Sometimes I feel like I have no self-awareness, because I’ve been on a round-about of thinking I don’t have ADHD (round-about as in I just keep thinking the same thing, going round-about in a circle) and I’ve talked to my friends and family about it.
And recently they brought up that I talk a lot and I, was kinda stumped and I asked them “I… talk a lot?” and the two people I was talking to were like “yeah… you do”. I honestly had no idea, other than that when I’m talking about a hyperfixation, past or present, I just go on and on.
I dunno, just made me think about how maybe I don’t have a great awareness of my behavior until someone points it out.
It takes many different forms, but every writer faces the monster of self-doubt at some point. Today, writer Ellie Joy shares her encounter with the dreaded beast, and shares some encouragement for facing and moving past that doubt:
“Me? A writer? I’m not experienced enough, old enough, creative enough.”
I don’t know about you, but I’ve thought these same lines too many times. The end of my sentence differs, but the result of the words are still the same. Have you ever heard the saying that you are your own worst enemy? It’s so true.
As an aspiring author, I want to write something worth remembering. Ever since that fateful day when I sat down to write my first story, I knew this was my dream. Never mind that I wasn’t even eight. For that year, I was convinced I practically was an author.
But as I got older, things began to change. My stories no longer seemed impressive to me, and uncertainty began to cloud the dreams of what I aimed my future toward. A wisp of doubt took hold at the back of my mind.
Okay, I’ll share a little more backstory and get more personal. The biggest doubts didn’t just appear overnight.
It was the year 2020, already a year of change (whether we asked for it or not!) and I had decided to undertake my biggest challenge yet—NaNoWriMo. Starting in November, I poured my heart onto the pages and gradually saw the characters, which once only existed in my imagination, come to life on the pages.
If I had succeeded in my goal, this story would be pointless, but I didn’t come close to succeeding. I celebrated my accomplishments but soon thoughts started nagging me. The monster of self-doubt began to prowl. I had begun to realize just how far away I was from the goal and I didn’t like it. At all.
Fast forward a year: I’d written a lot, but just when November rolled around, I quit the novel I’d been working on. Perhaps it was the failed novel, or perhaps it was just hormones, but suddenly the monster that had become more apparent over the year growled lies that spread like a hot ember in a dry forest. Fast. Overpowering.
Until the monster roared, I had been looking forward to trying NaNoWriMo again. But then? I wasn’t sure.
After lots of encouragement from my personal cheerleaders, I reluctantly started the challenge with a hastily planned novel.
At first, just getting to start on a new story was exhilarating, and was to me what coffee is to a lot of people—energy giving. For about a week, the monster was silenced, locked in a cage.
The the middle of the month came and the early mornings and hurried writing started to seem like chores. What had I been thinking, signing myself up for these tiresome days? Suddenly, the goal seemed too far away, my mind too tired, and my fingers not fast enough. Quitting seemed the best option.
“I just can’t do it,” I remember telling my mom after an especially bad writing session. The words in my head were different from the ones that came out of my mouth, though. I’m just not enough. Suddenly, my worth came from my word count that had started to go downhill.
“You should fight against selling yourself short as a writer.“
Somehow, I persevered. The word counts piled up and on the last day, I typed my 50,000th word. I cannot express my shock after tallying up the words. I was beyond surprised and so happy. The biggest grin was stuck on my face the rest of the week.
But I’m still human. I still struggle through things, so even though it pains me to admit it…. Conquering that challenge may have shut the monster’s jaws but they soon became unhinged again.
Ironic as it is, as I’m sitting here, staring at this glowing screen, I’m dissing myself. Thoughts keep repeating in my head like the chorus to a bad song: You’re not qualified to write this! Quit before you embarrass yourself.
Which is completely ironic because the topic of this whole post, simply put, is about why you should fight against selling yourself short as a writer.
Isn’t it so hard though? You get in that mindset and it’s hard to take yourself out of it. I personally know how depressing it can be. When I fail at something, I call myself a failure. When I’m really bad at something, suddenly it defines me. Am I the only one? Nope!
Although I can’t tell you exactly how to rid yourself of the monster—I’m still learning myself—I beg you to try to get rid of it. It is worth the effort!
