expect lots of 90s female singer-songwriters, queer-coded community joy and the controversy that erupts when women try to make change. Here’s 90 seconds of Sarah McLachlan and Sinead O’Connor singing Angel to whet your appetite.

💕 If you enjoyed this new format, please tap the heart below to help spread the word.

💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear about the things you’ve been consuming over the last month. What made you think? What made you want to create?

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Today, I’m delighted to welcome to Life after Trauma. Michelle is the author of Forager: Field Notes for Surviving a Family Cult and the founder of Forager Wildlife, a feral creative collective for rebels, rewilders, and pleasure-seeking survivors who want to remember who they were before the world told them to shrink. In her own words: “I grew up in an apocalyptic cult on a mountain, where I was taught to trust obedience over instinct. Now I teach people how to listen to their bodies, kiss the dirt, and tell the truth without asking permission.” Michelle is also hosting The Artist’s Way at the moment, which I know will be of interest to some of you.

Michelle’s writing has appeared in The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, TIME Magazine, The Alpinist, LA Parenting Mag and The Los Angeles Review of Books. She writes the Forager Field Notes newsletter.

Welcome Michelle, I am so grateful to be in conversation with you. Before we start, can you describe where you’re answering these questions? I’m curious about the sounds, smells, tastes and emotions that surround you as you sit down to engage with these questions.

I’m sitting at my small wooden table on a mountain range in southern California, nestled next to a national forest, where the morning light comes in sideways and soft, and the scent of pine hangs low to the ground. A scrub jay is insisting on something outside the window. My tea tastes faintly of smoke, and my body feels both alert and unhurried. This is the place where my nervous system loosens, where the land reminds me I’m held, and where truth comes through with fewer obstacles.

It sounds like an idyllic spot, Michelle! To begin, can you tell me about what first drew you to writing about painful experiences?

I grew up in a world where silence was the primary currency. Pain was supposed to be endured privately, even erased. Writing became the first place where I could breathe without permission. It wasn’t that I wanted to expose wounds, it was that the page was the only place that didn’t punish me for telling the truth. Writing painful experiences became a form of reclamation, a way of saying: “I was here. This happened. I get to decide what this means now.”

When you write, do you notice physical responses in your body? Does your breath, posture or nervous system change? And how do you work with these changes?

My breath shortens when I’m near a truth I’ve avoided. My shoulders creep up toward my ears. Sometimes my stomach drops as if I’ve stepped off a cliff in the dark. I’ve come to understand these sensations as guides rather than signs I should turn back. When my body contracts, I slow down. When it expands, even if the expansion is shaky, I know I’m moving toward something necessary.

It sounds like you’ve developed a beautiful ability to read your body’s signals and allow them to guide your work. How do you manage triggers that arise as you write?

I stop. I step away. I walk. I get water. I breathe from my belly instead of my chest. I’ve learned that staying with a trigger isn’t the same as forcing myself through it. I ask myself: “Is this sensation a message or a warning?” If it’s a message, I keep going. If it’s a warning, I pause until my body opens again. Sometimes my rescue is as small as placing both hands on my ribcage and reminding myself, out loud, “You’re safe. You’re here.”

I love that idea. It seems like such a simple thing, but it can be deeply reassuring in an unsteady moment. Do you have other rituals or practices that support your writing life?

Rituals keep me honest. Before I write, I usually step outside, put my bare feet on the earth, and take one slow breath that doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is. I light a small candle when I need protection, or a stick of piñon incense when I need courage. I almost always write in the mornings, before the world has its hands on me. My favourite prompt: “What is the body trying to say that the mind won’t let speak?”

Wow, I almost want to pause prepping this interview and go write towards that prompt right now. How do you know when writing is helping you move through something, versus when it’s retraumatising? If you feel comfortable sharing, I think tangible examples can be especially helpful here.

If I leave the page feeling more spacious, even if I cried, that’s healing. If I leave feeling smaller, more collapsed or ashamed, that’s retraumatising.
A tangible example: When I wrote about my mother’s death, I felt a release, a sort of inner exhale, even though it hurt. But when I first tried to write about leaving a man who controlled me, my throat closed and my hands shook for hours afterward. That was my cue to go slower. The body always tells the truth before the mind does.

How do you decide what belongs on the page, and what you keep for yourself? Put another way, how do you set your boundaries as a writer?

