When my third baby was born, he made no sound. No indignant cry, no surprised gulps of air. The atmosphere after giving birth, which had been so raw and loud and bloody, suddenly felt cold and quiet and flat, as was he. I didn鈥檛 get to see him. He was whisked away and, thankfully, brought back to life. Later, I went into emergency surgery and was brought back to life too.
And then we were marooned together, mother and baby, back at home. It felt different to before. I struggled to connect and he slept for days, both of us zoning out of normal life yet not sure where else to go. Occasionally, he would burst back into the world, engage, become overstimulated and then have a fit, his eyes rolling back, his small body shaking and feverish. I feared his hypoxic birth had caused brain damage and the guilt and fear made a dark place seem darker. Great Ormond Street told us he had vasovagal syndrome, that extreme emotion was overstimulating his nerves, affecting the heart and blood vessels, but that, in the long run, he鈥檇 be OK. After a few years, the fitting subsided.
It changed my life, that moment when we first looked at one another and I thought, 鈥榃ill I ever begin to understand the complexities of your brain? What has the effect of all this been on both you and me?鈥� I felt I knew something about trauma. Over the past 35 years, my job in TV news has taken me to places where I鈥檝e witnessed other people鈥檚 horror and communicated the worst day of their lives back to the viewers. I鈥檝e always felt a responsibility to those I鈥檝e spoken to whose lives are suddenly turned over and hollowed out with grief. I鈥檝e always believed I needed to know how best to hear them, to better reflect their voice and their experience. Perhaps psychology and journalism share that in common 鈥� the need to help people tell their stories, help author their narrative. I trained as a trauma assessor to make sure I gave those voices the respect they deserved and also to help my colleagues who were struggling with what they鈥檇 seen and heard. I began reading more about the brain and eventually, began a part-time MSc in psychology, with my final research thesis examining post-traumatic growth.
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Then, breast cancer, with a double mastectomy and more confusion and tumult. I didn鈥檛 tell anyone except my close family that I had it; I didn鈥檛 want pity or sympathy and I feared people would define my experience with words like 鈥榖rave鈥� or 鈥榝ighter鈥� or 鈥榮ufferer鈥� or 鈥榲ictim鈥�, when I was none of those things. I was lucky 鈥� the NHS hospital where I was being treated offered six sessions of therapy and it was a place where I could rage and cry when I didn鈥檛 feel I could vent those emotions elsewhere.
While it helped me understand my own reactions to my disease, I still wanted to learn about recovery and growth, to better serve others. I plunged back into research, this time talking to scientists, experts in resilience and people who鈥檇 gone through really tough times. I wrote a book called Rise: surviving and thriving after trauma, a psychological first-aid kit for those who are struggling.
I鈥檓 now in the final year of a doctorate in counselling psychology, having spent the past couple of years offering therapy to those with cancer, to families experiencing complex trauma and to students. I鈥檓 香港六合彩精准资料 registered, an associate at a large London university and am helping patients at an NHS hospital, and it鈥檚 challenging and exhausting and humbling.
I can鈥檛 put my finger on the one event that brought me here, but I do wonder whether it was sparked by my son鈥檚 eyes gazing into mine to look for answers that I couldn鈥檛 then give. He鈥檚 14 next week and is sitting on the sofa with me now, reading back copies of The Beano, fit and healthy and, yes, with a wonderful and complex mind that I鈥檓 still working to understand. But the path to understanding him has introduced me to new people and new ways of thinking that I would never have discovered without him. I鈥檒l be 56 before I鈥檓 Dr Sian Williams. I had thought that was the destination, the finishing point, the final bit of learning. But of course, you never stop, do you? Life will keep throwing up challenges and we will continue to try to accept and adapt to them. We are never the finished article and perhaps that helps us remain questioning, and that quest for growth and learning will, one hopes, inevitably be for the benefit of all our clients.
Listen to editor Sally Brown talking to Sian about her experience of therapy on our Therapy Today podcast