I’ve already missed out on too much because I let the lies define me. NaNoWriMo, my greatest accomplishment? Never would have happened if I had admitted defeat (and if my people hadn’t encouraged me as much as they did). So I implore you, try. Don’t listen to the lies that the monster feeds you about your value—they’re just slippery words. So what if your book has been turned down by publisher after publisher? So what if you’re old enough to get the senior discount at the coffee shop and you still haven’t published? Don’t believe the lies!!!!
You got this. If writing is something you love to do, don’t put it down just because you think that it isn’t good enough! If you get nothing else from this post, please get this; your words matter. You matter. Shut up that monster…
And step into a life with more self-love, because you are worth it.
Ellie Joy is an aspiring author who asks for notebooks as presents and has pencil stains on her pillow from late night story inspirations. As a self-proclaimed nerd, she loves devouring book series and hanging out with friends. After her first NaNoWriMo win, she has begun to fully embrace her writing and continues working on what has been her goal since she started: to publish her first novel.
Summary: A post-GITF sick-fic UA. What if Rose had come away with more than nightmares after her run-in with the clockwork droids? What if her trust in the Doctor had been so fractured that she’d been afraid to tell him? And what if that broken trust might just lead to a dangerous situation for Rose? Will the Doctor be able fix it in time? Note: Trigger warning for non-explicit DV, self-loathing, PTSD, medical emergency.
Notes: Hello lovely people! Here is the new penultimate chapter for my @doctor-rose-events classic tropes fic - yes, that’s right, in typical me style, I’ve decided to add one more- an epilogue set some time after this chapter- to be posted next week. So we still have one more to go! I decided we deserved a look at Rose and the Doctor a way into the future and seeing how far things have come (no hints but SQUEEEEEE!). So keep your eyes peeled for that next weekend.In the meantime, this chapter is really about hope, and moving forward. About Rose knowing she can and deserves to ask for help, and that while it’s a LOT of work, it’s totally worthwhile. And SHE is worthwhile. It’s about courage and friendship and love and trust- all those vital things nobody can live without. I hope you like this chapter, which gives us several different glimpses at different points of Rose and team TARDIS (it makes me so happy just writing that) as they progress in this difficult journey. I hope you like it.Many thanks to Aintafraidanoghosts and @rose–nebula for encouraging me to post and not throw this thing into the bin, and as always, MANY HUGE HUGS TO ROSE-NEBULA FOR HER MAGNIFICENT AND THOROUGH BETA. You are the most magnificent of people <3 Thanks also to @galiifreyrose,@wildchildamandaa and @melusine for their encouragement to post this thing and stop butchering it. I’ve had a difficult week so apologies if this isn’t what it should be- all mistakes are mine.Only general trigger warning applies for this chapter.Hope you enjoy (or don’t hate this) and on with the show!
Jack had always been much cleverer than he let on.
That wasn’t to say he pretended to be daft, but he played the part of a happy, lecherous fool so well that people didn’t realise that he saw more than he let on and said less than he thought. Rose had certainly never thought him stupid by any means (how could she, when he was so clever?), but she’d been so very surprised, in the beginning, by just how much he saw, how much he’d been able to read between the lines.
She’d also forgotten how well he knew her and how easily he could read her.
They’d talked for hours, that first day, until she was drooping with exhaustion and the Doctor had swooped in to carry her off to bed, glaring at Jack all the while, but Rose wasn’t sorry. She’d missed Jack so much and her guilt at realising they’d left him behind and what she’d done was immense. Jack had explained what had happened to him, and she’d finally understood what the Doctor had meant about Jack being a fixed point. She’d been horrified to hear that not only had she brought him back from the dead, but had apparently condemned him to an eternity of dying and coming back to life.
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“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry Jack! I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to!”
“Don’t be sorry Rosie, I know you didn’t.” He comforted her, pulling her close. “It was a shock at first and I’m used to it now. It was hard the first few times, but after that? Piece of cake.”
“Stop tryin’ to make me feel better,” she sniffled, poking him in the shoulder. “I don’t deserve it.”
“No, Rose.” His tone was unusually firm. “You…this happened because you cared about me.” His voice had cracked. “You loved me so much that you brought me back from the dead- how can I be angry about that?”
“Yeah but I didn’t just do that, did I? I mucked it up and now you can’t die!“
“Alright, so you could have used a bit of work on the fine-tuning.” He rolled his eyes. “Rosie, you used the power of the Vortex! There’s no manual for that, and no one has ever done it! I’m amazed you managed to do what you did.” He buried his face in her hair for a moment. “That you wanted to do what you did.” He waggled his eyebrows in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Not that I can blame you- handsome hunk that I am.”
