Great Yorkshire Vegan Festival 2014

The Great Yorkshire Vegan Festival in Leeds today was fantastic. When I read a promo leaflet which said the event would attract thousands of people from all over the UK, I couldn’t help wondering if such a turn-out may be wishful thinking. I was wrong. The crowd was enormous.


The woman in the red cardigan in the above pic is me looking for my husband Ian who, it turned out, was on an upper level taking this photo.

There were over 100 stalls offering a wide range of vegan products, including food, cosmetics, bags and clothing. (I can’t wait to wear my stripey luxury eco-friendly bamboo socks!).

ZoosI’ve been thinking, talking and writing a lot lately about mental health and perhaps that’s why the picture and caption on a postcard immediately caught my eye, with its grim reminder of how captive animals in zoos often show signs of mental illness because of the psychological distress they are subjected to in their restricted environment. ( So let’s remember the animals, too.

Voluntary workers from various animal welfare charities manned stalls to tell us about the work of various local and international organisations and to provide leaflets alerting us to why it’s so important to adopt a cruelty-free lifestyle.

More support and understanding needed for people wanting to try a no meds approach

pills_medicationI’m concerned about the medicalisation of life; over-prescribing and how sometimes normal difficult emotions are (mis)diagnosed as an illness requiring medication. I expressed this view on twitter and said how I think Dr Joanna Moncrieff does make some valid points. Immediately I was accused of pill shaming, lack of empathy and insulting people who suffer from real deep depression.

Here is the article in the Telegraph which triggered the twitter responses to me after the psychiatrist Dr Alex Langford had put up a link to a similar article – his blog about this topic is here. The media is often insensitive in its choice of language. I can see why ‘happy pills’ would annoy some people. This wasn’t my choice of words so I won’t try to defend a phrase I don’t use. ‘Happy Pills’ or ‘antidepressants? Call them what you will. They didn’t make me happy and they increased my depression. But adopting a critical approach to psychiatric medication does not automatically amount to criticising those who take pills. Isn’t the valid point being made in the Telegraph articles that there is over-prescribing, and sometimes the (mis)diagnosing of human experience for a ‘depressive illness’? The increase in prescriptions for depression gives rise to genuine concern and I think Joanna Moncrieff is right to point this out. I struggle to see how expressing my agreement with this makes me a pill shamer.

So what does pill shaming mean? ‘Pill shamers’, I am told, don’t understand what ‘real’ depression is and think it’s just a sad mood that can easily lift. But I do know, only too well, that suffering and despair is very real. It can be a devastating, gut-wrenching experience whether it’s a normal reaction (as in the normal grief process, to use just one example) or goes beyond our perception of what is ‘normal’. Pill shaming, I am told, means demeaning people who seek help and take pills for depression. Shaming and demeaning anyone for taking pills is something I would never do. (After all, I took pills, for depression and heaven knows what else, for five years). Maybe meds helps some people and not others. There is no shame in taking them or in not taking them (though hopefully both through informed decisions). But let’s not forget, too, that people choosing to come off pills are often told they’re ‘ill’ and have long been made to feel they are doing something wrong, dangerous or shameful in making that choice. More support and understanding is needed for people who do want to try a no meds approach.

I would have liked to engage in constructive debate about this important topic but found I couldn’t get beyond trying to defend my views against the strongly felt accusations of pill shaming. This has happened to others before, and often it silences people and hinders much needed discussion, as expressed in this blog here. I’m aware that speaking out against the use of medication and the medical model in psychiatry upsets and angers a lot of people, not only some psychiatrists but people undergoing psychiatric treatment. It is the latter group with whom I empathise and I hope I do always remain sensitive to their feelings in the ways in which I express my views. But I MUST speak out. People have been, and are being, harmed by the medicalisation of their problems. A rigid application of the medical model almost destroyed me. I’m not antipsychiatry, I’m anti-bullshit – and psychiatry did throw a lot of that at me.

My Headingley LitFest Event – The Dark Threads

20140325_204009Tuesday 25th March was a big day (or rather evening) for me. I gave a talk at Oxfam Bookshop (as part of the Headingley Literature Festival) about my experiences in High Royds Hospital, as told in my memoir ‘The Dark Threads’. Of course, remembering how things had gone well on other similar occasions helped a lot, but I did still did have some pre-event nerves. Throughout the day my mind  kept going into collywobble mode and throwing up a lot of scary ‘What ifs..?’

