I am not the first person to be saved by a house with chicken legs.

My beloved grandmother told me many tales of troubled people who journeyed through deep, dark forests to find such a house. It was a frightening place, surrounded by a skull-and-bone fence, and Baba Yaga – the formidable old woman who lived inside – would often mortally threaten her visitors. Yet, if they passed her tests, she might give them a power they could use to find their way out of the forest and save themselves from the troubles that led them there.

When my grandmother died, I found myself deeply troubled, lost in a dark forest.

Grief seems too small a word to carry all the emotions it brings. I didn’t understand everything I was feeling and I certainly couldn’t articulate it. So, I did what many grieving people do – I tried my best to ignore and suppress my emotions. I told myself I was fine, even when my mental and physical health were screaming at me that I was not.

Over the next few years, several more family members and loved ones died. Each death brought a new grief that carried its own mix of difficult emotions. I didn’t feel like my body could contain them all, but I didn’t know how to let them out. So, all these emotions built up inside me, pushing me deeper into the forest.

Then, my younger brother took his own life and I fell into a hole in the very darkest part of the forest.

The year that followed is a blur. I lost all sense of time. I withdrew from my life, from my husband and children. I spent hours staring into an empty fireplace, my thoughts in a terrible loop. I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, I couldn’t move or even breathe. I was haunted by images of my brother’s death. And still, I couldn’t talk to anyone.

I remember my husband suggesting I spend more time with our children. But I didn’t want to bring my grief near them. It felt too intense, too harmful. In that moment, I knew I needed to find a different way to grieve. But I couldn’t see a path out of the forest.

Then, one evening, I sat down to write. I had written before, mostly poems and short stories to share with my children. But I soon realised this was something much darker, for myself alone. A story emerged about a boy who was haunted by his dead sister and was losing his grip on reality. The parallels to my own life were clear, but expressing myself through fiction was more manageable than facing reality.

The story was still difficult and painful to write, but ultimately the process was deeply cathartic. I poured so much emotion into those pages that I felt lighter at the end of it. And I could finally see a path forward: I now believed that I could find a healthier way to grieve through writing fiction.

I looked out of my living room window and saw, in my mind’s eye, a house with chicken legs on the nearest mountaintop. I felt in my heart that it would lead me out of the forest and give me the power I needed. So, I began writing what would become The House With Chicken Legs. I wanted it to be a book about death that was positive and comforting, with themes of celebrating life and living it to the full.

The Baba Yaga in the story is a guardian of The Gate between this world and the next. The dead come to her house with chicken legs and she gives them one last night to celebrate their lives before they pass through The Gate and return to the stars. 

These parties for the dead are lively, with food, music and dancing. The dead reminisce about their prides and joys, and sigh at their sorrows and regrets. Baba makes them feel at ease and at the end of the night, they leave calm and peaceful and ready for their journey.

The main character in the story though is a young girl, Marinka, who lives in the house with her grandmother Baba and spends every night helping to guide the dead. She is desperately lonely and wants to escape, make lasting friendships and live her own life.

As I wrote, I didn’t think about being published. I was writing for myself. But once I had finished, I felt proud of the story and how it had helped me, and I wondered if it might help others form a healthier relationship with death and grief, too.

I submitted the book to a few agents and it eventually found its way to Gemma Cooper, who I signed with and who found the book a perfect home with Usborne. Upon publication, The House With Chicken Legs became a hugely unexpected success. I never imagined Marinka’s story would find its way into so many readers’ hearts.

Years later, I still get messages every week from readers who say how much the book has helped them through grief, and I know that some people have even used the ‘death journey words’ from the book at loved ones’ funerals. This is such an honour and I am so glad the book has been a comfort to so many.

Les Enfants Terribles’ theatrical adaptation of The House With Chicken Legs is truly magnificent, and I am so pleased it has brought the story to new audiences in such a magical and creative way. The show has gorgeous songs, music, puppets, projections, sets, costumes and an incredibly talented cast. It is truly a feast for the soul, full of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears – it is, ultimately, a story about death that is full of life. 

Audience reactions have been wonderful. People of all ages have expressed how much they love the show, how it has brought delight and comfort, and provided a valuable opportunity to open discussions about death and grief.

The bereavement charity Cruse has a presence at the shows, which I think is so valuable as it lets people know that support is available. I wish I had heard of Cruse sooner – because of them, I now understand that I experienced ‘grief overload’ from multiple bereavements that, combined with the tragic and traumatic death of my younger brother, led to ‘complicated grief’ or ‘prolonged grief disorder’.

Giving people the language to discuss difficult and complex emotions and experiences is so vital. Whether it’s through the imaginative, metaphorical language of story or the more literal language of reality, it enables us to share and process our feelings. Which is so important, because no one should have to struggle alone.

If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health, you can find support and resources on the mental health charity Mind’s website and NHS Every Mind Matters or access the NHS’ list of mental health helplines and services.

If you are struggling with your mental health, you can also ask your GP for a referral to NHS Talking Therapies, or you can self-refer.

For confidential support, you can also call the Samaritans in the UK on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org. In a crisis, call 999.

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.