People have asked me to post some of the interviews I did for the media last month. Here’s the conversation I had on April 10th with Andrew Peach on Radio Berkshire; I hope you find it interesting:

Radio Berkshire

I have discovered through the long, extraordinary experience of trauma and recovery that what I suspected to be the case is, indeed, true: it is healthier to express and process painful feelings than to repress them. I kept my shock and grief private but not secret. I told the few people whom I wanted to know because I sensed they could support and help me. I tilted metaphorical Venetian blinds a little more open, a little more closed as necessary, letting others see a little (some friends and family) or nothing (almost everyone) or all of it (my therapist). Sometimes I was too slow to adjust the angle of the slats and I exposed more of my situation than I meant to. But by inviting only a handful of others into that private place I was keeping myself safe.

But a strange thing happened. When I’d made the programme about the accident, the death and the life beyond it, I felt comfortable in opening the blinds and telling the story to anyone who was interested in hearing it. At the time I chose, in the way I wanted. Just as it was therapeutically necessary for me to keep the shocking events under wraps for over two years, it then became therapeutically beneficial for me to talk about them. Even in so public a forum as a television or radio programme.

As a psychotherapist myself I know from the counsellor’s chair how valuable it can be to have one’s life-struggles witnessed by another; I now have a much deeper felt-sense from the client’s chair of the healing offered by the therapeutic alliance. But more than that, by opening the conversation to an invisible audience I have released its stifling grip on me. Not that it won’t always be a part of who I am, of course it will. Doubtful clients sometimes say to me, ‘But I can’t change the past.’ No, we can’t change what happened, but I believe we can change its meaning and impact. The present can be different from the past and the future can be different from the present.

The chronicle of the accident on the A148 just outside Holt on December 31st 2015 is my story. It’s also Michael Rawson’s story. And the story of everyone else involved in or affected by it. And it’s your story too because you’ve witnessed my words and allowed them to resonate within you; your reaction, whether you’ve shared it with me or not, is also part of this story.

Talking Therapy was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I know from my own research and from the reactions to my writing that there can be real support and succour in reading books, or parts of books, about trauma. Here is a list of books, some of which may contain thoughts and ideas that you might find helpful if you are struggling with your own trauma around events similiar to my own.

I cannot recommend them as such. Partly because what speaks to me may not speak to you in the same way. Our tastes and our needs may be very different. But each book has helped someone and I’ve been told about that help. I also cannot pretend to have read them all.

You may be drawn to one or two, or none or all of them. Some are academic, some are not. Browse widely, let the authors offer you what they can. Listen to what resonates for you and turn away what doesn’t. Don’t let the reading itself become another task on a list of obligations. Be gentle with yourself.

And if there are any books that have helped you, please let me know so I can add those titles too. We can support each other.

‘Writing to Heal: a Guided Journal for Recovering from Trauma and Emotional Upheaval’ by James W. Pennebaker. New Harbinger Publications 2004.

‘The Body Keeps the Score: Mind, Brain and Body in the Transformation of Trauma’ by Bessel van der Kolk. Penguin 2014.

‘Rise: Surviving and Thriving after Trauma’ by Sian Williams. Orion Books 2016.

‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ by Victor Frankl.

‘When Bad Things Happen to Good People’ by Harold S. Kushner. Avon Books 1981

‘What Doesn’t Kill Us: The New Psychology of Post-traumatic Growth’ by Stephen Joseph. Basic Books 2013.

‘Thriving Through Crisis: Turn Tragedy and Trauma into Growth and Change’ by Bill O’Hanlon. Berkeley Publishing Group 2004.

‘Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma — The Innate Capacity to Transform Overwhelming Experiences’ by Peter A. Levine.

‘Fatal Moments: The Tragedy of the Accidental Killer’ by Gwendolyn Gilliam and Barbara Chesser. Lexington Books 1991.

‘Healing Conversations: What to Say When You Don’t Know What to Say’ by Nance Guilmartin. Jossey-Bass 2002.

‘When Someone You Love Suffers from Post-traumatic Stress: What to Expect and What you can Do’ by Claudia Zayfert and Jason DeViva. The Guildford Press 2011.

