It’s perfectly fine if you’re not writing at the moment and if you don’t write anything ever again.

Slowly you realise that the word resilience is charged with the act of springing back. It is ok to revolt, to recoil, even if from yourself.

The writer’s voice: a precious thread that can guide us out of this dark labyrinth.

The resilience is the container, really, for my vulnerability – the egg carton holding the fragile shells. Inside the shell of my skin, my brain is the white, the yolk my yellow heart, quivering in gooey jelly.

Resilire. The question I have with this word is — what direction? For spring back, I mean. Towards the object or away from it? Both?

Resilience is about more than just survival. It’s about the capacity to bounce back, to continue to evolve despite obstacles or hardship.

But even then, she was not beaten. She revived again. And now there are small and straggly, but strong branches reaching for the sun, and every time I look out at her broken and scarred form, I am in awe of her resilience, inspired by her will to overcome.

‘Choosing to be a writer means accepting that you are going to be faced with rejection, criticism and crippling self-doubt, but it also means you have the opportunity to chase your dreams.’