The Writing of Invisible Wounds
Writing Invisible Wounds was a deeply profound, spiritual experience, and one that I will never forget.
When I began writing Invisible Wounds I had been through a lot: after 4 ½ years of abuse I was at incredibly low ebb when my mother was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Straight after the diagnosis my ex-partner’s abuse escalated and I knew I had to get him out of life if I was to care for my mother during her final months. Somehow, I found the strength to take a final stand with him which culminated in him moving out and cutting all ties. I was then able to focus on looking after my mother, who passed 7 months later.
After that I was at a loose end. Living alone for the first time ever I was filled with grief and confusion. Memories of those 4 ½ year swamped me. I was overwhelmed with unanswered questions: Why had my partner treated me that way? What had I done to bring that about? Had he ever loved me?
I needed an outlet desperately, so I took up journal writing. Putting my private, jumbled-up thoughts and emotions on the page helped to slow things down and bring some order to my confused state.
I told my friend I was journal writing and she said, ‘You should write a book about it?’ and snap! I knew instantly this was what I wanted to do. I would write the book I wish I’d had during that despairing time.
It took me one, very intense, year to write Invisible Wounds. I’m still not sure how I did it because it was so much work. I lived and breathed it, 24/7.
I decided to interview other women about their experiences of abuse in their relationships. I started by asking people I knew to share their stories, then the word spread and soon women I didn’t know were contacting me, wanting to be included too. My goal of doing ten interviews became the gathering of 50 in-depth stories, each one bringing another aspect of the confusing experience we had all lived through.
My days were filled with researching, transcribing, writing and meditating. I was constantly surrounded by transcripts of the women's interviews, scribbled notes, and half-finished cups of tea, struggling to process and make some sense of the abuse we had all suffered.
Fairly early in this project I approached Penguin Books about publication and signed a contract with them. This was good but it also created an underlying anxiety. I had 50 women’s stories I felt responsible for, and a publishing contract with a top publisher, so I knew I just had to keep going, no matter what. Although that deadline created pressure it also helped to move me through to the next level in my writing.
During the writing process I discovered my mind was a wonderful thing, capable of so much more than I realised. I would often dream about the book and wake up with words tumbling through my brain. Half asleep I'd scramble for pen and paper to get the words down while they were there. And usually the words were perfect. The subject I couldn’t seem to write about the day before was now on the page. It was like my mind was working on the book as I slept.
At the same time the words seemed to be coming through me, rather than from me. I felt I was part of something so much bigger than myself. That was a very powerful, humbling process to experience.
The stories seemed like parts of a giant jigsaw puzzle. Excerpts of each woman’s story fitted together into the book so perfectly, creating such a rich tapestry of women’s experience. The depth and wisdom of our shared experiences was profound.
Over the years so many women have told me how much Invisible Wounds has meant to them: the comfort and insight they have found on the pages, and the relief they felt when they realised that other women had experienced the same confusion and distress that they were living through. The power of the shared experiences and collective wisdom of women had touched their heart and renewed their self-belief and hope for the future.
I believe that Invisible Wounds is a lifeline that will continue to touch people’s lives powerfully for many years to come. That’s why I have felt a responsibility to get this updated version of Invisible Wounds published. And why I feel so grateful that I have finally achieved this.
© Copyright Kay Douglas.
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