I ask a simple question: Does this serve the story, or does it only serve the wound? If it serves the wound, I keep it in my journal. If it serves the story, illuminating something larger than my own pain, I allow it to remain. I’m private by nature, and despite appearances, I keep far more than I share. My boundaries are not about secrecy; they’re about sovereignty.

I really relate to this, Michelle. When I meet new people, they’re often surprised by how much I’ve shared about my life. But the truth is that there is a lot that I have never shared. I think very carefully about my boundaries as a writer, which has allowed me to sustain my writing career over the long term. I’m curious how sharing your work has impacted your life? I’m interested in both the positive and negative consequences here.

Sharing my work has deepened my relationships, with readers, yes, but also with myself. It has made me less afraid of being seen and less tolerant of relationships that require my silence. The positive consequences have been profound: community, connection, a sense of belonging I never had as a child. The harder consequence is that once you tell the truth publicly, people from your past sometimes try to reshape it. I’ve had to learn that their discomfort is not my responsibility.

That’s an important lesson for every writer to learn, I think. I’m still working on it myself to be honest! What do you wish readers understood about writing about trauma?

Writing about trauma is not an act of exhibition. It’s an act of meaning-making. It’s the process of turning something chaotic into something coherent enough to hold. It requires tenderness, pacing, curiosity, and a willingness to meet yourself without flinching, but also without violence. The aim is not to relive the pain; the aim is to metabolise it into wisdom, connection, or beauty.

That’s a beautiful way to put it, Michelle. I love the verb ‘metabolise’ too and how rooted in the body it is. You’ve had a long and varied career as a writer. Can you say a little about the things that bolster your writing life?

Animals, always. My dogs on my feet or the floor or curled up around my neck. A coyote crossing the trail at dusk. The red flash of a tanager in spring. I’m steadied by the land’s indifference to ambition. Also, long showers, cold rivers, a single square of dark chocolate with coffee before I start writing, playlists with wild female vocals, and the occasional messy dance alone in my living room to remind myself that joy is as valid a source as grief.

I’m writing these words with a cat at my feet, and a steaming mug of tea at my elbow, so I relate! To finish, I’m wondering if there’s a piece of work that you’re particularly proud of? If they’re new to your work, what should readers seek out next?

I’m proudest of my memoir Forager: Field Notes for Surviving a Family Cult, because I didn’t try to be impressive, because I tapped into an earlier version of myself and I let myself be human, flawed, bewildered, hopeful. It may never be the most widely shared, but this book feels like the truest evidence of my survival.

I can’t wait to read it, Michelle. My copy is on its way to me as we speak. Thanks so much for sharing your wisdom and experience with us, Michelle. I really appreciate it.

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also appreciate:

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections on my conversation with Michelle. What resonated with you? And what made you think differently about your own approach to writing about trauma? Let’s discuss in the comments!

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After more than a year of fertility treatment, I am delighted to share that my wife and I are expecting our first child in the Spring. As I write these words, I can feel baby wriggling around in my belly. It’s a thrilling, terrifying moment and I’m so excited to share it with you.

Like most queer couples, our journey to this point has not been straightforward. I’m doing the gestational labour in our household, and my body has been through a menu of invasive medical procedures. We’ve been through our share of painful disappointments and setbacks.

The most devastating loss happened a year ago this week. We lost Budino (our beloved elder cat) and a few days later, I had a miscarriage. We went from being a household of two adults, two cats and 1 gestational child to being a household of two adults and one cat.

It broke my heart to lose a child. It was early in the pregnancy and I didn’t feel “allowed” to be that sad, but I was devastated1. Absorbing stories from other women who’ve been through it really helped. In particular, I want to shout out So Heavy a Weight which my pal Sarah sent to me not knowing just how resonant it would be. When my emotional resolve finally cracked and I sobbed late into the night, it was the stories in this book that kept me afloat.

My wife and I have also been exceedingly fortunate. Human fertility often seems entirely random, and it’s the root of enormous pain for a lot of people. There’s a parallel universe where we could have spent the money (€10k+) and more than a year of our lives without ending up with a child. I could have endured all the medical interventions, the unintended side effects, hundreds of injections and medications and months of manipulating my body’s hormonal equilibrium only to be left with nothing. It’s some combination of good fortune, biology and magic that has meant this isn’t our story.

Like most things in life, writing has gotten me through.

