Meg Kissinger grew up in a family of 8, a rag tag bunch of kids in a loving home, but she also grew up hiding a secret: both of her parents were mentally ill and no one was talking about it. From her mother disappearing from the home for periods of time, to siblings struggling with depression and delusion, it was loving but chaotic. This book is her memoir of that time, a loving, honest portrait of a family in freefall, and the experiences that led her to writing about mental health and her work as a journalist exposing the conditions in mental health institutions.

I was drawn to this one because I know someone of the authors generation who grew up in a very similar environment: a family where mental illness effected parents and was inherited by children, but that couldn’t talk about what was happening because of the shame. The silence that families used to cope, sweeping it under the rug and leaving kids with questions that they had to find answers to on their own seems like a pretty common circumstance of that era.

I was expecting this book to be a little more sad or dark than it was, but I was pleasantly surprised. Kissinger talks about her family and shares funny stories and bits of lore which lifts the book out of navel gazing or just another memoir of trauma, and gives us a rounded portrait. It’s often sad, but it’s also full of love and humour, and I really grew to love the author and her family as I read it. They’re so human, fragile and relatable. We are invited into the sweet, child’s heart of the author and see her as an overwhelmed child, and how the constant drama and the amount of siblings made being seen and heard impossible. There’s not a lot of blame in the book, it’s more constructive, forgiving, but it does point out how the social climate and the Catholic faith placed a lot of shame and pressure on families.

I read this one really swiftly, dreading, as the author dropped little hints of what was to come, but turning page after page. I can’t imagine have eight children, mental health issues and post partum depression, and being left alone by your husband who is only home on weekends. Or being a child trying to make sense of your mother just not being there one day and wondering if she’s coming back and if it was somehow your fault. Or losing a beloved sibling to suicide. I loved this book as a portrait of a real family, as something ordinary but precious, and also as a history of family mental illness and how that was covered up and kept secret. Towards the end of the book, the author talks about how her unique perspective informed her interests as a journalist, and how she was able to improve conditions in the mental health care system through her work, and I loved that too. Using your pain to understand others, to motivate you, and make life better for others is a wonderful thing.

Whilst it’s often sad and sometimes tragic, this was a book full of love and laughter too, and I enjoyed it a lot.

Read It If: you came from or know of a loving but dysfunctional family. Raw, unflinchingly honest, sometimes funny and sometimes heartbreaking. Great reading.

Thank you to Celadon Books for the ARC of this book for review.