“Prat,” she muttered.
“But a handsome prat!” He leered. “So handsome you couldn’t live without another peek at my cheeky derriere.”
She couldn’t help laughing at his outrageous means of cheering her up. She’d missed it. “Shut up, you perv.”
“That’s better,” he smiled. “Much better. “You’re not made for sadness, Rosie. And I’ll tell you here and now- you have nothing to be sorry about, and if I’m angry with anyone, it sure as hell isn’t you.”
She wisely chose not to probe further, knowing how furious he was- how furious he deserved to be- with the Doctor who had known what had happened to him and yet chosen to leave him behind.
And then, finally, when it couldn’t be avoided any longer, they talked about her.
She’d been too ashamed to tell him everything, especially that she’d almost caused her own death because she’d been too afraid to go to the Doctor for medical help, but she had told him the bare bones- including, reluctantly, that the Doctor had left her and Mickey on the space station in the future to go after Madame de Pompadour. Unsurprisingly, Jack had been incredulous, and utterly furious, only containing his reaction when he saw how much the topic had upset her. He’d taken a deep breath and, clearly ignoring his own rage on the matter, changed the subject.
She’d never loved him as much as she had in that moment.
They’d spoken for hours, mourning the loss of the Doctor they’d known and loved, and talking a little about this one. Rose had made a point of telling Jack that while this Doctor had made a poor start and given her cause to doubt, he was working overtime to prove himself now. She’d even shared that the Doctor had been talking about his planet, which Jack had heard in utter disbelief.
Apparently, though, it hadn’t been enough, because the next morning, she awoke to find Jack growling at the Doctor in the kitchen. She stood out of the doorway, just out of sight, listening to the scene unfold.
“Bad enough you dumped me, and left me without a clue about what had happened or where you were,” he snarled at the Doctor, who’d stood with jaw clenched. “But Rose? You abandoned Rose ? If anything could show me that you’re not the same man, that would be it.”
The Doctor flinched, and said nothing.
“He’d have cut off his right hand before leaving her on that dump! What were you thinking?”
“That’s none of your business,” the Doctor said finally, his voice low and fierce. “It’s between me and Rose.”
“The hell it is!” Jack growled. “Rose is family, the only family I have, and once upon a time she was the most important person in the world to you! Now you dump her to go after one of the most self-centred, greedy snobs in history? You’d damn well better believe it is my business!”
“Enough.” The Doctor’s warning tone sent chills down her spine.
“No it damn well isn’t!” Jack growled right back. “How dare you? How dare you abandon Rose, leave her to die for that…that harpy, knowing what you do about what Rose has been through?”
“What do you know about what she’s been through?” The Doctor’s voice was sharp.
“You know good and well the bastard she was with before abused her.”
Rose closed her eyes in shame. She’d forgotten how clever Jack was, how perceptive. She should have known he’d work it out somehow, should have known he’d piece it all together.
“You knew.” The Doctor’s tone was suspiciously flat.
“Of course I knew,” Jack scoffed. “It was obvious to anyone with eyes, and you knew too. Don’t try and pretend you didn’t.”
The Doctor had been silent for a long moment. “I guessed, but I didn’t know.”
“You knew enough,” Jack growled. “More than enough. You saw how she was in the beginning, you knew how she thought of herself, of you, heck even me! Or at least, the first you did,” Jack added pointedly. “No idea about thisyou.”
“You’re a Time Agent, Jack.” The Doctor sounded tired. “You know how regeneration works, you know we’re one and the same.”
“So how do you explain this little jaunt, then- and abandoning the TARDIS, I might add? And don’t add any bull about it being none of my business because we both know that you owe me for taking off and never coming back. I can just about understand you leaving me at the Game Station when you were regenerating, but what about afterwards? Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you warn me, tell me what had happened? Do you know how many times I was burned as a witch? How many times I barely got out alive because I never aged, because I broke my neck and was walking around a few minutes later? I didn’t even realise that it was Rose who’d done it until I talked to her just now! You dumped me like so much trash and kept on going. I was your friend, I travelled with you- I deserved better, Doctor!”
“You did,” the Doctor said into the charged silence. “You did and I’m… sorry. Fixed point or no fixed point, you didn’t deserve that.”
