Pat is a valued part of The Flying Child community and has kindly shared this poem with us. (For clarity - this not the same Pat many associate with The Flying Child)

Dentists need to know that my mouth tells a story. The story of my life. The story of me. Dentists need to know that my mouth can’t tell this story with words, as they are trapped in my heart and stuck in my throat. Words choke me. My mouth wants to tell you but it can’t. 

I died when I was nine. I lay on a bed and I closed my eyes. And I wished for my mother. And died . It didn’t hurt to die like it hurt to live. It was a relief.

What began months ago with a passionate conversation after an event with a fellow panelist, grew into a kitchen-table meetup in Rochdale. This week we convened in Bloomsbury with practitioner allies. Tea, shortbread, and shared experience...

Guest blog for The Flying Child by JoMo

A guest blog for The Flying Child by Jessica Matthews

This week I had the privilege of speaking at the launch of  Dr Ruth Beecher 's new book: Community Health Practitioners and Child Sexual...

"No, that was not my sister musician, poet, artist, dancer, sensitive, lovely, loving girl..." Guest blog by a survivor of CSA

By Sophie Olson Content: Living with the impacts of sexual violence. It has references to high profile cases. Please take care when...

So now I am standing, high up on the hill and as I survey the beautiful town and the sparkling lights before me, I see that my future didn’t go anywhere, I just had to go on a long detour because the first path was blocked. I stopped and picked up a few hitchhikers along the way and they walk beside me as I continue this journey. They are called empathy, belief, strength and determination.