What if I lose my vision in the middle of it? This wasn’t as daft as it sounds. Every now and then I get ophthalmic migraines which come on without warning and they severely affect my eyesight for a while. Sometimes I go a long time without having them, but once I get one they often come in clusters a couple of days apart and I’d had one two days earlier. Other ‘What ifs?’ were What if in the middle of my talk I urgently need the loo? feel sick? go dizzy? lose track of what I’m trying to say mid-sentence and dry up? What if the audience gets bored and start leaving? What if nobody turns up and I’m staring out at empty seats? Or what if too many people come and there’s not enough room for them? What if..? What if…? What if…?

Fortunately my ‘What ifs?’ proved unfounded, except for one. Over forty people turned up. This meant some of the audience had to stand, and a few had to stand round a corner barely within earshot of me, but it was manageable. In fact, I’ll be bold enough to say it was more than just manageable. The evening was a success.

I spoke for about fifty minutes, followed by a question and answer session. The evening was then rounded off with coffee and biscuits. I’d tried to plan a ‘balanced’ talk – a mixture of grim parts and humour. Most of the extracts I read from ‘The Dark Threads’ were fairly light-hearted, though some with an undertone of black humour. I didn’t want to downplay the horrors of the mental institution experiences for myself or anyone else but neither did I want to make everyone feel depressed rather than inspired.  I wanted to get across what I feel are important things to say about psychiatry, relating both to the past and now, but at the same time I didn’t want to be ‘preachy’. After all, this was part of a literature festival and I wasn’t speaking to a roomful of psychiatrists!

The second part of my talk was about the writing process and getting published. It included topics such as how writing for therapy and writing for publication are two different things (though there can be some overlap), the importance of truth in memoir but having to accept the fallibility of memory and the need to protect peoples’ privacy by changing names and perhaps physical descriptions of people, how I got published and how I became confident enough (ahem) to give talks. Actually, as has happened often before, I did feel confident enough to enjoy doing the talk once I began. The audience seemed wonderfully attentive and asked me lots of questions afterwards.

During the coffee and biscuit time, I sold lots of books, and chatted to many interesting people. I do hope that everyone else enjoyed the evening as much as I did. It does seem so, because feedback has been wonderful. When I get my next pre-event nerves I’ll remember this and reassure myself that, yes, I can do this. Despite all the problems I’ve had in the past with shyness/social anxiety, I CAN talk.

Perhaps we all can do more than we think we can if only we believe this is so.



The Dark Threads – Talk

LitFest 2014  lowres

Tuesday 25 March

  The Dark Threads                      Partnership Event

Jean Davison will read from her memoir The Dark Threads and talk 9966about her experiences as a patient at High Royds psychiatric hospital in the 1970s. Electric Shock Treatment and drugs reduced her to a zombie-like state for five years, before she managed to turn her life around. The talk will also include her experiences of writing the book and getting published. A question/discussion session will follow, and then the evening will be rounded off with tea/coffee and biscuits.

7.00pm Oxfam Bookshop, 13-15 Otley Road, Headingley, Leeds LS6 3AA  (next to Skyrack pub)

Free. Donations invited

Thinking About Blogging

I’m thinking about blogging. Okay, thinking is not the same as doing but not doing is what has prompted me to think (if that makes sense?).

I started this blog full of the intention to post weekly, but I’m finding that sometimes life gets in the way. The past few weeks have been particularly busy for me with work (paid), work (unpaid) and various activities.

Training sessions for new volunteers at the mental health charity where I work are now in full swing, and I help with these. It’s very time-consuming but I love doing it. Never before in my life have I had a more interesting, fulfilling job.

I won a Speech Contest at my local ASC (Association of Speakers Clubs) branch. Here is a photo of my award to prove it! This has led to my entry into the Area Speech Contest to take place at Addingham Hall this Saturday (help!). So I’m busy at the moment in preparation for that. I’ve just had a go at doing my speech for Saturday on video camera to see what I look like in action. OMG! Think it’s a case of – Jean tries hard but needs more practice.

Meanwhile, I’ve been re-writing the first few chapters of my novel-in-progress. Will I ever be satisfied with this? I’ve also been busy preparing and delivering a teaching session to AMHP students at Bradford University – and doing loads of other stuff, which all seem to have come up to demand my attention at around the same time.

And I know that all this sounds like making feeble excuses while other bloggers with busier lives than mine keep up their regular posts. But I figure that occasional posts for a while are better than none, and I do intend to resume the weekly posts soon.