“Damn right I did,” Jack seethed. “And Rose? What was your excuse for leaving her on that disease-ridden junk heap?”
“She told you?” The Doctor’s tone was entirely flat.
“She told me enough,” Jack growled. “She told me you left her on that cursed scrapheap and that she was sick shortly afterwards. Doesn’t need a Time Lord genius to put two and two together. That ship would have been a cesspool of pathogens after what happened to the crew.”
“Yes,” the Doctor said quietly. “It was”
The heavy silence was so charged that Rose had almost made up her mind to walk in, when Jack spoke.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So,” Jack said through his teeth. “Why. Did. You. Leave. Rose? And don’t feed me that bull about needing to save history, because we both know you could have found another way or taken her with you, at the least. And don’t say it isn’t my business because what happens to Rose Tyler is always my business.”
The Doctor sighed. “It’s between me and Rose, Jack. I know you mean well, but this isn’t something I’m going to discuss with you. It’s private.”
“Don’t give me that,” Jack snarled. “She almost died, and while I respect Rosie’s right to privacy, I’m sure as hell not inclined to extend you the same privilege. You owe me, Doctor and you owe Rose. That woman has stuck by you through thick and thin and then some- what could make you leave her? She wasn’t a fixed point,” he added pointedly. “So what gives?”
The Doctor didn’t say a word.
“Not talking, huh? Alright, let me see if I can guess. Let’s see- you’re crazy about Rosie, clearly still are, so what would make you do something so stupid and dangerous? Sounds like a panic response if ever I heard one- no thought involved at all. But what could scare a mighty Time Lord enough to make him panic? Oh, here’s a wild guess: a little worry about mismatched lifespans and getting too attached, maybe?”
The sound of a spoon clattering into the sink seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.
“I knew it. That’s it, isn’t it?” Jack demanded. “Say it!” he shouted when it seemed that the Doctor wasn’t going to reply.
“Yes,” the Doctor said finally.
“Right.”
The next minute, she heard the sound of scuffling and ran as quickly as she could into the kitchen, just in time to catch Jack’s fist in both her own hands, the Doctor standing unmoving with a look of utter resignation and acceptance on his face. He had no intention of defending himself and she couldn’t take it.
“No,” she said, panting from her exertions. “Don’t.”
“Rosie…”
“No, Jack.” She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “Don’t. Not for me. I don’t…” She drew breath again. “No hittin’.”
She’d had enough of violence to last her a lifetime.
Turning to look at the Doctor, she gasped at the look in his eyes; the guilt, the loathing…and the love.
For her.
She turned back to Jack. “Don’t…I know you’re angry, Jack, an’ you’ve got every right to be. I know the Doctor hurt you.” She drew a deep breath, stifling her emotions. “I know what that feels like, and you have the right to…I dunno, ask for answers, shout at him, tell him off…,but no….no hittin’. I can’t…’s not right.”
Jack’s expression softened and he dropped his hand immediately, his blue eyes suddenly understanding. “I’m sorry Rosie, I didn’t mean to-”
“No,” she cut in. “Don’t apologise to me- I’m not the one you almost hit. Don’t apologise for bein’ angry, or feelin’ the way you do, but there’s no need to make your point with your fists.” She inhaled. “‘S not right to hit people just because you’re mad. Use your words- an’ not as a weapon, ” she added.
Jack nodded shamefacedly and turned gruffly to the Doctor. “I shouldn’t have….”
The Doctor shook his head, his eyes not leaving Rose for a second. “Forget it.”
Rose looked between the two of them, the seething swell of emotion- the panic, the fear, the anxiety and the very familiar loathing- rising in her throat. “Right,” she said faintly, needing to get away from their knowing gazes. “I’ll just…you two need to talk without me here. I’ll be in my room if you want me.”
And with that, she painstakingly made her way back to her room, unable to believe she’d cut in as she had, or that Jack had been so incensed on her behalf that he’d been about to to hit the Doctor- and that the Doctor had intended to let him. As sick as it made her to think of Jack hitting anyone out of anger, let alone the Doctor, his heated defense and his obvious care for her nonetheless warmed her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
And the Doctor’s willingness to let himself be struck was both thrilling and terrifying, and she couldn’t bear to think of it any longer.
To her surprise, he came by with a tray not long afterwards. “Eat,” was all he said, his eyes soft. “Medications on the side, as usual.”
She nodded, unable to say a word.