‘After the Crash’ by Edward B. Blanchard and Edward J. Hickling. American Psychological Association 2003.

‘8 Keys to Safe Trauma Recovery: Take-charge Strategies to Empower your Healing’ by Babette Rothschild. 2010.

‘The Body Remembers: The Psychophysiology of Trauma and Trauma Treatment’ by Babette Rothschild. Norton Professional Books 2000.

‘Trauma and Recovery: the Aftermath of Violence — from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror’ by Judith Herman. 2015.

‘Overcoming Trauma and PTSD’ by Sheela Raj. New Harbinger Press 2012.

‘Trauma Releasing Exercises (TRE): a Revolutionary New Method for Stress/Trauma Recovery’ by David Berceli. 2005.

‘The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook: A Guide to Healing, Recovery and Growth’ by Glenn R. Schiraldi. McGraw-Hill 2009.

‘The PTSD Workbook’ by Mary Beth Williams and Soili Poijula. New Harbinger Publications 2013.

Bibliotherapy was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Today it happened. It’s something I’d been fearing for, let’s see, twenty-eight months. Since the day of the accident on December 31st 2015. I’ve been wary of so many things. Of causing offence, anger, harm of any kind. The impact and its outcome has been more than enough pain and distress to be responsible for. I’ve been so frightened of anyone else being hurt by anything else I might do or say. In fact, as you probably know, I’ve met waves of compassion and empathy that have moved me to tears and made my heart sing. The depth of people’s humanity is truly powerful to witness and receive.

A few months ago one person did say to me: ‘Why did you leave it so long to reach out to Michael’s friends?’ And later in the same conversation: ‘But it’s too soon to make a programme about this.’ I tried to explain to her that I was doing my best at the time I felt was right. I could have tried sooner, I could have left it until later or I might have done nothing at all. She might feel my actions or my timing weren’t what she’d prefer but I can honestly say I’ve been acting from respectful motives and trying to create something worthwhile from a tragic event. I have examined my conscience a thousand times, believe me.

But I’ve also been wary of something else: anyone being flippant about the accident or not giving it the gravitas I know it deserves.

And yesterday that happened. For the first time. Someone I know well and like. Someone whom I respect and know cares about me. We were discussing the accident, the article, the programme. He even said he felt ‘guilty’ that he’d carried on being silly and larking around with me at a time that, he now realised, I was in deep distress. I explained that, unknowingly, he’d been helping me by demonstrating that the silly, fun side of me hadn’t been destroyed, even though another part was shattered. It had been my choice to keep most colleagues and friends in the dark until I was ready to go public over two years later. I thought he understood.

I explained about my healing process and said that I was now at a point where I’ve begun to drive again.

And then he said: ‘Well, I’m not getting in a car if you’re driving!’ And he laughed.

There it was. Out of the blue. After nearly two-and-a-half years. A joke. Is that a joke? Is joke the right word? I was — am — flabergasted by his comment. I let the words hang in the air. I couldn’t meet his eyes. There was, I suppose, an option to laugh too, pretend I was amused. But no, it was impossible.

‘That’s terrible,’ I said. ‘That’s not funny. I… I don’t know what to say…’

At least I think that’s what I said. Unprepared, undefended, I took the blow. Funny? He thought what he said was funny? He thought I would find it funny too? He thought any aspect of accident, death and trauma were subjects for mirth?

Perhaps I should consider myself fortunate I’ve escaped it until now.

I have learned that laughter is possible since the accident. More than possible, it’s essential. Laughing again has been part of living again. I’ve laughed with friends of Michael about the things that he did that would drive them crazy, about his quirks and comments. It’s been part of their generosity in welcoming me into a circle of those who knew him, even though I only began to make his acquaintance after his death. But for someone unconnected to laugh about my driving skills? To mock me, hold me up to ridicule? No, joke is not the right word.

