One of the hardest chapters for me to write was about what happened in a blue Volvo when I was about 5.

It’s one of those #metoo stories I never told.

Buried in my subconscious, it first raise it’s ugly head, when in my teens, my boyfriend and I played at having sex.

When authors talk about it taking a year, or more, to write a book, they’re not wrong, For it’s stories like these that slows us down.

I battled and struggled to find the words, in the end I followed the fluffy white rabbit down the research hole. I needed help to get started, to set the scene, and I spent the next few days surfing old car magazines. With images and a video of exactly what it looked like, it was easier to bringing my 5 year-old self back into the space where the bad thing took place.

Still, I struggled to find the words. 45 years later, it’s not revenge that I want, it’s finding compassion, and understanding for how it could happen, and the effect it had, on my life much later. After many more days staring at the blank page, I shut down my computer. With a scruffy old notebook and a soft comfy blanket, I settled in front of the telly, with Californiacation. As the humorous sex scenes flickered on the screen, I finally found courage and words to crawl down that oh so important, shitty first draft.

I write this to remember ‘there’s always another way.’ When I wrestle in pain or shame, to get to the truth of the hard parts of my past.

Love and Light

Vig ❤️

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