Every morning, I return to my journal and sort my way through the tangle of emotions that has taken root overnight. I wrote about the miscarriage. I wrote about missing my mother while I was trying to become one. I wrote about the creepiness of manipulating your body’s hormones, and what it felt like to exist within the haunted house of my body. I wrote about the joy of a positive pregnancy test, and the anxiety of the first trimester. Right now, I’m writing about my fears about giving birth and what it’ll be like to keep a tiny, defenceless child alive in this harsh, crumbling world.

There’s so much I want to say about this experience from the choice to become a parent to the (many!) indignities of the process. I thought I’d have those essays ready to go by the time baby arrived. I planned to borrow some inspiration from Ann Friedman who published essays about her pregnancy during her maternity leave. But my body has been so occupied with gestational labour that I haven’t managed to get those essays ready for publication. Gestational labour is creative labour. My body has been knitting eyebrows and constructing joints and creating the consciousness that will be this new person’s mind. I will share those essays someday, but I’ve had to let go of the deadlines I placed around them. My body is prioritising another creative project - it’s biggest yet! - and I want to honour that instinct.

I was expecting to have to make all kinds of life and career sacrifices once baby arrived, but I didn’t think those sacrifices would begin long before baby even existed. “Sacrifice” is the wrong word. These are choices I’ve happily made, though I’m continuing to learn the humbling lesson that I can’t work like I used to. My brain and body are oriented in a new direction, and that change has happened so much sooner than I anticipated2.

What will this mean for my newsletter?

I plan to keep writing to you each week until March. Between April and September, I will pause paid subscriptions so I can prioritise time with our new baby. My monthly creative gatherings will also pause during this time.

I might share an essay or two during this time, if it feels right. Or I might feel the need to disconnect more completely from the internet. I don’t know yet, but I plan to trust my instincts. What I know for sure is that I will continue to write for myself (as much as I can), and that I will return to work with fresh energy, perspectives and ideas to share.

I hope you’ll stick with me through this next chapter. I am thrilled and delighted to become a mother, but also scared. More than anything, I feel astoundingly lucky to have a chance at this new chapter. For so many years, the idea of a happy family life felt entirely beyond me. I still can’t quite belive that it’s happening, that I will soon be somebody’s mother, but I am so grateful that it is.

An important aside:

There is public funding available for couples in Ireland who want to pursue fertility treatment. However, only heterosexual couples are eligible to apply. The Irish state is explicitly prioritising the creation and support of heterosexual families and excluding of relationships and families like mine. I wrote about this back in 2023, and was enraged by the injustice of it. Over the last year, my wife and I have been directly impacted by this discriminatory policy. We’ve had to make financial decisions to protect our family that we wouldn’t have had to make if one of us were a man. That’s been a whole other strand of fury to process during this difficult time, and it’s something that I plan to write about much more in the future.

For now, here are the previous articles I’ve written on this subject:

State funded fertility treatment should not discriminate against queer couples (published in The Irish Examiner, August 2023)

‘Why are we an afterthought?’ — LGBT+ couples left out of State-funded fertility treatment (published in The Irish Examiner, September 2023)

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Welcome to Life after Trauma; I’m Clare Egan. Earlier this year, we completed The Artist’s Way. We’re concluding the year with The Artist’s Advent Calendar. This is the final post in that series.

We did it!

More than 3 weeks ago, we began experimenting with small creative prompts. Every morning since the beginning of December, I’ve shared a fresh prompt on Substack Notes and Instagram. Folks joined in from all over the world. Our mission wasn’t to complete any big creative projects. No-one has written any novels, or completed any great works of art. But we have maintained a consistent, experimental practice of exploring our creative lives and in doing so, we’ve become more ourselves through the darkest weeks of the year. As we wrap up this project, I’m deeply grateful to those of you who’ve shown up to experiment with me over the last few weeks. Few of us have done something everyday - even I have skipped a few days! - but we have done more than we might have without this creative container, and I’m proud of us for that.

Here’s a round up of what we’ve been doing over the last week, together with my reflections on each task:

Day 17:

On day 17, we edited our social media feeds. Our brains don’t have the capacity to filter through the volume of information we’re exposed to everyday and by reducing the volume of noise, we can make more space for the work that really resonates with us. This task kind of backfired for me. I went to Instagram to try to trim back the list of people I follow, and ended up getting pulled into the algorithmic vortex. I did unfollow a few folks, but I think it’d be better to do that while I’m already sucked into the social media world rather than going there explicitly with this task in mind.

