Writing As ‘Political Act of Self Recognition’

Hélène Cixous (and other feminist writers) the inspiration for White Ink

The other day, during one of my one-to-one meetings with someone I am currently mentoring, I was explaining the origins of the name of my Substack, White Ink.

It occurred to me that I probably should remind some of you who have subscribed, or are following me, because otherwise it might not make sense.

The inspiration for White Ink was a quote from French feminist writer, Hélène Cixous, who, in her essay The Laugh of Medusa, spoke of women writing with their breast milk, or the breast milk of their mothers — their white ink, so to speak.

This also made sense to me as a ghostwriter, and so, White Ink was born.

What Cixous was trying to impress on people was the importance of female storytelling, of female voice, of passing down these stories, our experiences, so that others might relate to them. This is the vein that runs through my Substack, empowering female stories through discussions on writing craft, empowering female voices through sharing my own stories, and commentary on other female stories. In essence a unique female lens through which to view news, culture, the world, and also an encouragement of other women to do the same.

It goes without saying, that if you would like to be a part of the community I have created here, then I would love you to subscribe. Becoming a paid subscriber gives you access also to my monthly creative writing meet-ups, where we spend an hour each month discussing and writing these issues together. The next one is this Sunday, June 1st at 7pm:

It can feel hard for women to share their stories, I am about to commence my White Ink Summer School next week, and joining me are nine women who are all hoping to do that, finding their voice, accessing their stories, committing their words, or perhaps previous silence to the page, and I am helping them to do that.

At the weekend I read a review in The Observer’s New Review of a new book out about medical misogyny. It is called The Stitch-Up by Emma Szewczak (with Dr Andrzej Harris) — her co-author is also her husband. The book is described by Rachel Clarke in The Observer as a ‘fierce polemic about the medical misogyny and gender violence that disfigure healthcare.’ In it, Szewczak, describes in extremely intimate detail and ‘brutal honesty’ her own birth traumas and ongoing issues, she describes the first time she had sex with her husband after the birth trauma she suffered, she describes her prolapsed vagina (the midwife uttered to her ‘your vagina’s fallen out’) and she goes on to speak to other women who have suffered similarly, whose pain has been dismissed by medical patriarchs and who, as a result, have suffered real and devastating consequences and often have been left in lifelong agony.

Reviewing Clarke applauded the ‘extreme courage and candour’ with which Szewczak recounts her own experiences saying: ‘I have no doubt, she has done immense good by sharing. There will be women silently cheering her for verbalising, in indelible ink, the manner in which their bodies have come to feel like a source of private shame.’

It struck me, those lines, this immense good that Szewczak has done by sharing, it of course brings to mind that famous quote from Maya Angelou, that ‘each time a woman stands up for herself, without knowing it possibly, without claiming it, she stands up for all women.’

I know that my own personal writing has made other women feel less alone in the world, they have written to tell me so. I also know that seeing me be ‘brave’ (as they see it) has helped them to be brave too.

I remember a few months after my own birth trauma knowing that I had not fully recovered physically. I was in pain, I had trouble sitting, and even standing, it felt to me like there was a gaping wound that wouldn’t heal. I went to see midwife after midwife, locum doctor after locum doctor, and everyone told me that I was wrong and that it would heal in time. I left feeling ignored, unheard, and still in pain. Finally, when my daughter was around four months old, I went and saw another locum who took one look and sent me straight to hospital. There, I saw an obstetrician who examined me and said: ‘Yes, you are right, that is not right.’ The relief I felt was palpable.

It was a couple of days before Christmas and so he sent me home and told me to come back at the beginning of January when they would plan next steps. But here’s where something incredible happened, that simple act of being heard, or being told that yes, I was right, that something was wrong, was enough, it was validating. I was able to start my healing process, and when I went back in January there was no need for any medical intervention.

I have never forgotten that experience, and so sharing stories, hearing people, is not simply a matter of bringing us together in mind and spirit, but it can help heal us in body too. That is what Szewczak is doing, she is writing in white ink so that another woman can feel heard and seen and can heal now too.

And that is what all nine of the women who are joining my Summer School will be doing, and perhaps some of you reading this are doing as Angelou said ‘without knowing… without claiming it’. I cannot speak for men, I do not even try to because I am a woman living my own unique female experience, but this is what writing as women does, it is a silent act of resistance, it is a ‘political act of self-recognition’ — the headline of this piece.

I am currently deep in research for a book that I will be delivering in the Autumn, it is a book about female madness and so therefore it is also a book about medical patriarchy for who decides women are mad but men, or at least this was the case in the 1950s when my own grandmother was committed to an asylum.

I am picking my way through this subject by way of female writers and artists who were incarcerated in the middle part of the last century and came out of the those asylums to write semi-autobiographical novels about their time inside them. One autobiography of a similar time was called Paper Daughter and was penned by the activist writer, Jill Johnston. It was a quote of hers in some of my research where I found this line about writing being a ‘political act of self-recognition’ and it stuck with me. It doesn’t matter whether you are publishing your experiences to a wider audience, like Szewczak, or writing them into a journal, it still comes down to this in my opinion, and all of these stories we write in white ink about the female experience of being alive are adding to a conversation, are ensuring either ourselves, or other women, are heard.

These madness narratives that I am currently reading, many of which were published in the Sixties, allowed these women whose stories, lives, and often minds, had been hijacked and corrupted to claim them back. ‘Writing and self-creation are synonymous,’ Johnston also wrote.

I read another book about women and madness last week by Denise Russell, and she wrote: ‘We are what we are, with whatever problems we have, because of our connectedness to others.’

And isn’t that what we are writing for? To understand ourselves and our experiences, as these women novelists who left mental asylums and wrote as a way of understanding what had been done to them, as Szewczak sharing intimate tales of her body to help other women understand what has been done to them, but also as a way of connecting with others, just as Cixous had said when she wrote of white ink.

In another book, Questions of Power, Susan J Hubert writes: ‘Although narratives are not a substitute for relationships, one way of listening to other women is to read their autobiographies.’

And perhaps this is also where the political comes in, because these women sharing their stories in the sixties lead to a change in how we treat mental illness, they forced people to listen to patients not just the patriarchy.

Szewczak writing The Stitch-Up is doing the same now, so are those who are embarking on my Summer School.

Never underestimate the power of your words, even if you are writing them – for now – only for yourself.

As academic Sidonie Smith wrote: ‘Autobiographical writing has played and continues to play a role in emancipatory politics. Autobiographical practices become occasion for restaging subjectivity, and autobiographical strategies become occasions for the staging of resistance.’

Tell stories, and if you have no story to tell today, support another woman in her storytelling by listening to hers. Like this we self-recognise, like this we resist, like this we reshape the world. We are not helpless. Stories are our salvation.

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