Some of Us Just Fall by Polly Atkin

A review

Where to begin…

When I was first leant this book by a friend I was apprehensive. Not because I was in any way sceptical of what I was about to read, but simply because I knew it would force me to confront my own feelings about my experiences with falling ill and not getting better. And confront it I did.

While reading I was taken on journey of discomfort, of realisation, of comfort in times when comfort does not seem possible. At times it felt long to read because I did not want to relive my own experiences, or face the emotions I have felt, and at times I wanted to put it down, and if it was written any differently I probably would have. But Atkin’s writing held me through it, offered me a kinship of sorts.

The way she documents her own experiences growing up, the realising that her body was not ‘normal’, that it moved differently, is incredibly personal and it truly feels like you are being let in to her inner most thoughts. She does not shy away from the frustrations of living every day with pain, nor does she shy away from discussing the difficulties within the healthcare system; of being a woman, of misdiagnosis, of being misheard, or not heard at all.

Atkin intertwines every instance of her own existence with instances of nature, of history, of the past and present. She does not simply focus in on one aspect of her being, but examines everything as part of a whole, as part of a long and entangled history of evolution, of place, and of nature. Her beautiful writing on interactions with the world around her; like her time spent swimming, or her exchanges with the deer, truly draw you back to world around you. Importantly it places herself as natural in this world, where others might have seen her previously as unnatural.

This book is undoubtedly one that everyone should read. Whether you have had your own experience with chronic illness, or know someone who is going through similar things, Some of Us Just Fall will teach you new ways to understand this other world of illness. And for those going through it, there is comfort in the shared experiences, Atkin’s way of writing feels almost like someone holding your hand and telling you that it will all be okay. It is not a story about getting better or about magically finding a cure, instead it is one of adapting and realisation, and learning to make peace, to live

with the body you have.

So I will leave you with the last line from the book, a line that I think I will hold with me for quite some time, to keep me going and to keep me afloat as I keep navigating my own way through this world of chronicity.

There is just continuation. In continuation there is life.