Day 18:

Day 18 was a simple one: remove one item from your wardrobe that you don’t feel good in. I over-achieved on this one, and removed a short stack of ratty old t-shirts.

Day 19:

On day 19, we took quizzes! As a teenager, I loved doing those quizzes that were published in teen magazines. They’re not supposed to be serious (or even to tell us anything meaningful), but it’s fun to answer questions and it can help us to think differently too. I suggested a few favourites:

• A brand archetype quiz.

• This feminine archetype quiz

• The Classic Enneagram

I did the brand archetype quiz and discovered that my “brand”/creative work is a Magician. TBH I’m not sure that’s correct, I love Oprah and Apple as much as the next girl but I’m not sure my work really belongs in that category. That said, it was fun to think about my work through a new lens, especially one that’s a little more visual. How did you get on? I’ve love to hear about it in the comments:

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Day 20

On day 20, we wrote to our future selves. This was by far my favourite task of the week. It was such a relief to disconnect from the day to day pressures of this time of year, and to think about what I wanted my future self to know. Writing to future-Clare was surprisingly emotional, and it allowed me to access what felt like a deeper, more profound register. If you’d like to schedule your letter for your future self, you can use this tool!

Day 21

“The sun, with all those planets revolving around it, still manages to ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else to do.” - Galileo Galilei

On the Winter Solstice, we worshipped the sun. Since ancient times, many cultures have celebrated the shortest day of the year. It is the deepest point of Winter. After the Solstice, the days begin to lengthen again. This was such a simple task but it was one of my favourites too. Throughout the day, I was more mindful of the sun’s rays. Our lives are literally only possible because of this awesome burning star in the sky and I almost never think about it.

Day 22

On day 22, we made origami birds. Or at least, we were supposed to! I’d arrived in Rome and decided to prioritise a walk around the city and a slice of pizza instead. But that’s OK. The Artist’s Advent Calendar isn’t about “completing” tasks, but experimenting with them. Maybe I’ll find time to make an origami bird another day, or maybe I won’t. These prompts are invitations, not mandates. If something doesn’t feel right, it’s OK to skip it!

Day 23

On day 23, we thanked the folks whose work has meant something to us over the last year. I chose to thank Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way. I know this might be a controversial choice. There was so much about the book that I didn’t like! There are also things that I think are actively harmful for trauma survivors. But it’s also a book that has transformed my creative life every time I’ve engaged with it. It’s a book that helps me think more broadly about what creative work can be, and how it can transform our world for the better. The Artist’s Way also gave shape to my professional growth over the last year, and I’m immensely grateful for that.

Day 24

Today, we stretched for 5 minutes before what is often a busy day. I got a little teary on my yoga mat thinking of folks in many different parts of the world who’ve joined me throughout this experience. I’m so grateful to everyone who has shown up for this project and more importantly, for their inner artists. I’ve also been missing my mother as I always do at this time of year, so it was a tearful yoga practice but a worthwhile one too.

Thank you for being part of The Artist’s Advent Calendar.

A particular shout out to those who participated quietly - you might not have been very active in our comment threads, but I know you’ve been quietly incorporating these invitations into your daily lives and I’m grateful for that.

Here are the other posts in this series in case you missed them:

If you would like to leave a testimonial for The Artist’s Advent Calendar, I would love that. You’re welcome to share your thoughts via the comments below, or through this simple form.

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If you find this time of year difficult, you might find resonance in this essay I shared last year. (Short version: before meeting my wife, I spent many Christmases alone. Sometimes, it was awful. Sometimes, it was fine. I have a lot of feelings about this time of year, which I tried to find my way through in this essay:

I am going to take a short break to refill my well, enjoy some offline time and plan some exciting new offerings for 2026. I’ll be back in your inboxes in January.

Until then, I wish you a restful festive season.

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections on this experience. Feedback (both positive & constructive) is also very welcome.

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Welcome to Life after Trauma; I’m Clare Egan. Earlier this year, we completed The Artist’s Way and we’re concluding the year with an Artist’s Advent Calendar. From December 1st - 24th, I’m sharing creative prompts to help deepen your connection to your inner artist. Here’s an overview if you’d like to learn more:

🚫 If you’re not interested in this aspect of my work, feel free to update your subscription here.

