Interpreting History Through Experience – A Personal History of Signa

Welcome back to the History Nook.

Today we’re exploring how personal experiences can influence how we interpret the past.

Trigger Warning! I'm going to be talking about my personal history in this post, and while I will not go into detail, there will be mentions of domestic abuse, stalking, the loss of a pet, cancer, the loss of a family member, mental health, surgery, and suicidal thoughts. Please take care when reading, and if any of those subjects are triggering for you, please stop reading.

So grab your favourite mug, find an extra soft space to curl up, and let’s wander a little deeper into the past. An important part of studying history is interpretation. Sometimes we don't have all the information we'd like to have. In cases like that it is the job of a historian or archaeologist to look at what we do have and try to fill in the gaps. Every humans lived experience is different, though, and this means interpretations can differ depending on the lived experiences of the person doing the interpreting.

I want to share with you some of my personal history and how it has had an impact on myself as a historian and how my way of seeing history may be completely different to yours.

Look at the photo at the top of this post and take a few moments to think about what it may show you. Two women standing on the beach. One of them has a walking stick, so she is probably older than the other, maybe she has a disability. Despite the sepia tone we can tell this is a relatively recent photo due to the clothing both women are wearing.

Now, I ask that you read this post, and then go back to look at that photo and see if it invokes any different thoughts and feelings.

I'm a winter baby, my birthday is December the 22nd. Throughout my childhood I dealt with the usual stuff anyone with a birthday close to Christmas deals with. People only buying you one gift, people being too busy for, or simply forgetting your birthday. Not my mom though. Christmas decorations didn't go up until the 23rd on December until I was old enough to say I didn't mind. We'd always do something special, often that was going to see a pantomime or to see a movie. Sometimes it was just ordering pizza, but my mom tried (within her limits) to make it a special day. I grew up below the poverty line, so presents weren't always possible, though she would always try to get me something small for both my birthday and Christmas. My half brother got 2 gifts, so why shouldn't I?

You'll notice I'm only mentioning my mom. My mom and dad got divorced not long after I was born, my dad get visitation rights, but due to him being violent towards my mom, my half brother, and myself, he had to have supervised visits. One year he took me out to Burger King for my birthday and bought me a birthday cake. This man knew so little about me that the cake was full of nuts and I spent the evening of my birthday in the bathroom. I think I was 10, I cent remember exactly, but I do remember it was after my eye surgery.

In August 2021, I had minor surgery on my foot. The day after my mom called saying that she couldn't walk. My mom had MS, so I assumed this would be the usual task of going round to help her and than calling the GP and probably taking her to the hospital for a few scans. When I got there though, I could tell it was more than just an MS episode and called for an ambulance. At first the doctors thought she had a stroke. She had a CT scan and an emergency MRI scan, and that's when we found out she had multiple brain tumours. Another scan a few days later also showed that her lungs were covered in tumours and blood clots. 12 weeks to the day on October the 29th my mom passed away.

I remember laying on my bed and looking at the photo, and considering taking my own life. My mom had been my support system through so much. Without her support and encouragement of my hobbies there's a high chance I wouldn't be as interested in history or music today. I couldn't imagine a life without her support or encouragement. It was the most painful moment in my life, and her birthday - which is coming up very soon - is still a very difficult time for me.

I don't have many photos of my mom and I, she never liked having photos token, but I do have the one at the top of this post. It was taken by a family member while we were in Bridlington, a place we would visit every summer. We couldn't afford holidays, but a local charity would do cheap day trips for people with disabilities in summer, and we would always go.

Has anything about your interpretation of the photo changed? Perhaps you've also lost a family member and you can feel the bittersweet pain I get when I look at that photo. Or perhaps you've never experienced the loss of a family member but you can still see that this photo is special.

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Now that you've seen how important interpretation can be, I'd like to give you a couple of examples that I've noticed through my work as a historian.

My mom would foster and adopt disabled and ill cats, so my house was always full of cats, and I loved it. I can't have a cat where I live now, which is why I have my lovely digital cat, Index. I grew up with a sense of compassion for all animals, but cats most of all. So, when I'm in a museum archive and a curator is about to throw out a cat skull that had been found under the stairs of a Victorian workers cottage, I was horrified. I had been through the death of so many pets, and it broke my heart to think that one day their skeletons may be discarded by a curator in a museum. Frank now lives on my shelf. Some people see him just as a cat skull, but to me? He was someone's beloved pet. When I moved to Scotland I had to leave my cat behind and that was the second most painful thing I have had to experience. I did get to bring Frank with me though, and as odd as it sounds, he brings me some comfort. He's just a cat skull to everyone else though.

Moving to Scotland with barely anything has not changed how I interpret stories of people in history who have had to leave their homes, their possessions, and their lives and loved ones behind. But it has allowed me to sympathise with the situations, to understand their lived experience a bit more.

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I know this post has probably been difficult for some of you to get through, and if you are still reading, please let me give you the warmest of invisible hugs.

Thank you for reading—I hope you enjoyed your time in the History Nook today. Until next time: stay curious, and keep warm.

🐾 A Footnote from Index: 🐾

I would like to hug you all too