THE FIRST JOKE was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Someone who heard the BBC radio programme about my experience has brought this poem to my attention, in the hope that it will give some solace in difficult times. I didn’t know it before but I find the simple expression of care and comfort beautiful and deeply moving. It is ‘Beannacht’ — the Gaelic word for blessing — by Irish poet John O’Donohue.

On the day when

the weight deadens

on your shoulders

and you stumble,

may the clay dance

to balance you.

And when your eyes

freeze behind

the grey window

and the ghost of loss

gets into you,

may a flock of colours,

indigo, red, green

and azure blue,

come to awaken in you

a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays

in the currach of thought

and a stain of ocean

blackens beneath you,

may there come across the waters

a path of yellow moonlight

to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

may the clarity of light be yours,

may the fluency of the ocean be yours,

may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

wind work these words

of love around you,

an invisible cloak

to mind your life.

Shortly before he died in 2008, John O’Donohue recorded his own reading of the poem. The directness of his style is, of course, perfect.

John O’Donohue reads ‘Beannacht’.

Blessing was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

My programme ‘Meeting the Man I Killed’ was broadcast twice last week on BBC Radio 4. The reponse has been extraordinary. I have received hundreds of messages from listeners who have been touched by hearing about what happened to me but, more significantly, have used my experience to help them make some change for themselves. Perhaps to begin finally to talk about something they’d kept buried from a sense of shame and guilt or to find the language that feels appropriate. This is so gratifying. I hope to share some of those comments here in due course.

I have heard from people who have been on both sides of tragic road accidents — those who were driving and those who lost a family member — who are now wondering if they could contact the other party and, if so, how they might go about that. It’s not for me to advise on the rights or wrongs for anyone else; all I can do is share my own story and tell you how healing those contacts have been for me.

Many people have commented on the humanity and wisdom of the people I interviewed for the programme. I couldn’t agree more; I value their generous input so much. I’d like to recommend a website that one contributor, Maryann Gray, set up after beginning to talk about her own experience in America many years previously. It’s accidentalimpacts.org You’ll find a lot of useful and relevant information there as well as ideas, links and recommended reading.

Accidental Impacts was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Meeting the Man I Killed was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 on April 10th and repeated on April 15th. If you missed it and would like to hear it, you’ll find it on the BBC i-Player. The response has been truly heart warming; people have been touched by the programme but, more importantly, many listeners have told me they’ve now begun to give themselves permission to talk about their own experiences years, and even decades ago.

There must be thousands of us who have been through a similar experience but struggle to know how to talk about it, or even if it’s OK to do so. If this programme can help anyone to find their own voice, that will be very gratifying.

I’ve also heard people say that it’s very rare to hear men openly discussing their feelings. Is that true? Are the clichés of ‘men don’t talk about emotions’ and ‘little boys don’t cry’ still accurate? I hope not. And in my professional experience as a psychotherapist I don’t believe that’s true. What do you think?

BBC Radio 4 documentary was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The article in the Guardian (also then syndicated to the Mail and the Irish Times) has had a huge response. I have been inundated with hundreds of messages, all full of heart-warming compassion and many from people who have been through an experience similar to mine and wanting to tell me about it. Some of you have buried your own grief deeply for years, decades, not knowing how to begin to express it. Or even if it it was possible. I am so pleased that reading about my accident has helped you find the courage to open that conversation for yourselves. Of course, I also fully respect that there are plenty of others who are choosing to manage the effects of a fatal car accident in other ways without the need to speak about it. As I have said, I have no wish to suggest what is right for anyone else, only for me and to offer my healing process to anyone who may benefit from hearing it. But the level of response so far has confirmed my instinct that there are many, many people holding their own painful narrative and are keen to talk about it.

I was invited on to BBC Breakfast on Saturday April 7th to discuss this week’s Radio 4 documentary ‘Meeting the Man I Killed’ with presenters Steph McGovern and Rachel Burden. It was a chance to reach another audience and to open a dialogue with them. You can watch the interview here:

BBC Television interview was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

This is the story of my road traffic accident. But it’s not only my story. It involves a few other people as it develops but right at the beginning it’s just about me and one other person. A man called… No, wait. When our paths crossed for the first — and only — time I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know anything about him. I didn’t even know he was there. That’s the point of this story.