I’m writing to you from my couch, with a blanket on my feet and a cat curled up beside me. I’m tired, friends. It’s been a year! But I’m also very grateful to be ending the year with a little daily creative experimentation. Especially in our toughest moments, creativity can be a balm. We have 8 days of (free!) prompts left. The tasks are small but have the potential to be quietly transformative too. I share them via Substack Notes and Instagram every morning and would love for you to join us 💕

Here’s a round up of what we’ve been doing over the last week:

Day 10:

On day 10, we choose 3 books at random from your shelves and looked for connections between them. My three books were Milk by Alice Kinsella, Love in Exile by Shon Faye and The Candy House by Jennifer Egan. You can read about the lines I selected at random, and the connections I found between them in the Note above.

Day 11:

Day 11 was a fun one! Our task was to play with a pet or interact with the non-human world in another way. wrote about all the majestic sea creatures that surrounded her sailboat, stopped by a local dog park to and shared the joy that is Maru. (Watching this video might have been the best 92 seconds of me week!)

Day 12

On day 12, we wrote tiny poems. You can click the Note above to read them all. Even when we’re just jotting down a few lines, there’s so much poignancy to be found in these tiny works of art!

Day 13

On day 13, we did a short digital detox. This was my favourite task of the week. I loved the quiet that came from not consuming audiobooks or podcasts. I loved the feeling of spaciousness and peace it created. I loved feeling more physically embodied. I also realised that a single day is not enough to get the full benefits of a digital detox so I’m excited to try a longer stint between Christmas and New Years.

Day 14

On day 14, we made vision boards. Or at least, we were supposed to. I completely ran out of time, but that’s OK. Few of us have time or headspace to follow every single creative invitation. I’m going to save this one to do between Christmas and New Year’s too!

Day 15

On day 15, we made pickled red onions. These was very satisfying to make, and deeply delicious too. I loved the deep luxurious pink of the finished jar, and the tangy flavour they added to my scrambled eggs on toast.

Day 16

On day 16, we danced. This was another favourite from the week. Martino and I danced to All I Want for Christmas is You while the kettle boiled for my morning cuppa. It made me a little sad because it brought back the memory of dancing to the same song with Budino last year, but it was a sweet kind of sadness to remember our beautiful boy. (For those who don’t know, our older cat Budino died last January 💔)

That’s it for this week’s round up. I’ll be sharing 8 more creative invitations before we finish on December 24th. You’re so welcome to join in whatever way makes sense for you.

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also appreciate:

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections on this week’s tasks. Which tasks did you enjoy the most? Were there any that pushed you outside your comfort zone? It’s always a joy to hear from you, and I look forward to chatting in the comments!

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Welcome to Life after Trauma; I’m Clare Egan. Earlier this year, we completed The Artist’s Way and we’re concluding the year with an Artist’s Advent Calendar. From December 1st - 24th, I’m sharing creative prompts to help deepen your connection to your inner artist. Here’s an overview if you’d like to learn more:

🚫 If you’re not interested in this aspect of my work, feel free to update your subscription here.

For the last 10 days, I’ve been sharing small creative invitations every morning via Substack Notes and Instagram and readers from all over the world have been tuning in to experiment with me. The tasks are small - most take less than 30 minutes, many take less than 10 minutes - but they have the potential to be quietly transformative too.

Here’s a round up of what we’ve been doing over the last while:

Day 1:

On day 1, we shared five words to describe our creativity in 2025. Here are mine:

My five words are: expansive, in community, in touch with nature, fulfilling and insatiable/always wanting more. That’s a lot more than 5 words, but it does capture what my creative life has felt like in 2025.

My creativity is more expansive than it was a year ago. I’ve gotten more into cooking and baking, and have enjoyed experimenting with collage and scrapbooking. I finally used the travel journal my wife bought me 4 years ago (!) and have really enjoyed tactical creative projects that involve playing with glue, magazines, colouring pencils etc

In previous years, most of my creative life unfolded on a screen. I identified primarily as a writer, and used that craft to move myself through deeply painful experiences. In 2025, I’m grateful to have expanded beyond that.

Day 2:

Day 2 was one of my favourite days because I got to read so much beautiful poetry. Huge thanks to , , , , , , and for sharing some of their favourites.

Here are some of the poems we read:

• Deborah Quibell’s “Tenderness and Lilies” (from her book Soul Bird: Poems for Flying). This was a poignant line: “Your panting heart cannot keep up with the ambitions of your mind.”

