When I was a child and something was bothering me, my mum used to advise me to talk to someone. “Get it off your chest,” she’d say. Many years later, that’s an expression that resonates with me more than ever. Writing and sharing a poem each week about my experience of living with long Covid – a mind-bending chronic illness that gave me chest pain and breathlessness amongst other debilitating symptoms – made me feel calm and supported, and helped me return to good health.

Long Covid is a lonely place to be. Even the nurse at the GP surgery didn’t know what it was when I was sent to her for heart rate and blood pressure checks. Around two million people in the UK have the condition currently, and yet many are invisible – either stuck at home due to crippling fatigue, or, confusingly, appearing ‘well’ at work or a social event, even though afterwards they will have to lie down in a dark room to recover. The illness presents in myriad ways, which means it’s hard to sum up simply.

Attempting to explain the unexplainable to the nurse made me more conscious than ever of the power of language – something that as a writer and editor I knew already, but which had never been quite so important before. The right words have the power to shift perceptions and forge connection. On a rare trip to the beautician’s, having written ‘long Covid’ on the medical questionnaire, I explained that I wouldn’t be able to recline on my back for long as I got breathless in that position. The therapist’s eyes were blank as she motioned me on to the couch. I tried again. “I get air hunger,” I said. Her expression flipped to one of compassion and curiosity. ‘Air hunger’ sounded – rightly – scary and she did everything she could to make my visit comfortable. 

I wrote my first Long Covid poem in my head, lying wrapped in a blanket in the garden. Even though I didn’t have enough energy to sit at a desk, I could mentally work up fragments to record into my phone. I had so many emotions to grapple with. Switching from life as a busy working mum of teenagers to being unable even to go for a brisk walk was a lot to process. I found that teasing out my feelings and capturing them on paper got them out of my head and under control. Instead of dumping on friends the whole time, I could pour out my thoughts and then redraft and edit until I’d synthesised them into something coherent and still powerful, but external not internal. My poems were bite sized, but felt bigger than the sum of their parts.

On New Year’s Day, 2023, I made a resolution: to start sharing what I’d written. I’d never been comfortable with social media, but at this stage in life I felt I had nothing to lose, which was liberating. I started to post a poem on Instagram each Monday.

There was an immediate sense of connection. Comments ranged from, “Can so relate. You have summed up how I feel beautifully in a way I would struggle to do” to “Omg I love this and it gave me a much needed laugh today”. Suddenly I felt less lonely: now I was part of a huge, international community of brave and compassionate individuals. The feedback inspired me to keep writing, and to be honest about how I felt. There was a power and energy to authenticity that others sensed and that made me feel better.

Writing poetry made me approach life differently. I started giving focus to tiny, everyday events. I wrote about walking to the post box; flirting with the bin man; lying on the grass. These were big moments in my shrunken life, and there were other people out there who ‘got’ it. In a twelve-line poem, the miniature became majestic. Writing encouraged me to live in the present, staying alert for life’s joys rather than dwelling on difficulties I couldn’t change. Making satisfying patterns out of messy emotions and creating something out of nothing-filled days was immensely satisfying.

As well as making connections online, I also discovered an amazing spoken word community within walking distance of my house. The first few times I attended a gathering, I had to rest all day beforehand and then still only managed to stay for an hour. But even sitting quietly listening to other people speak into a microphone about whatever they were experiencing in their life that was meaningful reinforced my sense of being part of something bigger than myself.

Comfort, connection, authenticity, creativity – our medical system with its rushed GP appointments, faceless clinics and fragmented services is not set up to provide these things, yet I believe they make all the difference when it comes to recovering from chronic illness, or any of life’s challenges. Finding the right words and crafting them into finely wrought verse for friends and strangers provided a unique kind of healing.

Last autumn, I decided to put a collection together, working with a poetry editor who had picked up two of my poems for publication earlier in the year. Every recovery story I had heard or read; every kind comment or thoughtful connection I had forged had played such a huge part in my getting well I wanted to pay some of that forward. I hoped that publishing my poems would contribute to others feeling seen and cared for – not just those with Long Covid, but anyone who was ill or isolated or on the fringes of life due to loss, loneliness or simply the fallout from the pandemic.

I’m now back to exercising again in the way I did pre-Covid. Each time I lace up my trainers ready for a run I’m ecstatic to be able to take a full, deep breath. Poetry helped me get back to feeling light and open-hearted – I won’t stop writing any time soon.

Poetry for Life and Other Chronic Conditions: Short Poems from Long Covid by A.K. Davidson is out 6 June 2024 and available to order through Waterstones.

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.

Images: courtesy of Anna Davidson