It took her a few hours to manage to eat, rest, shower, rest and dress (really, it was ridiculous how often and how long she had to rest these days after any kind of exertion) before dragging herself to the library. The Doctor and Jack had joined her not long afterwards.
Whatever had passed between them, they’d appeared to have reached a truce of some kind and neither of them ever mentioned it again. Rose was glad.
Life had carried on in a strange, new normal after that. To her utter joy, Jack had told her he planned to stay on the TARDIS for some time, and after a quick trip back to his team to explain any potential absences (knowing the Doctor’s driving as they did), they were off. Oddly enough, Mickey had seemed to accept Jack’s return with no more than a “Oh, you’re back are you? Alright mate?” Thinking on it, Rose suspected that he liked having another person on the TARDIS with them, one who wasn’t caught up in this…whatever it was, between her and the Doctor.
And whatever it was was getting more and more intense by the day- but to her relief and utter amazement, the Doctor didn’t press her once. He didn’t push her to say a word, didn’t try to force her to say more than she was ready to, or confess to feelings she was beginning to suspect she’d never manage to shake.
Feelings she was in no way ready to face, yet.
They’d started travelling again, mostly to out of the way, isolated natural paradises as Rose slowly continued to regain her strength. She’d progressed from sitting on a blanket breathing in crisp, fresh air, TARDIS humming happily in the background and the Doctor standing watchfully behind her as Mickey and Jack scampered off to explore and swim (Jack always in the buff, and clearly enjoying Mickey’s spluttering protests and the Doctor’s gimlet glare when he ventured too close to Rose’s blanket), to slowly walking along flat, simple paths. She’d been thrilled when she’d graduated to short walks along the sand and along the cliff tops, the Doctor by her side every step of the way, wordlessly spreading the blue picnic blanket and watching her until she sat to rest, panting with exhaustion.
The only exception to their beach and mountain idylls in those months of recovery were the regular trips to the fifty-first century.
It had taken her many months to make her next, all-important decision, but she’d mustered every bit of her courage and during one of her nightly chats with the Doctor, had finally asked him for a name. He hadn’t blinked, and to her utter shock, had nonchalantly pulled what looked like an encyclopaedia out of his pocket, with what seemed to be the name of every trauma specialist who’d ever lived. After prolonged discussion, she’d decided against someone from her own time (there was far too much she’d have to hide in her sessions) and had chosen a renowned counsellor and highly specialised trauma doctor, from one of the most famous centres in the fifty-first century. Jack hadn’t blinked when he’d learned where they were going, and in view of his own missing history and trouble with the time agency, wisely chose to stay on board during her weekly visits. He had confirmed, however, that Professor Elpi Jiacj had been very highly regarded in his time.
Rose had found that very comforting, especially when, on the morning (she ignored the cheerful voice of the Doctor in her mind reminding her that there was no morning on the TARDIS) of her first appointment, she’d been so terrified that she’d had another panic attack. It had taken the Doctor an hour to calm her and slowly convince her to give the lady doctor a try. He’d sworn that if she didn’t like her, they’d find someone else. It had taken both the Doctor and Jack (who had assured her again and again that he didn’t think any less of her for either the panic attack or her fears) to eventually walk her out into the waiting room for her appointment.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but to her utter surprise, she’d found that Professor Jiacj (who insisted on being called Elpi) was nothing like what she’d expected. Despite the many medals and diplomas on her wall, the older woman had been kind and personable, and surprisingly easy to talk to, and Rose had been amazed at the other woman’s reaction when she’d finally managed to get why she was there. She’d expected the professor to respond with skepticism or doubt, or condemn Rose for the actions that had almost cost her her own life. She’d certainly expected some kind of dismissiveness or condescension at Rose’s humble background in comparison with her own illustrious pedigree. She’d expected, at the very least, the contempt she felt for herself every single day, for letting herself get into this situation, for almost killing herself through fear, for letting herself hope at any point that there could be anything between herself and someone like the Doctor, and ultimately, for allowing Jimmy to do to her what he had, and for thinking she deserved to ask for help.
But there had been none of that. Instead, the other woman accepted everything she said at face value. She’d never pushed Rose to reveal more than she was ready to, and asked sensitive, empathetic questions that seemed perfectly designed to draw no more from Rose than she was ready to give.