• Sacred Ground by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer (from her book The Unfolding)

• Little Palm by Lesyk Panasiuk

• He and She by Christina Rossetti

• Dogs by Marchette Chute

• Let Them by Donna Ashworth

• Full Moon Blessings by Andrea Balt

• At the end of November by

• Time to be Slow by John O’Donohue

• The Thing Is by Ellen Bass

• Good Bones by Maggie Smith

• Poetry is not a luxury Instagram account

Day 3

On day 3, we did jumping jacks! It wasn’t my favourite activity, but it did give the cat something to stare at on a dull December morning 😻

Day 4

On day 4, we made a beautiful slice toast. (I was supposed to eat it mindfully, but I gobbled it up before I even had a chance to take a photo. It was *that* good!)

Day 5

On day 5, we took a walk in nature. (See selfie above!)

Day 6

On day 6, we revisited our Artist’s Altar. This was one of my favourite tasks of the week. I made my first Artist’s Altar back in June, and refreshed it in August. Since then, it’s gotten a bit dusty and stale. It was a joy to add a few new trinkets to my Altar, including a postcard sent to me by Kate Horowitz, a few things I’ve collected on recent walks in nature and some polaroids from my wedding in June. Collectively, these items help me to remember the power of creative possibility.

Here’s a little more about my Artist Altar:

Day 7

On day 7, we made soup. Click through to see soups (& recipes) from folks around the world!

Day 8

On day 8, we drew what we could see outside our windows. My final creation was pretty bad (🙈), but the task helped me see the world around me more clearly. The task’s instructions were to make it impefect, and I certainly did that! (You can click through to see my drawing in the Note above!)

Day 9

On day 9, we drew what we could see from outside our windows looking in. If you’ve joined any of our virtual gatherings, this view might be familiar to you. It’s the wall behind my desk where I have a cozy chair and a mini gallery wall. This is our only two-part task, and it was interesting to use a window as a natural frame to reflect on how we think about perspective. It was also just fun to draw! (My drawing is linked in the Note above, if you’d like to see!)

That’s it for our first 9 days of tasks! It’s not too late to join us if you’d like to take part. I share a small creative prompt every morning via via Substack Notes and Instagram and you’re welcome to dip in and out in whatever way makes sense for you.

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also appreciate:

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💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections on The Artist’s Altar so far. How has it impacted your creative life? And do you have any feedback (positive or constructive to share)? It’s always a joy to hear from you, and I look forward to chatting in the comments!

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Welcome to Life after Trauma; I’m Clare Egan. I’m passionate about the intersection between creativity and recovery from trauma, and host monthly gatherings for folks who want to find community in their creativity. Would love to see you there!

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These monthly gatherings and threads are exclusively for paid supporters of my work. But I also have a Winter offering for everyone: The Artist’s Advent Calendar. From December 1st - 24th, I’m sharing creative prompts to help deepen your connection to your inner artist. You can find the daily invitations on Substack Notes or Instagram, and I’d love you to join us.

Earlier this week, I hosted our final Creative Gathering of 2025. This month’s theme was “the deep retreat of Winter” and we spent some time chatting about what our creative lives looked like in 2025. We spoke about the rest we’re craving, the goals we’re shaping for 2026 and how we’re planning to balance creative work with family obligations over the weeks ahead.

As always, it was a beautiful, supportive gathering and I left it feeling buoyed by the power of creative community. Unfortunately, a few of our regulars were unable to join us in person this week but hopefully we can continue our conversation in the comments.

Below the paywall you’ll find:

• The discussion points I prepared to guide our conversation

• How I’m planning to find deep rest over the weeks ahead (& the books I’m looking forward to devouring!)

• The date for our next gathering

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As 2025 comes to an end, I’ve been reflecting on how my creative work has unfolded this year. To be honest, it’s been sobering. I spent a lot of time this year supporting other folks to bolster their creative selves which was deeply fulfilling for me, though it also meant that I never found the same deep focus for my own creative projects.

That novel I wrote during covid? I still haven’t revised it.

The podcast series I planned out? I haven’t made the time to pursue it.

The stories I wanted to pitch and submit? Many didn’t make it off my computer.

That’s OK, though. There are years that are dense with the deep work of creative imagination, and there are years where other priorities take over1. While I haven’t made much progress with my big creative projects, I have felt deeply in tune with my creative self this year. I deepened my exploration of The Artist’s Way by doing it in community with others, and I’ve been steadfast in my commitment to small, creative habits throughout the year. I’ve also diversified my creativity away from being exclusively focused on writing and incorporated other forms of creative expression like scrapbooking and cooking.

