There was a time, not too long ago, when my world went quiet—not in a peaceful, contented way, but in the kind of silence that follows burnout. I had spent years in the demanding, precise world of accountancy, ticking all the boxes of a ‘successful’ life, until I realised I was completely disconnected from myself.
That’s when I stepped away from the life I knew and moved from the West Midlands to the Dorset coast.
I rented an apartment overlooking the beach in Bournemouth, and something shifted. The wide horizon, the salt air, the rhythm of the waves—Dorset quickly became a lifeline. Beach walks, sightseeing, connecting with other writers—these things slowly pulled me out of a place of emotional exhaustion and toward something resembling wholeness.
That apartment, with its ever-changing view of the sea, became the setting for my latest novel, The Quiet Sister. It’s where I started writing again—not as an escape, but as a way back to myself.
Writing as Recovery
The Quiet Sister is about twins who experience the same childhood trauma in very different ways—and the ripple effect that trauma has on their adult lives. One is seemingly in control. The other, quietly unraveling. But nothing is ever quite what it seems.
At its core, the book asks: Is the grass really greener on the other side? Or are we all just doing the best we can with what we’ve carried from childhood?
Fiction and Mental Health
Mental health isn’t always dramatic or visible. Sometimes it’s disconnection. Sometimes it’s functioning well on the outside and crumbling quietly on the inside.
That’s why stories like The Quiet Sister matter. Fiction creates space for the quieter, more complex experiences of mental health. It helps people feel seen—even when their pain doesn’t fit the stereotypes.
Storytelling doesn’t offer quick fixes. But it can offer empathy, perspective, and connection. It can remind us that we’re not alone, and that healing doesn’t have to be loud to be real.
Finding Connection in an Isolating Profession
Writing is, by nature, a solitary pursuit. But I learned quickly how vital connection is—especially in this line of work. As part of my own recovery, I made a point of building new creative networks, and recently launched authorevents.co.uk: a space to support other writers, build community, and make this sometimes-lonely path feel a little more connected.
Whether it’s sharing a stage, a podcast, or just a cup of coffee with a fellow author, these relationships are lifelines. And staying connected has become one of the most important tools in my ongoing mental wellness.
A New Chapter
Mental Health Awareness Week is a reminder to keep talking—and listening. To honour our quiet spaces. And to recognise that stories, both real and imagined, have the power to heal.
If The Quiet Sister resonates with you, I hope it brings comfort, connection, and perhaps even a bit of clarity. And if you’re in the middle of your own quiet chapter, know this: the story isn’t over yet. You are not alone.
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