Over my life, I have had many dreams. When I was a kid, I imagined myself as a character in Middle Earth – an elf in Rivendell or a shieldmaiden of Rohan. I pictured myself attending Hogwarts and becoming a mighty witch. Or slipping through a wardrobe into Narnia’s snow coated forest. Sadly, neither a portal opened up, nor did a letter arrive by owl to whisk me away. Though I still secretly live in hope.
Future prospects were a huge part of my school life. To plan for the eventuality of work and a career was drilled into us constantly. My school’s career counsellor (a man who, to be perfectly honest, provided very little useful advice) suggested going into the sciences when it came time to choosing which subjects to study at sixth form. I did alright in science at GCSE but had never shown any interest in pursuing it further. Even after I told him this, he continued to express his belief that it would be the perfect choice for me and if I still had doubts, why not look at maths?
Some teachers discussed my future in languages. I studied three for GCSE because I liked them. But A-Level provided a plethora of new options to choose from and I wanted to experience and learn something different. Having grown up in a multilingual household, using my limited time at school to learn something I had access to through my mum at home didn’t feel like the most sensible option for me at the time.
So I chose to study subjects I had never been taught before.
I was very lucky that, during this time, my parents were very supportive of my choices being fueled by genuine interest rather than career prospects. I was only 15 when having to decide what felt like the biggest choice of my life up until that point and had no real clue what I wanted to do afterwards.
My mum, while always ready to talk to me about becoming a lawyer, never once protested when I picked Creative Writing or Classical Civilisation for A-Level. I am very grateful for the sacrifices my parents made to give me these opportunities and I know how lucky I am to have been afforded them. My parents are part of the reason I dared to choose to become a writer. A career that is difficult to make successful.
But I did not go into my A-Levels or my degree with the prospect of becoming a writer in mind. Instead, at the time, I had always expected myself to go into music.
In previous posts, I talked about the importance of music in my life and the impact it has had on me. I had singing lessons for over 10 years with a wonderful lady who did more for my self-confidence and self-expression than anyone else in my life. I genuinely believed that I would one day end up on the West End, performing in a musical and singing my heart out. Nothing felt more magical to me than sitting in a theatre and getting lost in the lyrics. It just felt obvious and right. In a way that growing up to be an elf felt right when I was eight. Even though, as I get older, I relate more to the hobbit way of life.
Then I developed Tinnitus and Hyperaccusis.
Tinnitus is a sound in your ears that doesn’t exist. Something becomes damaged and you ear ends up sending signals to your brain that sound is happening even when there is nothing there. The brain, being so powerful, creates a sound which is not heard by anyone else. It can present as ringing, buzzing, hissing, thumping, the list is endless. Hyperaccusis often comes paired with it and is sensitivity to loud or certain pitched sounds. Any number of things can set off either condition.
My Tinnitus started when I was 13 in one ear. It didn’t effect me too badly until I turned 16 and it started in the other ear too.
I cannot express how hard the first month of hearing noise that no-one else could hear was. It was incredibly isolating.
Sleep, already being difficult, became impossible. I gave up singing for a whole year while I went through various tests, scans, doctors appointments, ENT specialists, only to be told there was no cure.
I was devastated.
My dreams felt like they had been shattered before I’d even had a chance to get started. I don’t think I ever really processed how badly that effected me. I went on to university and dove into my studies, without much idea what I wanted to do after.
I fell into the book industry by chance more than anything. And I loved it. I realised after a few years as a bookseller that stories were something I really enjoyed and had a passion for. My constant crafting of make believe worlds as a kid and the avid desire to study Creative Writing at school were early signs I did not see at the time.
I am still at the start of this career path and continue to slog through rejection after rejection as I send my work out into the world.
But I have learnt something important over the years with my different health conditions often throwing a spanner into the works of life. Sometimes the challenges we face that feel impossible or frustrating are the things that shape and define who we are and what we want from life. We have a limited amount of time I this world and I don’t want to feel any regrets that I didn’t try something I loved out of fear. Especially having so much of my life be impacted by health conditions.
Maybe writing won’t work out for me and I will be forced to re-evaluate later down the line. Maybe I will have to go back to the drawing board and change what career I choose to pursue. But whatever I do, I am resilient enough to make it through. My conditions don’t make me weaker, they make me strong enough to face whatever happens next. And if all else fails, maybe a wizard name Gandalf will come knocking at my door at the age of 50 to take me on an adventure after all.
From just A Simple Writer
