MY LOST TODDLERHOOD

This article gives an overview of the doll pantomimes I created between 1978 and 1981. While a previous article explores one episode of my odd doll playing , this one looks at the broader pattern and the triggers I later uncovered through my diaries. Overview of my Strange Doll Pantomimes (1978–1981) The following is taken from my book, Mirror Image Shattered . Between the 1978 and 1981, I used to make up doll pantomimes. The stories behind them were odd due to the role I gave the star, a large doll with blonde hair. She did nothing but lay inert as the other toys took active parts with bipolar behaviour. I didn’t understand why she would lie like that, but almost four decades later, I would come to learn that trauma marked my toddlerhood by a half‑uncle who lived with us in 1968. I was three. Unconscious doll in my pantos Early 1978: The First Triggers Waxworks, first aid dummies and other such effigies would leave me depressed and unnerved for no apparent reason. I now know I had ...

Between 31 March 1978 and 25 January 1981, I created what I called “doll pantomimes.” I recorded them in my diaries, which I had begun in Christmas 1976 and continued until July 1988. Only in adulthood did I understand that these pantomimes were expressing my difficult and disturbed toddlerhood. The Characters of My Doll Stories My book, Mirror Image Shattered explains. The cast of my stories included a large doll with blue eyes and curly flaxen hair; a panda called Collywobbles, who was chatty and popular; Tatty Teddy Bear who was likeable and easy-going; Delia (also known as Big D) who was scheming and bossy; Cindy who was high-maintenance and fashionable and finally Humpty who was oafish and silly. (Other toys took part in minor roles). Reconstruction of my doll-playing. Sue is in fact comatose after being suffocated. Sue: The Subconscious Centre of the Story There would be no pantomime without Sue (the blonde doll). She was the star, but she had no lines. All she did was lay supi...

One cloudy day, I went to the village carnival with two school friends and I encountered my unconscious three-year-old self in the form of a first aid dummy in a tent. Encounter at the Village Carnival Of course, I didn’t realise this at the time. It was just a dummy lying on a table. A cheerful paramedic presided, urging us to have a go and learn how to perform the ‘kiss of life.’ All I can say is that the sight of that ashen, bald thing lying there ruined my day. Strong feelings of sex, possession and death swept over me but such words were not at my disposal at the time. The sight of that doll simply unnerved me. Dummies would spur intrusive thoughts (Necessary Evil Wiki Commons) My Friends’ Reactions versus My Own My two friends simply had a laugh as they had a go. I watched, squirming inside as one of them pressed her lips against that lifeless thing and the doll’s chest lurched upwards and make that spooky hush sound as the air escaped ‘it’. Her saliva dribbled over the doll...

My diary doesn’t report when I started my first ever period, but it does report when I started my second. This is because the pain was horrendous and lasted for 6 days in a row. It started on 2 May 1977 and ended on 7 May. I was 11. I had yet to learn these pains were not normal and that something in my past was causing them. My First Painful Period From these dates, I could work out when I had started my first ever period - the menarche, which would have been around 2 April 1977. As I recall it was a week before Easter. I lost a little blood but don’t recall much pain. I told Mum about it, worried there was something wrong with me. Mum got cagey, unsure of how to explain about the 'birds and the bees'. I would later learn everything I needed from biology lessons and library books. My second ever period was a rude awakening! What a whopper of a pain! I remember thinking, ‘Will I have to put up with this every month until I’m about 50?’ I thought it was ‘normal.’ I would suff...

I believed my childhood had been simple: a small cottage, my siblings, my parents, and the occasional visit from Nan. But the truth was far darker. A single moment would shatter everything I believed in and reveal a memory my mind had buried for almost fifty years. The following describes the moment my world collapsed as the truth about my toddlerhood emerges, reshaping my identity and understanding my past. The Moment My World Fell Apart But I hadn't had a cosseted childhood at all. In fact, the opposite. I suffered intrusive thoughts and a secret fantasy world fuelled by a childhood familiar which I called Aidan. I explained my odd experiences to growing up in a chaotic household with a mentally ill dad and depressive mum. Cramped living conditions and poverty created further challenges. I am ok with this and have come to terms with it. The Memory That Returned After 50 Years However, a series of events would reveal that my lifelong passion for novel-writing was in fact fuelle...

