Radio
I came into London today to talk on a local radio show about my book. It was a very strange thing to do. Not only sitting in a dark booth at BBC studios infront of a console with such a bewildering array of buttons and dials that it looked like we were about to take off, but just the talking about the book at all. Writing it was bad enough. It is definitely not a comfortable thing to publicise. I have been psyching myself up for it for weeks, though I was very glad to get it over and done with today, particulary given the cold I have. But the presenter's reaction was so lovely, and in a way unexpected. I assumed like most people his interest would be in the homelessness bit and how I wrote the blog. He did talk about the shame and secrecy of homelessness, and how it had been for me living in the car for those nine months, but he focussed mostly on the earlier part of the book — on some of the childhood stuff. He said he had young daughters himself and couldn't imagine a man wanting to do anything but protect them - that bit I did expect from him - and that he thought these stories should be told - I probably also expected that, though it was good to hear. But the thing he said that made me not know what to say back was that he almost wanted to apologise for what happened to me. I didn't know what to say. In ways I still feel almost apologetic myself for having written about my life, in sometimes such graphic terms. But I also think part of moving beyond such experiences is having them heard and people not being appalled and rejecting you for them, I think that is what finally ends that shame. It is also what chips away at that taboo about talking about it. Abuse is a dark, grotty subject, nobody would choose to talk about it, but silence makes it perfect for abusers. What they need to know, those people who do it, is that the children they abuse don't stay children. That one day they will grow up, and some of them will go on to write books, books about their abuse and the people involved. One day, this child will not be a child. And they will not forget — children do not grow out of their memories, they will not forget.
I wasn't sure what reaction I'd get to having told my story — the last time I told it I was eleven years old, and the reaction to telling and lifelong effects of it I wrote about in length in the book — so it was a huge relief to get the interviewer's reaction today on the radio. Thank you. And apologies to any listeners for my streaming cold and hacking cough as I spoke.