I’m over here

I’ve been interviewed over at Miriam Drori’s blog, An’ de walls came tumblin’ down.

Miriam, a writer, runs an excellent blog about writing, social anxiety and other topics. She kindly invited me as a guest to her blog to talk about the experiences described in my memoir ‘The Dark Threads’ and their aftermath.

You can see the interview by clicking here.

And please also browse around on Miriam’s blog while you’re over there; it’s well worth visiting.

Waiting for Morning

It’s two in the morning. A 15-year-old girl roams the streets of a rough council estate, wondering where to spend the night.  She climbs the stairs in one of the blocks of shabby, high-rise flats, and sits near the top. It’s cold and draughty in the stairwell, but better than being outside. She asks herself if going back home would be safer than staying out all night. Maybe it would be. Maybe it wouldn’t.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about homeless young people. That girl on the stairs waiting for morning was me. But this isn’t about me. It’s about young people whose lives make the experiences that I had seem like a picnic. It’s about a social problem that exists today and it needs our urgent attention.

Are you aware that the UK today has a youth homelessness problem? A survey commissioned by the CSC (Consortium for Street Children) showed that while 61% of people thought street children were prevalent in Africa and Asia, only 13% saw it as a serious problem in the UK. An estimated 100,000 children run away in Britain each year, many of whom experience sleeping on the streets. As Sally Shire, Chief executive of the CSC says: ‘Whether they are a runaway from Derby or a street child in Delhi the factors that drive children to the streets are similar.’

The true extent of youth homelessness is masked because only young people in contact with services are counted. The ‘hidden homeless’ include those living in temporary hostels or sofa surfing (staying for a night or two in different people’s houses and constantly moving on). These people often do sleep outside but not every night. Also affecting statistics are the different age limits on how organisations define youth.

Do you remember being a teenager? It’s often a time of trouble and turmoil, isn’t it? It can be difficult enough coping with being a teenager without the severe problems of homelessness added on. What would that do to self-esteem and developing a sense of identity?

There are many reasons why a teenager might become homeless: bullying, dysfunctional family relationships, violence, abuse, poverty and lack of affordable housing. Not all run away, some are ‘kicked out’ by their parents. Also, they might be the offspring of homeless adults, or those leaving care, having come of age and therefore no longer the responsibility of children’s services.

The most common reason why a young person might become homeless is relationship breakdown with parents, and this often involves physical, emotional and sexual abuse. A large number of this group are the adolescent ‘runaways’, so called because they purposely leave family homes, or they run away from child protection services, psychiatric units or foster homes.

Many who run away are ‘situational runaways’ who leave after an argument with a parent or carer and then return a few days or weeks later. In some instances, particularly those where ongoing domestic abuse is intolerable, this pattern repeats itself but with increasingly longer periods of absence until these teenagers eventually become part of the chronic homeless population, sleeping rough or in hostels.

Of course homelessness is a serious matter whatever the age group, but if we can tackle this issue when people are young, we may, hopefully, prevent a future generation of long-term homeless people.

One of the ironies is that those who run away from abusive home environments face as much, if not more, of the same dangers on the streets that caused them to run away. Perhaps, despite this, they believe they have more control over their lives than remaining where they know they will continue to be abused.

Obviously the risks that being homeless brings are tremendous. These include the possibility of becoming physically and mentally ill due to exposure to cold, hunger, fear, sleeplessness, lack of hygiene facilities, constantly facing the danger of being assaulted, raped, and perhaps even murdered. Survival strategies on the streets include begging, stealing, and things that increase risks, such as prostitution and seeking temporary relief in drug or alcohol use.

So how does it feel to be a 13 year old girl sleeping in the rain at the back of Tesco’s? How does it feel to be young and homeless, trailing the streets looking for a place to sleep? Let’s think about it tonight when we’re in bed, safe and warm. And let’s try to imagine it now, how it might feel to sleep in doorways, in abandoned buildings, and on park benches in the dark. Do teenagers actually sleep in these situations? Maybe some of them do through sheer fatigue, but I’m sure others spend their nights too afraid to sleep. That’s why I’ve titled this post ‘Waiting for Morning’.

Why don’t they get a job or go back home or seek help from charitable or statutory services? It’s a myth that most homeless teens could easily improve their situation. In these days of high unemployment, it’s almost impossible for young people to get a job who lack educational qualifications and experience, as well as having no fixed abode. Even if they do find some work or can obtain benefits (and of course that’s only those who are legally old enough), finding rented housing, affordable on a low income, often proves an insurmountable problem. Going home is not a feasible option if it means returning to more abuse.