This excerpt shows how a fictional scene in one of my novels, mirrors a real event my brain had hidden from me. This reflective memoir of uncovering long‑buried childhood trauma, illustrates the moment the horrific memory surfaced. Understanding Dissociation Through Fiction I am now at my final novel, Nadia . I pause on spotting a broken bottle in a key scene. I continue gleaning, expecting to find further clues to the day my twin Eve had cut her face. Instead I find a character I had based upon my uncle. He is a narcissistic doctor that runs a care-home where Nancy, the main character used to work. This excerpt from my book Mirror Image Shattered shows how my fictional scene mirrors the real event my mind had hidden from me. In the key scene, the creepy doctor's voice enters Nancy's head as she tries to save the life of a choking occupant of the limo by puncturing a hole in his windpipe. The Moment the Memory Broke Through I wonder why I had put Uncle Dan there. He wasn’t pr...

A sudden emotional trigger in adulthood has unlocked long‑buried memories and accelerates my journey toward realisation. I am about to learn the horrible truth about my life. I have been gleaning my novels looking for clues about the day my twin had cut her face at the age of 4. I had dashed out of the cottage on seeing blood. It would appear that my novels are expressing traumas that I have stored in my subconscious. I discover recurrent elements within scenes: broken glass, disfigured faces, characters dashing to a hideout and terrible guilt. I am astounded at what I have found within my novels. A New Ugly Picture During the reading of my final novel, Nadia , I discover the inclusion of a character I had based on Uncle Dan. I wonder why I had put him there. He wasn't present during Eve's accident and he rarely visited the cottage. I assumed he had nothing to do with me, as I was only 3 when he stayed. And yet I seemed to know enough to use him in my novel.   The following...

A haunting childhood memory has exposed dissociation in my toddlerhood, fear and the impact of trauma. An early memory is about to open out to me and my life would suddenly make sense. Reading My Novels as Evidence I have been scouring my psychological thrillers for clues about the day my twin had cut her face. It appeared the trauma stored in my subconscious at the age of 4 had seeped into key scenes of my stories. I am horrified and fascinated at what has happened to me. I am no longer reading my novels as fiction, but as documents that hold clues to an early childhood trauma. Diary entry taken from my book Mirror Image Shattered showing my obsessive novel writing. I never got the see my parents that day, for writing a scene. The image shows my diary entry of 27 September 1987. My novel writing has become obsessive. I had written: " Spent all day doing nothing but typing pages, re-typing and typing again. There were 12 I had to copy, not counting the mistakes I had to correc...

A near‑death experience in toddlerhood has left deep emotional and psychological scars. Only decades later would I piece the clues of my fractured life. Until then, I have yet to uncover something truly terrible about my past. The Return to the Cottage At the age of 4, my twin and I squabbled over orange juice and I threw a glass bottle at her. On seeing blood coating the lower part of her face, I had dashed out of the back door in terror. Some hours later, I would return to find her unconscious on Mum’s lap, her face linen-white and a black scar tracking her hairline. The Comatose State The resultant concoction of emotions had overwhelmed me. My shame for starters was horrendous. But I had also seen a man’s face rise in my chest. The image was as clear as a photograph and I was later to learn that I had experienced a somatic memory. This means a body part has release the memory rather than the brain alone. Image taken from my book, Mirror Image Shattered . My somatic memory of a man...

I am about to solve the mystery of the missing four hours. A childhood sensation called a somatic memory would reveal psychological fragmentation and the imprint of early trauma. The Mystery of the Missing Hours After talking to my identical twin about her terrible accident that occurred when we were 4, I discovered things about that day that didn’t fit. I had thrown a glass bottle at Eve after a squabble. On seeing blood on her face, I had dashed out of the cottage to hide somewhere in the garden. For decades I had believed I had wandered in a daze for 10 minutes or so before returning via the back door. However, I have since realized that the light had radically changed between my dash out of the cottage and my return. Not only that, but Eve had already been stitched up and was laying on Mum’s lap. I had not encountered a family member the entire time Eve was in hospital. So where had I gone? Finding Answers to my Toddlerhood I naturally ask Mum about that day but she is by now te...

A disturbing gap in childhood memory would become a key turning point in uncovering the truth about my toddlerhood. One evening in 1996, my twin and I discuss the day she had cut her face with the glass bottle at the age of 4. I had been suffering a run of intrusive thoughts and was seeing a counsellor at the time. In an attempt to get to the root of these disturbing episodes, I had been going through my diaries. Revisiting the Accident We both clarify what had happened that day: we had a disagreement over orange juice and I had thrown a glass bottle at her. I dash out of the cottage in terror after seeing her bloodied face. Eve was then rushed to hospital. No one was present when the accident occurred. My route out of the back door after Eve's accident in 1969. (Image taken from Mirror Image Shattered ). Twenty Years Later — Something Doesn’t Fit As decades have since passed and Eve has had corrective surgery in 1981, the day was forgotten and Eve holds no resentment towards m...