Writing through the fear: A review of My Thoughts Exactly, Lily Allen

Lily Allen. My Thoughts Exactly Blink Publishing (London, 2018)

I admit it, my last post  (All Those Toppling Piles of Certainty)  contained the tiniest bit of a rant against what I uncharitably termed ‘sleb’ memoires.  Where did that term come from?  It is a nasty catch all term which denies people’s individuality and I promise not to use it again.    Anyway, at risk of a charge of hypocrisy I have just read and been enthralled by Lily Allen’s My Thoughts Exactly

The writing style is engaging even if for those of us that have led somewhat more ..er.. traditional  lives,  some of the antics are a bit eye watering.  I started off thinking poor Lily, what a family,  and ended by thinking poor family, what a Lily.   The truth no doubt lies somewhere in between and as Allen’s mother is reported to have said ‘this is your truth darling’.  Of course it is, because our truth is the only one we know.

Far too young, like Amy Winehouse, for all the stuff in the bucket a life of fame pours over your head, Allen avoided joining the 27 club by the skin of her teeth.    Her life has ricocheted through family discord, music industry success,  music industry abuse, sex drugs rock n roll, a stillborn son and two healthy daughters; more sex,  more drugs, life lived in the media glare to the extent that her phone rang when she was still in the delivery room and it was  the Daily Mail or some such odious rag;   a psychotic episode, a broken marriage,  and then, at last,  a modicum of hard-earned peace.

Where does that modicum of hard earned peace come from?    It comes from inside.  One of the hardest things human beings face is to accept themselves  and not to allow the judgement of others to infringe on our own ideas about who we are.  That’s a great soundbyte and easy to say especially when I can’t sing a note and don’t have to read acres of rubbish printed in the media about my life.     What I love about Allen’s book is that she has written through her fear and come out the other side fighting.

“I’ve begun by reclaiming my voice, ”  she writes.  You can’t express opinions, the fear said Get back in your fucking box, it said, we’ll decide who you are

Well not any more, she says (actually she puts it a little stronger but you’ll have to read the book).  And I thought, you go girl.