Review by Vanessa Kredler
Memoirs written by survivors of complex trauma remain surprisingly rare, despite the fact that complex trauma is a common human experience. In many ways, this scarcity makes sense because complex trauma is widely misunderstood and often overshadowed by the more familiar and easier to grasp framework of PTSD. Robyn L. Parkinson’s Give Me a Memory fills that silence with extraordinary courage, clarity, and humanity.
Robyn’s story is harrowing yet profoundly humbling. I found myself moved again and again by her deeply human account of life lived alongside trauma. Her descriptions left me incredulous at how little meaningful support she received when she first sought help, and heartbroken that she had to navigate debilitating internal states while still functioning in the world: working, raising a family, caring for her mother, fulfilling responsibilities that do not pause simply because someone is suffering. Her story raises a sobering question: How do any of us manage to function while carrying the physiological, emotional, mental and spiritual weight of complex trauma?
As a therapist, I was both moved and relieved to see that after so many painful encounters with the public health system, Robyn eventually found a compassionate, patient and attuned therapist. Someone able to witness her, stay with her and accompany her on the never ending journey of healing. The progress she describes, fewer triggers, more thawing from dissociation, even the occasional tear, felt so recognisable. Her reflections on the elusiveness of tears and the ghost-like nature of emotions that feel forever stuck or unreachable resonated deeply with me: the invisible but ever present feelings, the armoured body, the stiffness, the exhaustion of simply existing in the world while numb or terrified for reasons often still invisible to myself and infuriatingly difficult to explain to others, contributing to the loneliness many survivors experience.
I was also struck by Robyn’s desire to tell her story as a way to feel she exists, a longing many trauma survivors will recognise. The image of her reading sections of her manuscript to her therapist, using the writing itself as a bridge toward embodiment, is profoundly moving. As she writes, “It’s not about being fixed. It’s about learning to be seen” (p. 274). That line alone captures the essence of trauma healing more clearly than many clinical texts.
Robyn is equally searing when she describes the legacy of childhood emotional neglect. Her metaphor of the void is unforgettable:
“The trick is to learn to build a life and self around the void, without pretending it isn’t there… The work of healing is to draw a line around it, define and acknowledge it with someone else, and try to build fresh ways of seeing the world. All while feeling terrified or numb.” (p. 271)
It is a stark, honest and painfully accurate articulation of what it means to navigate life shaped by neglect.
Throughout the memoir, Robyn chronicles not only what was missing, such as care, attunement and safety, but also what made a difference: compassionate witnesses, supportive family members and the rare but transformative presence of one therapist willing to stay with her through everything.
Give Me a Memory is a rare and necessary contribution to the literature on complex trauma. It is a testament to the strength required simply to survive and an invitation for all of us, clinicians, survivors and supporters, to understand trauma more deeply and to meet it with gentleness. Robyn Parkinson’s voice is brave, steady and vital. Her story will stay with me for a long time.
Disclaimer: This book review reflects the perspective of the reviewer. It is shared for general interest and information and does not necessarily represent the views of Blue Knot Foundation. It is not intended as professional or therapeutic advice.
