![Tadgh Paul: 'It’s almost like I picked [my trauma] up, grasped it... and sort of declared it to the world'. Photograph: Nick Bradshaw](https://www.irishtimes.com/resizer/v2/P5KIGAYPHRFFNBSDRUHYPDQZHQ.jpg?auth=8a5ae30431c2dc4bda84961c37a13e01886a0182f91b60bdecee6cceb1d9003a&smart=true&width=1024&height=682)
After Tadhg Paul was left with no movement or feeling below the neck following a fall, there was a stage during nine months in hospital when he made peace with the prospect of dying.
Staring up at the ceiling, he thought “you have a lot of time to contemplate your life and the universe”.
It prompted him to return to writing, which he had practised from childhood before a tech career took over. He has no doubt now that writing helped him embrace life again and regain mobility from his spinal cord injury, classed as grade B quadriplegia.
Three years later, the 45-year-old man uses just a walking cane to make his way to an outdoor table at a south Co Dublin cafe on a hot July afternoon for this interview.
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Dressed all in black, from sunglasses down, he talks about how the psychological journey back from injury has been bigger for him than the physical journey.
Studies have shown that writing about stressful and traumatic events can significantly improve physical and emotional health. As a believer in the power of words, he found spinning them into poetry particularly therapeutic. “Assistive technology was a liberator for me,” Tadhg says, “just with the little Alexa in the corner, I was able to consume podcasts and audiobooks.
“Eventually I was able to, with voice control initially, use my phone and then the computer.”
Therapists talk about the value of “journaling” but, as somebody diagnosed in adulthood with ADHD, Paul says it does not work for him. He prefers writing poetry.
“It’s been very healing for me. It’s almost like I picked [my trauma] up, grasped it, examined it, brought it into the light and sort of declared it to the world.”
Initially, he was writing it for himself, but he believes bringing it to a wider audience is part of the healing process.
Using Paul as a pen surname, he joined the SeaScribes writing group, which meets weekly in the Mermaid County Wicklow Arts Centre in Bray. He is one of eight writers who contributed to their first anthology launched in July, Cargo of the Soul.
All six of his pieces concern issues, which he says were “put inside a box”, repressed rather than dealt with. These include an early realisation about being gay, grief at the death of a soul mate and facing his own mortality. “You kind of bare all to the world and you say, ‘this is my trauma and here’s what it means to me’.”
While still in hospital, he created a website to post his poetry.
“Even if I was stuck in a bed, I could have a very imperfect digital engagement with the world,” he says.
After six months in acute hospital care, he was transferred to the National Rehabilitation Hospital where his days were much busier as staff worked over three months to get him back on his feet.
Occasionally, he still uses a wheelchair, so has moved in with his parents in Greystones, Co Wicklow, due to not being able to find suitable private rental accommodation. He was able to return to work last November but on reduced hours.
Now, he also has to cope with fluctuating pain.
“I really struggle with the weather changes. It used to be that I needed two painkillers to get out of bed in the morning. I’m managing that with a different pain therapy at the moment.”
As well as SeaScribes, Paul participates in an online writing group, Strange Birds. Both spaces have been important, he says, in allowing to him to “share something quite personal and intimate” and to “hone the quality”. It also gives him a chance “to see how it lands – and it lands differently with everybody”.
SeaScribes was founded, post-Covid, by psychologist Rita Wall, who writes under the pen name Mairead de Bhal. Keen to set up an emerging writers’ group in the area, the Mermaid Arts Centre proved to be a perfect meeting place.
[ Write now: Nine writers share advice on how to get startedOpens in new window ]
The centre’s artistic director and CEO, Aoife Demel, says “creativity for all” and “the power and value of the arts for wellbeing” are among their core beliefs. Mermaid Arts Centre runs a programme of ‘take part’ events to allow people of all ages “to engage with their creative sides, fostering wellbeing, connectivity and relevance”.
When she was setting up the group, de Bhal says prospective members just had to have an interest in writing. Members critique each other’s work and support the pursuit of publication, whether it is in a local newspaper or more highbrow journals – and now their self-published book.