Most of all, without even knowing her, she’d treated Rose as though she wasn’t damaged beyond repair, as thought she mattered- as though her feelings and thoughts and actions mattered. Rose had been so shocked that, to her utter mortification she’d burst into tears. The Professor had responded kindly and with empathy, sensing (or perhaps used to) Rose’s embarrassment, waving off Rose’s apology, and telling her that she had every right to feel however she felt, and she should never apologise for it.
The idea was utterly shocking, to Rose, and yet, hearing it felt as though she were standing on a new road with the power of a jet-pack behind her, ready to blast off into the unknown.
By the end of that first session, Rose knew that she’d be back, and over the coming weeks and months (the Doctor brought her faithfully in what he called seven day-like but not weekly increments for what seemed to be months and months and months) she slowly came to understand what had happened to her and the effect it had had.
“It’s not your fault,” Elpi had told her, time and again. “It’s not your fault that Jimmy Stone chose to hurt and manipulate you. It’s not your fault that you didn’t realise that you were being groomed to accept abuse, or that you were being abused. His actions are his own, and only he is responsible for them. The only person whose actions you are responsible for are your own.”
It had been hard, was hard for Rose to accept that, because the hated voice was always in the back of her head, all too happy to remind her that she was worthless, that she deserved everything that had happened to her, and that it hadn’t been abuse at all, that she’d made him behave that way. But slowly, over time, she worked with Elpi to process the thoughts and triggers that gave it power, the professor working tirelessly to peel back the layers of trauma, and find each and every underlying cause, teaching Rose to process and manage them as they went.
Together, they’d worked through Rose’s account of her history with the Doctor, and his betrayal on the space station. They’d worked through questions of broken and restored trust, and whilst she didn’t (and couldn’t, as Rose later learned) fix Rose’s trust issues herself, she had given Rose the tools to rebuild her relationship with the Doctor and more importantly, with herself. Elpi had, to Rose’s utter shock, firmly agreed that Time Lord or not (something the other woman still marvelled over), Rose deserved to be treated with consideration and respect, and that avoidance was not an acceptable substitute for communication. She’d worked with her to reprogram and rebuild Rose’s perception of what a healthy relationship and self-perception should look like. They talked about Rose’s views of herself, and her own worth- her upbringing and childhood, her experiences, and things Rose hadn’t even thought would matter.
The sessions were demanding, and sometimes, particularly in the beginning, Rose was so tired afterwards that the Doctor would jump out of his chair in the waiting room and half carry her back to the TARDIS, where he’d put her straight to bed.
He was never far out of earshot, especially when the nightmares came.
Some sessions proved to be so exhausting that she wondered how mere words and thoughts could drain her this way. Elpi had assured her that it was normal and that it was a good sign that her trauma was slowly being processed, one piece at a time, and eventually, things had started to improve.
Having Jack nearby was a boon, and before she knew it, they’d fallen right back into their old, familiar pattern- sharing confidences and giggles, and fighting over the Poitan chocolate. He never pressed her to share, and listened when she did open up. He never called her stupid, or belittled anything she said. While he wasn’t Elpi and it wasn’t his job to fix her, it helped, somehow, to have her dearest friend in the world there to listen to the little bits and pieces she wanted to share and hold her hand during what had to be one of the most frightening and important experiences of her life.
Even better, he shared with her too, just as he’d done all those months ago when they’d travelled together with a gruff man in a leather jacket and a Northern accent. It meant so very much that he still treated her as an equal, that he shared his own troubles with her, and didn’t see her as some kind of basket mental case.
Mickey had been aware, of course in very general terms, of what was going on, but wisely, he chose not to comment, perhaps seeing, for the first time, that this was something he couldn’t share with her, and the best thing he could do was to simply be himself and be there.
As for the Doctor…
That was, perhaps, the most significant relationship of them all, and deep inside, Rose knew that it had always been so, that the Doctor wouldn’t have had the power to hurt her the way he had if he hadn’t mattered so much.
If Jack had been supportive then the Doctor seemed determined to prop her up himself, mentally as well as physically, and by sheer force of will if necessary. True to his word, he’d not shut her out again. He continued his meticulous care of her (long after she’d stopped needing it, in her opinion) and had continued to share more and more of his past with her, to share himself with her in a hundred little ways that meant more than all the grand declarations in the universe. He’d continued, each and every day, to show her how she mattered to him, and how important she was. He’d even suggested, after Rose had physically improved enough to avoid suspicion, a trip to visit Jackie, whenever Rose was so inclined, and all the very many doubts and fears that she battled on any given day couldn’t stand up to what she knew to be a selfless and deeply uncomfortable offer. She’d managed (barely) to smother her laugh at the pained expression on his face.