Some of the homeless teens who approach charities in search of at least a temporary night shelter have to be turned away due to lack of facilities. This is especially likely now with the economic crisis and cuts in funding to charities. A strong fear that seeking help from statutory social services might result in being sent back to an abusive home keeps some teenagers lying low. We have to remember, too, that many of these kids have been badly treated and let down by every adult they’ve met, so their lack of trust is understandable.

Homeless teens on a downward spiral who find their way into the psychiatric services may end up with a stigmatising diagnosis, and the effects of damaging treatment, to add to their problems. Diagnoses such as schizophrenia or personality disorder are often used to describe what are really reactions to ongoing traumatic experiences, such as homelessness, preceded by the trauma of childhood abuse. My work for a mental health charity includes supporting people whose post traumatic stress disorder has been compounded, if not solely caused, by their experiences of the psychiatric services. I think that teenagers who feel it’s safer to trade their bed in a psychiatric unit for a bench in the park may not be entirely wrong.

So what is being done? To answer this question I thought about what is available in my own locality, Leeds. The largest youth homelessness charity in the UK is Depaul UK which, along with Barnardo’s Future Project, runs Leeds Nightstop. This is a scheme providing emergency accommodation to homeless teens within the homes of approved volunteers. It’s an attempt to break the cycle of youth homelessness by giving the young person a safe place to stay for a few nights, whilst trained staff work with them to try to sort out a long-term solution. Family mediation is also offered, which is appropriate for at least some young people.

Nightstop is just one example of the kind of help that might be offered in Leeds and other cities. Charities like this one do enable some young people to get off the streets if a place is available and if a longer term solution can then be found.

You may have found much of this post depressing, and not without a touch of my own cynicism. But I’m passionate about the need to raise awareness of the complicated issues of youth homelessness, without sugaring the pill. It’s not all bad. Many homeless charities can cite success stories from teenagers they’ve helped.

In early spring, a night of frost, rain, wind and hailstones bombarded my garden. What a pathetic sight the morning brought. The recently-opened daffodils that lived in a tub in my garden looked beyond hope, their heads drooping low. But the sun came out and gently warmed them. Gradually, over time, they not only survived but turned into the loveliest daffodils you could see.

Who’d have thought that those wilting plants had the potential to live, grow and bloom, given the right help and circumstances? Do you believe that our homeless youth have such potential, too? YES, they do. I know it.

Back Soon

I’m having a busy and difficult time, so I haven’t got my next post prepared yet. I’ll be back soon. Just thought that, meanwhile, I’ll put a few links here and mention a couple of my forthcoming posts.

I’ll be doing a post on Youth Homelessness shortly. Are you aware of UK’s street children? The majority of people in Britain aren’t, according to the Consortium for Street Children. This is a problem globally and it needs our urgent attention. See also, which is the largest national youth homelessness charity in the UK. It is part of Depaul International, a group of charities working to support homeless and marginalised people around the world.

I’m planning to do a post about zoos. Please take a look at the worthwhile work being done by the Born Free Foundation, including their Zoo Check programme. Let’s work together to put an end to oppression, be it of people or animals.

I’ve been included on a history site. Blimey, this does make me feel old! My story is being used on the Learning Resources section of this site here. The History to Herstory website celebrates the lives of women in Yorkshire over 800 years. It is funded by the Big Lottery Fund, West Yorkshire Archive Service and its partners, the University of Huddersfield, The Bronte Society, Hull Local Studies Library and Leeds City Council Libraries.

‘Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.’ (I wonder who else is old enough to remember how we used to get this message frequently on the telly).


WARNING: It is unwise in the extreme to make cow noises in front of a psychiatrist. 

‘You say your brother gets on your nerves,’ he said, adjusting his hearing aid. ‘What does he do?’
‘All kind of things,’ I said uneasily.
‘What things?’
‘Well, he talks daft and bangs and taps and … and he makes silly noises.’
‘Silly noises? What are these silly noises like?’
‘Noises like animals,’ I said.
‘Give me an example to show me what you mean.’
God, this was difficult. I decided to demonstrate Brian’s cow noises which he’d been treating me to outside my bedroom door in the early hours of that very morning.
‘OK, that’s enough of that,’ Dr Sugden said, waving his hand on my third ‘Mooo-ooo!’