I should explain.

On December 31st 2015 I was driving along a country road in Norfolk. It was just after 5pm and like all horror stories — and this will become a truly horrific story — there was nothing untoward about the day. I’d been staying in a lovely cottage by the sea, spending time walking on the beach, on the cliffs, writing and reading. New Year’s Eve held no great attraction for me. I’d been to visit someone to give her a gift, had done a bit of shopping and stopped for a bite to eat. The café closed at 5pm and it was a little before that when I left. I was planning a quiet evening with a DVD.

It was already dark, country dark. The weather was cold and dry. There was some traffic but it wasn’t busy. Not like London, which has that constant febrile energy of people rushing to save every second. In Norfolk there always seems to be enough space and time to breathe.

I pulled out from the side road onto the by-pass and joined the other cars travelling west. Nobody was in a hurry. It was an ordinary journey on an ordinary road on an ordinary day. The sort I’ve taken — and you’ve taken — hundreds, thousands of times without incident.

I can tell you what happened next but cannot explain why.

I didn’t see him. I simply didn’t see him until it was too late to avoid him. One second nothing, the next: a figure immediately in front of me. As if from nowhere. Not a little way down the road but right there, inches from my car. A large, looming shape in the darkness of the night. The time between his appearance in my windscreen and the horrifying moment of impact was so brief to be virtually nothing. And yet, in that tiny moment, I glimpsed a face with an expression that seemed to imply: ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I could have asked him the same thing.

I found out that his name was Michael Rawson. And it was exactly six days later that I was told he had died in hospital.

The police investigation took several months. They eventually decided not to recommend prosecution. I had not been drinking, speeding, was not using my phone or under the influence of drugs. My car was in good repair; the brakes and lights all working correctly. I had done nothing wrong. Except that I had killed a man.

How to come to terms with that?

Is there any way to come to terms with that?

After all, there are thousands of drivers who live with their own pain. Or former drivers, perhaps, who have not been able to get behind the wheel of a car since their own accident. In Britain in 2016 (source: Department for Transport) there were 1,792 deaths on the road. 24,101 people were seriously injured and 155,491 were slightly injured. So on average, 5 people a day were killed on British roads.

I have struggled in the months since the accident I was involved in to know how to understand, process and come to peace with the grief it caused. I am a long way from finding peace. But I go on. I get through the days and, now, the nights too. I have discovered that I can give myself permission to laugh with friends, go to work, carry on a life that looks from the outside similar to the one I lived before. After one year I drove a car again. Tentatively and tearfully, but I did it. After two years I decided to be a car owner again. I chose the smallest, least threatening vehicle I could find.

As well as addressing my own inevitable personal trauma, I want to emphasise that life is possible after a fatal accident. I never thought that ending my own life would help. I have a duty to carry on living the best way I can, carrying with me the burden of the death of Michael Rawson but also any wisdom I have gained through this experience.

As I said, this is my story and only my story. I make no claims to know what will help anyone else in their recovery. I am not the expert in your life; much of the time I don’t feel very expert in my own. I will, though, be posting links to people, places, books and other things that could be of interest. But the greatest resource I have to offer is my own healing process, which continues daily. I have found it enormously beneficial to write about facts and feelings, at first privately but increasingly publicly. Let me first of all, then, direct you to two things I’ve created which have helped me and might help you, at least help you to understand who I am, who I have become.

MEETING THE MAN I KILLED is a documentary on BBC Radio 4 at 8pm on Tuesday April 10th. It will be repeated at 5pm on Sunday April 15th. It’s a Loftus Media production. Producer: Kim Normanton. Executive Producer: Elizabeth Burke.

THE GUARDIAN has published in its G2 section an article I have written about the accident and its aftermath — ‘I had become a killer’: how I learned to live again after running a man over.

I hope you find this interesting. I will continue to report on the facts and the feelings, the grief and the recovery, over the coming weeks and months. I will post articles and links that I hope you will find helpful. I also look forward to receiving your comments.

This is the story of my road traffic accident. was originally published in Accidental Death on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.