He’d told her more of his previous selves and even (grudgingly) permitted her to look through a photo album of his third self that the TARDIS had seen fit to leave in her room.
(He’d also permitted himself to whine incessantly at her laughter, and complain that if she was going to look at old photos, the least she could do was keep her giggles and opinions to herself.)
And slowly, she’d started to open up with him too- sharing more of herself, and feeling more comfortable in doing so, because in spite of herself, she’d been able to see more and more of her Doctor and less of the selfish, frightened man he’d been.
She was still terrified.
However, all in all, she’d felt better with him- more of the easy comfort and camaraderie they’d always shared and less of the recent tension and suspicion. That’s not to say it all vanished overnight and everything was picture perfect, nor was she ready to share everything with him, but it was better, and slowly but surely, it was getting better and better all the time.
She was learning to trust him again, as he was trusting her.
It would take time, but they were going to be alright.
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The first time she realised that she trusted him was several months after Jack had come on board. The Doctor had promised to take them to get chips after her most recent session with Elpi, and instead of taking her to her favourite little chippy in London, he’d landed them on an alien planet in the year six thousand and forty-three. Mickey and Jack had scarpered off into the bustling town to see what kind of trouble they could get into, while the Doctor stood smirking at her, one brow raised questioningly.
“You coming then Rose? Thought you wanted chips.”
“I do want chips.” She folded her arms and arched her own brow. “Do they even have chips here?”
“Course they do!” He sounded offended. “D’you think I’d promise you chips and then leave you high and dry?”
“Cardiff instead of Naples ring a bell? London instead of New York, and no Elvis?”
“Yes, yes, alright, fine.” He pouted. “There may have been a few instances of…miscalculation, but this time, I mean it! We’re exactly where and when I want us to be.”
“Which is where?”
“Wooble!”
“Do what?”
“Wooble, Rose! We’re on the planet Wooble, in the capital city Wooble.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re jokin’. Wasn’t that a joke from-”
“Blackadder Goes Forth! Yes!” He beamed. “The entire planet was named by Rowan Atkinson’s estate about a thousand years after his death- they thought it’d be a right laugh to name it Wooble.” He sucked his upper lip. “There may also have been copious amounts of hypervodka involved.”
“I can’t…that’s ridiculous! I can’t believe we’re on Wooble.” She shook her head. “But why are we here to get chips?”
“Because Stephen Fry insisted on building a chippie here, of course. Liked a nibble whenever he came for a visit.”
“ Stephen Fry?”
“Yep!” The Doctor popped his p so loudly that passers by looked askance at them. “Stephen Fry the Sixty-Third, that is. Descendent of a hundredth cousin thrice removed of the original Stephen Fry, or something like that.”
“Right,” she said faintly. “Course he is. An’ so this Stephen Fry decided he wanted chips?”
“Yep, he’s famous for his love affair with the humble potato.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows. “In a manner of speaking. Managed to hitch a ride with a Time Agent by mistake, ended up on earth in your time, and the Vortex manipulator burnt out (you really can’t trust those things, Rose). He wandered into a chip shop while he was waiting for rescue and the rest, as they say, is history.” He paused. “Or the future, depending on which way you look at it.”
“Course it is.” She shook her head. “So how come we’rehere for chips, though?”
The Doctor grinned cheekily. “Because there’s something I want to show you here. And their chips are tasty. Thought we could kill the two birds with one stone.”
She cocked her head. “What are we lookin’ at, then?”
“Ah-ah, that’s a surprise.” He bounced on his toes, looking enormously pleased with himself. “You’ll have to close your eyes- no peeking!- and walk where I tell you. Can you do that Rose?”
“Yeah, but…”
“No buts! Close those curious eyes, Rose, and off we go!”
She rolled her eyes before covering them with one hand. “Thought I was gettin’ chips, yeah?”
“You will! You’ll just have to trust me in the meantime.”
“Course I do, you plum, “ she said without thinking, her breath catching at his sudden exhale.
“Right,” he said a moment later, his voice sounding slightly unsteady. “Surprise first and then chips. Come on, give me your hand, Rose.”
She swallowed, trying not to dwell on the suddenly heavy atmosphere, and gave him her right hand, keeping her left firmly across her eyes.
