Creativity, Connection, and Community

Guest Blog by Jessica Matthews

When I first saw a post on social media about a writing group with The Flying Child CIC, I felt a strong pull to sign up. However, the more I considered it, the more I felt unable to. In this reflective blog, I unpack my experience as I moved from protection to participation, and the deep resonance and support I found within the group.

Writing has been a companion to me since adolescence, offering a portal to self-expression and a way to explore my inner world. Growing up, I escaped pain by reading books, writing my own stories, keeping a journal, and engaging in various forms of creativity, including performing arts, painting, and poetry. As I got a little older, I escaped from emotional distress, pain, and overwhelm through protective responses which, whilst adaptive, were ultimately harmful to me over time. These included alcohol, restrictive eating, and poor self-care.

Over the years, I have been a participant in various therapeutic settings. These experiences have ranged from awful, pathologising encounters that added further layers of trauma to my nervous system, to beautiful, reparative moments in trauma-informed, sensitive therapy, and others that have fallen somewhere in between. As a former therapist, I have also worked within systems and services that reflect the full spectrum of these experiences.

Inside and beyond the therapy room, I have worked hard to reconnect with my body. This is a skill and practice I didn’t have for decades. My internal felt sense (interoception) was often muted, confusing, or overwhelming; shaped by both traumatic experiences and by the wider world, with its message to so many of us that says: to fit in and ‘succeed’, you must tune out.

Learning to listen to my body again has included attuning to my internal system of parts. We all have parts - younger versions of ourselves who carry both wounds and wisdom. Some are protective, some vulnerable, and some may have been exiled. Each part has an age, a voice, and a purpose, with distinct characteristics expressed in different ways.

I have a young part who often guards against me stepping towards the things I long for, and another who guards against me speaking to certain aspects of my story. These young parts have good reasons for being protective, and I have worked hard to meet each one more fully.

From both sides of the therapeutic frame, and informed by challenging life experiences, I tend to cast a critical and reflective eye on any support before opting in. With all of this in mind, I knew I needed to approach the decision about joining a writing group with care. As I considered it further, I felt a familiar surge of activation. From a fight-flight response, a young part expressed a strong boundary: “No! I just can’t.” At the same time, another part of me expressed a quiet longing to be seen, heard, and understood.

To meet both the fearful part and the longing one, I sought more information. I needed to get a feel for what the group might be like, and for the people facilitating it. This meant signing up for the pre-meet: a one-to-one Zoom meeting.

The Zoom call was with Jasmine, the therapist who co-facilitates the writing group. During our chat, I felt increasingly reassured by the description of the group and, crucially, by the boundaries that would be held. I also felt immediately at ease with Jasmine. As the call went on, my fear softened, and I decided to try the first session.

From the first week onwards, I felt a welcoming energy from both facilitators, Jasmine and Sasa. Together, they offered a tender space, beautifully and authentically curated, full of relational safety, with just enough lightness woven through each invitation to write.

In each group, I also experienced something harder to describe, something that arises when women hold space for each other in an environment that is both boundaried and facilitated by lived experience and deep insight. The shared resonance with other group members, and the writing exchanged between us, created a unique kind of alchemy. It was the kind that allowed me to stay for the duration of the group.

Despite some understandable activation at times, my nervous system felt repeatedly invited back into the safety of the group’s unconditional nature. Each week, every group member’s autonomy was fully respected and honoured. We were all welcomed into the space with a clear message:

Just by being here, you are participating. Your presence, in all forms, is welcome and valued. It is okay to say nothing, to simply write privately after each writing invitation has been given. It is also okay to type in the chat to share, or to speak aloud if that feels right and good for you.

With this group, Sophie Olson, Survivor Activist and Founder of The Flying Child CIC, and her colleagues have developed an invaluable space for trauma survivors. It is a group as sensitively and artfully crafted as Sophie’s book, The Flying Child: A Cautionary Fairy-tale for Adults. I read it before the writing group began, and it is now the first book I recommend to fellow survivors, therapists, and colleagues seeking support and resonance, a deeper understanding of the enduring impact of CSA, and the transformative power of reparative relationships.

The Flying Child Writing Group is not a therapy group. It is, simply and powerfully, a safely facilitated space to be with other women and trauma survivors, to explore writing as a creative medium, and to do so within a culture that speaks robustly to Sophie’s message:

Society’s shame, not mine.

By the end of the group, my youngest parts, the ones who resisted at first, felt less alone, and my nervous system felt anchored to enough safety to read brief extracts from my writing aloud. In this space, I felt able to participate without fear of judgment or misunderstanding. Reading aloud and listening to the writings of other group members, was a deeply nourishing experience.

I also found the final slice of courage I needed to begin the process of publishing my own book. It is a book that has taken many years to write, and it has been sitting on my laptop, waiting for my inner child to feel safe enough to say yes to the next steps. Whilst I still feel considerable trepidation, my system of parts now feels ready to move towards publication. To Sophie, Jasmine, and Sasa, and to every woman in the group alongside me, thank you for this enriching and empowering experience.

I will close here with the poem I wrote in our final group, with deep gratitude for the power of creativity, connection, and community.

Gratitude

Thank you to every woman whose words helped me feel seen,

In your stories I found connection, each echo and shared theme.

Thank you to my youngest parts for letting me hold your hand,

And to the ones who protected me, drawing new lines in the sand.

Thank you to my body for shielding me from pain,

For holding fast through silence, then letting go of shame.

Thank you to awe and curiosity for tethering me to earth,

For every glimmer, every gemstone, each quiet place of rebirth.

To the parts of me that still ache, thank you for staying near,

For trusting in the body’s wisdom, including the presence of fear.

For rising, again and again, from the weight of the unspoken,

You are the proof that nothing within me is broken.

© Jessica Matthews

You can follow Jess who writes using the pseudonym Jessica Matthews as she shares her path towards publication @owningourownnarratives