This is a powerful collection of poetry told through the eyes of a SEND (Special Educational Needs and Disabilities) mum. A mother who watched her child be misunderstood, mistreated and moulded by a system not made for her.
This is not just poetry, this is resistance, this is love.
‘Privilege’ is the one word that rose to the surface whilst trying to find words to write about ‘walking through these poems with’ Michaela. It is an odd word insofar as it can be used to disparage, as in meaning a one group of society who have special advantages over the rest, alternatively it can mean “an opportunity to do something special or enjoyable” (Cambridge Dictionary).
Reading Michaela’s poems is indeed a privilege
It is a genuine privilege to read these poems which have a rare intimate quality that allows you to feel as if you already know Michaela and her family.
Written for herself firstly, out of the foment of frustration, anger and love, these poems are the cathartic outpourings born from the daily struggles and isolations so familiar to those who are engaged in enabling their children to thrive. They particularly resonate with those who share the daily battle for their SEND children with regards to the schisms within school, the conformity, medical models of disability, fragmented provision and fractured support within the NHS. These are political matters which directly suffer from well-meaning words and platitudes designed to make us believe something is being done, whilst everything pretty much stays the same.
Honest and strong, her poems will resonate with many of us
There is a flow and strength to the words, always honest, never mawkish, that will overtake your mind and settle like a moth on your heart fluttering with love. An emotional impact that resonates with all those who share the trials of raising children regardless of disability or not. Her use of language and metaphors delight and contrast sharply with the subject matter which is tirelessly challenging.
This is a celebration of human understanding and endeavour in a hostile system that fails to even consider why we should all be classed as ‘normal’. A case of the balance between nature and nurture whereby ‘the more we know the less we understand versus the more we understand the less we know’. Like the title of Jeannete Winterton’s ‘Why be happy when you can be normal’.
I cannot speak highly enough of the power and sensitivity of these poems from a truly original voice and strong poet.
Available through Amazon.
Not in the book, but a taster. One of Michaela’s poems.
You looked at me!
You looked at me –
really looked.
Not through me,
not with the thin – lipped pity
that never held out its hand.
Not with the suspicion
I’ve worn like a second skin
in sterile rooms
and school gates
and doctor’s chairs
where my voice
was just noise.
You saw the shaking hands
behind the strength,
the exhaustion
behind the plans,
the rage curled under my smile–
the one I kept stitched on
so no one would call me
“too emotional”
“too involved”
“too much.”
You didn’t ask
what I’d done to make them like this,
why my child wouldn’t just behave,
why they melted down,
shut down,
ran,
fought,
froze –
you didn’t say,
“Must be the parenting.”
You didn’t ask me to explain the unexplainable
for the thousandth time
to professionals who already decided
before we even sat down.
You didn’t call me
“Mum” like it was a diagnosis.
You didn’t tell me it was all in my head
when I said they’re drowning.
You saw the battlefield
and the boots I walk in.
You saw my child
as more than a problem
to fix.
And me –
as more than a mother
to blame.
You didn’t save me.
You didn’t have to.
You just saw me.
And for the first time,
I could breathe
without defending
our existence.