That said, I am a bit bummed that I didn’t even manage to open my novel’s Scrivener file. I’m ambitious for my work and the realisation that a whole year has passed without adding a single word towards that dream.. that stings.

I’m sure I’m not the only one grappling with creative disappointment as this year draws to a close. Many of us are deeply passionate about our creative work and it hurts to feel like we haven’t made as much progress as we hoped to. I didn’t want to end the year feeling bummed, so I decided to create The Artist’s Advent Calendar. Between December 1st and 24th, I plan to share 24 creative prompts designed to reinvigorate my inner artist. Initially, I wanted to make an advent calendar for myself. I wanted to end the year feeling a renewed sense of creative accomplishment, but as with most things in life, I decided it’d be more fun to do it in community.

I have to be honest: when I started dreaming about this, part of me thought “really Clare? Another new project? A month before the end of the year and you want to add ANOTHER thing to your list”. My body is tired. My mind is tired. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that’s exactly why I should do it. It’s the busiest time of year for a lot of people. Over the weeks ahead, many of us will be stretched to our limits. We’ll be navigating family dynamics, painful trauma triggers and trying to manage our mental health through the dark, cold days of Winter.

It’s because we are busy and stressed that we should prioritise our creative lives. Our lives as artists give us a little more room to breathe. It makes a little more space for choice and intentionality. It helps us feel more like our truest, deepest selves.

If you’re feeling complicated about your creative work this year, I hope you’ll consider joining me.

Here’s how it will work

Every day, I’ll share a small creative task via Substack Notes and through the Life after Trauma instagram page. I’ve worked hard to prepare bite-sized creative invitations that will take no longer than 30 minutes to complete. Many of them can be completed in 5 minutes. On the weekends, I’ll suggest longer activities (1-2 hours).

Some activities are drawn from The Artist’s Way. Some are suggestions from my own life. All of the prompts are invitational. If you feel drawn to them, you’re welcome to spend a few minutes experimenting with them. If they don’t appeal to you, feel free to skip them. You don’t have to complete every activity. I don’t think many people will. But by the end of this season, you’ll hopefully have been more creative than you would have without this project.

Here’s the prompt from December 1st as an example (together with my response to the prompt in the comments of my Note!):

The prompts are a starting point. Experimentation and adaptation is encouraged. For example, with the above task, you might like to write about the words you selected. You might like to take the question with you as you move through your day, noodling on it on the bus to work and jotting your thoughts in your Notes app. You might like to doodle your words, and create a mind map of things they bring to mind. It’s up to you how you’d like to play with these invitations.

On December 24th, I’m hoping to share a downloadable resource which collects all of the creative prompts we’ve experimented with. Each week, I’ll share my own reflections on the week’s prompts through my newsletter too.

As we come to the end of the year, it’s easy to focus on the creative projects we haven’t managed to complete. But the year isn’t over yet and we can find a few minutes a day to connect with our inner artists.

Even if these experiments don’t advance our larger creative projects (I’m looking at you, novel languishing in a digital drawer!), they will help keep us in touch with our creative instincts. They will help us to feel more invigorated and alive, and that energy can bolster us through the drama, stress and pressure that often accompanies the Winter holidays.

I hope you’ll join us!

🎨 Ready to get started? Check out the latest creative prompts on Substack Notes. (Or Instagram, if you prefer that platform!)

💕 I’d love this offering to reach as many people as possible. If there’s someone in your life who might benefit from some creative experimentation at this time of year, please consider sharing it with them. 🙏 Restacks are also deeply appreciated.

💰This Artist’s Advent Calendar is a free offering that’s open to everyone who’d like to engage with it. At the end of the season, there will be an option to contribute towards covering the costs of this project but for now, please focus on enriching your creative life.

💬 In the comments, I’d love to hear your reflections as we begin. If you participated in The Artist’s Way earlier this year, I’m curious how your creativity has unfolded throughout the year. Does The Artist’s Advent Calendar feel like an opportunity to reinvigorate your creative life? Feedback (positive & constructive) is always welcome, so please do share below! (or via DM if you’d prefer not to share it publicly!)

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🚫 This project will be shared through The Artist’s Way section of my newsletter. If it isn’t of interest to you, feel free to update your subscription so you don’t receive newsletters on The Artist’s Way.