When I took up photography almost 10 years ago, I had no idea it would help me reconnect to the world. Creative expression has been very healing. So too has breaking the silence surrounding the intergenerational trauma which very much set the stage from the day I was born.

As my mother gave birth to me and during her convalescence my two brothers (5 years and 18 months) stayed in Salvation Army care and my sister with relatives. My oldest brother, who participated in the Abuse in Care Inquiry, came home with an eating disorder and my other brother came home mute and stayed that way for around a year.

Then when I was 11 months old my father received news that his father had just died in psychiatric care. This would have been a huge shock as my father grew up believing he was dead.

Despite coming into the world at a particularly bad time for my family, in many ways my childhood was charmed. I loved the free-range lifestyle and long days of reckless abandon I enjoyed with my siblings. That abruptly changed in my early teens after one of many traumas that I liken to the straw that broke the camel’s back. Few people know that about me, because on the surface my life has taken a “normal” trajectory.

I can talk about important life events in order. For example, in my late twenties I represented New Zealand at the FIFA Women’s World Cup in China. In my thirties I earned university qualifications and gave birth to my son. But these milestones also mask my struggles and the determination it has taken to stay afloat. Rather my story is difficult to tell in a linear way, as it’s often felt messy, uncertain and just plain hard.

When my friend turned up with his camera one day, it was at least six months before I picked it up. I remember aimlessly wandering around my backyard in the bright sunlight and crouching to snap bees as they landed on the numerous dandelions. When I looked through the viewfinder I was awestruck by the beauty and detail that I couldn’t see with the naked eye. From that moment I obsessively took photos to try and capture beauty.

After a while I progressed to street photography. I’ve come to see the act of capturing everyday life – it’s beauty, struggle, love, injustice, humour, etc – as a form of storytelling. And the closer we examine life, our own and others, the more we’re able to reflect and make informed choices about how we want to show up and sow for the future.

Next I found the courage to ask some of the people I photographed about their lives. These positive exchanges felt like a mutual opening of the heart. Each time I’d walk away feeling a little more emboldened and connected to the courage and goodness in people.

It became increasingly clear that while I loved these exchanges, I really wanted to find a way to express my own story. I had learnt not to talk about the events that had shaped me most as they were wrapped tightly in a heavy blanket of shame, even though it wasn’t mine to bare. When I finally started that project, it turned into an outpouring of grief.

I think unprocessed trauma sees us increasingly shut down and healing is the process of opening up. Not just to beauty, but also to feelings, such as grief, sadness and anger. I’ve also had professional help in doing this, as well as with healing the body. Trauma can have profound impacts on the nervous system, and I’ve had to put in years of work to calm it and restore my health.

For me, moments of connection and openness shared with people have been drips in my ever-increasing bucket of healing. And I believe we are at a time in history when stories that foster understanding, hope and courage are more important than ever.

My Story by Lynne Warring