Taking up the anthology’s theme of cargo, de Bhal wrote two stories from long-forgotten childhood memories from living in the North. Her father, a bank manager transferred from Dublin, was held up at gunpoint when travelling to a sub-office with cash; the family then had to leave their home above the bank in Strabane, Co Tyrone, which was later blown up.
She wouldn’t call the resulting story therapy, but says it was certainly a way of processing childhood memories.
Fellow SeaScribe Lesley Smith describes her writing, mostly poetry, as “a way of sharing things without having to say [them] verbally”. Amongst its uses, she she said she values it as a mental health support.
“I don’t declare when I write what’s me and what’s observation; what’s real and what’s fiction. There’s always a nervousness when you’re sharing things that you would be judged, particularly when it’s mental health stuff.”
At the time of writing for the book, Smith, who is retired from the health service, was coping with several personal challenges. Her poem titled My Cargo reflects the worries she had about losing her memory and watching a family member living with Alzheimer’s.
Another personal challenge was coping with the decision of her brother, who was living with a terminal illness in Canada, to avail of what she terms 'assisted suicide‘, which is legal there.
“I was absolutely stunned at the effect it had on me because I absolutely agree with the concept; I agreed with his decision... but I realised that what it does is it starts the grieving process way before you lose the person.”
As it happened, his condition suddenly deteriorated and he died naturally overnight last February.
Meanwhile, experience of self-doubt and ‘scam’ warnings from concerned friends, upon falling for a man, Thomas, whom she met at an airport bus stop, is seared into her short story, Awoken.
“Isn’t it a terrible thing in our society that when you get passed a certain age, if there’s some sort of romantic attachment, it’s seen as being negative,” she says. “It’s like there is a ‘date stamp’ on love.”
Thomas died unexpectedly during a trip home to his native India in May, just as they were arranging to formally live together in Gran Canaria, after having a relationship for more than two years.
“We had all these plans and we were committed to each other. Then, as they say, life took another turn.”
Writing truth can indeed be stranger than fiction.
Can writing help your mind?
Psychotherapist Aine Connaire knows the benefit, both personally and professionally, of writing down thoughts to relieve the torment of a swirling mind.
“It’s amazing the mind then, for some reason, feels like it doesn’t have to hold on to it any more. And then when we do write it down, we’re able to see it from a different perspective.”
What is referred to as ‘journaling’ is a way to explore your inner world and can be done at home alone, or in conjunction with therapy sessions. It is not the same as keeping a diary, which is traditionally recording details of your day, or an event, and creates a finished piece.
“Journal writing is very different; you’re writing to engage in a process and it is a therapeutic process.” It is convenient, free and you don’t need somebody willing to listen, points out Connaire, who runs a counselling practice in Mullingar, Co Westmeath. She also offers an online introductory course to therapeutic journaling, Writing to Heal.
“It’s like your journal becomes a friend. Emotions are thoughts that we may find difficult to tolerate and they can be put down in a journal without judgement.”
Unstructured journaling involves free flow writing. “You’re opening up a page and beginning to write and just seeing what comes up to the surface and continuing to let that flow.”
If that blank page or screen seems too daunting, a structure, such as gratitude journaling, or a letter to anyone or anything, can get you started. Connaire also recommends “dialogue writing”. Instead of the one-sided nature of a letter, this conversational approach fills in imagined responses from the person or object being addressed.
[ Writing can brighten and enlighten – just let it flowOpens in new window ]
“It’s really interesting what comes up, because we have these conversations in our mind all the time.”
Many people who come to therapy are unsure of why they are feeling a certain way, she says. “If you dialogue with the emotion it’s amazing what can be uncovered.”
People can also interact with an illness or pain. Trauma or grief can be held in a particular part of our body, she explains, and that can manifest as physical illness.
If clients want to go through their writing with her, that can be helpful. However, it’s not something they have to do “because a journal contains huge vulnerability and raw emotions, thoughts that they might not feel ready to share with me at that time”.
For people who are afraid that if they write their thoughts down, somebody else may find them to read, the paper can be burnt afterwards, she suggests, or the words deleted from a screen. Creating notes on a mobile phone has become a popular method of journaling because people tend to have a lock on it.
Connaire’s note of caution for somebody journaling without seeing a therapist, is to ensure they have access to support if necessary in dealing with trauma. “You don’t want to open up and re-traumatise yourself and not have that support in place.”