Above text from The Dark Threads by Jean Davison.   Kindle edition of this memoir is FREE up to 2nd Aug 2012  –   Click here for UK    or here for US

High Royds Memorial Garden

The sun was shining over High Royds Memorial Garden last Saturday morning on the Open Day, casting its uplifting brightness over the flowers, the lush green grass and the restored chapel. It was good to think that the once forgotten, voiceless people were now at rest in such a pleasant and peaceful place.

The Memorial Garden is situated in Buckle Lane, Menston, West Yorkshire, not far from the old High Royds Hospital which closed in 2003. From 1890 to 1969 the unclaimed remains of nearly 3,000 people who died at High Royds were buried at Buckle Lane in unmarked graves. In 2007 The Friends of High Royds Memorial Garden, a campaign group with a vision, began their project to transform what was then a badly neglected piece of land and a run-down, derelict chapel. With Heritage Lottery Funds, and donations from people in the community, volunteers dedicated themselves to the long, hard task of renovating the chapel and transforming the site into what it is today.

The place is all the more dignified for its unpretentious but powerful reminders. On the gatepost a plaque states simply: ‘This cemetery is the last resting place of 2,861 patients from High Royds Hospital who died between 1890 and 1969. May they rest in peace.’

Among those who played a leading part in the restoration project were Derek Hutchinson and Mark Davis. Derek is a former patient of High Royds who never wavered in his determination to recognise and respect those who in death, as in life, had been stigmatised and stripped of their identity. Mark Davis, a photographer and historian, researched archived records meticulously to recover names, details and precise burial spots, putting together a complete list of all the people buried at Buckle Lane. Looking at the archives, it was as if by ‘waving a wand’ these people from the past come back to life (as he once said so movingly).

Who are these people? Inside the chapel we see on the walls the large photographs of some of these individuals. The young woman on the right is Mabel Grey who entered what was then called the West Riding Pauper Lunatic Asylum in 1909 aged 28. The end of her sad, short life came after eighteen months in the institution when she died, apparently of ‘General Paralysis of the insane’.

Moving along to another wall, I see that here is John Constantine, a ‘deaf and dumb’ man, admitted to High Royds in 1889, after been transferred from the North Riding Asylum where he’d been committed in 1872 at the age of ten. Apparently he understands what is said to him fairly well but cannot reply. Let’s stop here for a moment. Listen to his frustration and pain as he struggles to communicate. But staff write in the case notes that they find his efforts to speak ‘rather amusing to observe.’ He died in 1927, having been institutionalised for over fifty years.

And there are more. And more. So many people who shuffled along the corridors of High Royds and other asylums were placed in the system and certified as a ‘lunatic’ often for no better reason than being unmarried mothers, ‘unlucky in love’, seeking religion, reacting to physical, sexual or emotional abuse, becoming homeless, melancholic, elated, being sad, angry, aggressive or withdrawn, not being of the ‘correct’ sexual orientation and those who, for various reasons, wouldn’t, or couldn’t, conform to the norms and values of the times. Human beings, people with thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams, strengths and weaknesses, were given derogatory labels, inhumane forms of treatment and hidden from view.

Madness was seen as hereditary and greatly feared. It wasn’t the done thing to talk about it. Sweep these people away out of sight, and don’t ever lift up the carpet to look underneath. Many, like John Constantine, entered institutions as children or teenagers and remained there to grow old and die. What went on inside these places? I respectfully acknowledge anyone who did their best to protect the vulnerable people in their care, but we must also never forget the injustices, abuses and violations of human rights that are, unfortunately, a part of psychiatric history that continues into the present.

I stepped outside the chapel and strolled up the path to the far end of the burial ground, feeling the gentle warmth of the sun while reflecting on the harsh lives endured by many. If only the lives of the people lying in this little cemetery could have been different. I hope we will learn lessons from the past. Ambling back towards the chapel I thought about how much psychiatry, and indeed the society it reflects, still needs to change. Some attitudes are changing for the better, but so very slowly.

Inside the chapel again, the other visitors had left. Standing there, alone, I looked around at the faces of people who seemed to be looking back at me from the walls. I wondered what they would say to me if they were here with me now. These are the silent and silenced, each with their own important story to tell. I don’t think I believe in ghosts, and yet… In the stillness of this place, where the past touches the present, it was as if I could feel them near. I don’t think I believe in God either, but almost felt compelled to bow my head and whisper a prayer. This is hallowed ground. There are ghosts here.