“You’d better not let me fall on my face,” she muttered.
“I won’t!” he’d chirped as he’d led her along. “Trust me.”
And to her utter shock, she realised that she did.
Oh, she was still afraid of being hurt, afraid that somehow, he might see what she saw when she looked at herself instead of whatever he saw now. She was afraid that opening up, that trusting him that little bit more would somehow end in pain. She was still afraid that he might meet someone better, someone more, and love them instead. Because how could he not, when she was what she was?
But in spite of all that, at this moment, she knew that she trusted him more than her fear. She knew that she believed him when he said he loved her, that he’d prove to her that he’d never abandon her again.
And that alone was more than she’d thought she could ever give again.
“Right, stop there.”
His voice pulled her from her reverie. “Can I open my eyes now?”
“Yep!” Another loudly popped ‘p’- he sounded very pleased with himself. “Go ahead.”
Slowly removing her hand, she blinked. “Right, what am I…oh my God. Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep!” He practically quivered with happiness. “A genuine Barcelonian-inspired dog-tree- complete with dog-shaped leaves-”
“-with no noses!” she finished, unable to believe what she was seeing, tears pricking at her eyes. “You meant it!”
“Of course I meant it! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because trees don’t usually have leaves shaped like dogs with no noses!” She turned to stare at him. “I thought you were havin’ me on.”
“Well, I wasn’t.” He folded his arms. “It’s genetically modified to produce the er, dog-esque effect. Bloke who did it ended up making a fortune- made trees with all kinds of leaves.”
She nodded, unable to speak, overcome as she was by a wave of mixed emotions because the Doctor had promised to bring her here to show her this ridiculous tree- back when he’d worn leather and blue eyes instead of pinstripes and brown. It had been a throwaway comment, made during a laughing moment she’d not taken seriously at all, nor even thought he remembered.
Only he had. And he’d brought her here to show her.
She took a deep breath, and another, reaching out to caress the rough leaves to soothe her nerves.
Because he’d remembered.
Because he’d allowed himself to remember.
Because he’d made a point of bringing her and acting as though hehad made this promise, not a ‘previous him’.
And because she’d simply thought of him as ‘The Doctor’ who’d promised her a ridiculous tree.
“Did you mean it?” he asked suddenly, making her jump.
“Mean what?”
“What you said before, back at the TARDIS?”
She exhaled. She did, she knew she did. But was she ready to tell him? Could she tell him?
However, seeing his hopeful expression, she knew the time had come. He’d given her so much over the past months, cared so much and been as good as his word.
He’d loved her, did love her and even if she wasn’t ready to admit the precisely the same, to show him everything, she knew it was past time that she told him- and that he saw and understood everything that would come with it, with her, everything she’d told the past him. Everything he’d hidden from himself until she was ready to share it.
Well, almost everything.
She took a deep breath to still her fear. Would he still want her after he saw how broken she was? How damaged? Would he want to stay when he understood just how deep the damage and hurt had run?
“Rose?” His hopeful gaze soothed her a little and added a fierce hope into the swell of emotion. Because hadn’t he stayed through the worst? Hadn’t he come to find her when she wouldn’t wake? Hadn’t he told her he loved her in the face of her open suspicion and distrust? And- her heart warmed- hadn’t he stayed by her side through it all since? No matter how quiet or suspicious or panicked or sick or anxious she’d been, he’d been there. Why would he turn from her now?
She had to trust him. Perhaps not with that last, final declaration of her feelings (and the sharing of self she’d shared with his previous self in her mind), not yet, but with the truth of what had happened in her mind, of everything she’d said and suffered. He deserved to know as much; he’d earned it and it was time she repaid his trust in kind.
She took a deep breath, terrified and spoke the pass-phrase. “I…I trust you.”
He froze for an endless moment, brown eyes wide as the memories were released and she held her breath. Would he turn from her or would he look at her differently? Would he run?
He did neither.
Instead, a slow smile spread across his face, his brown eyes looking oh so familiar as they swirled with an intensity that she knew and loved, whether the eyes were blue or brown, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it even to herself just yet.
To her surprise, he held out his hand. “I want chips,” was all he said, watching her intently.
“Bring your wallet this time?” was all she trusted herself to say, feeling as though the breath had been stolen from her lungs.
“Might’ve done. And I could be induced to share.” He fixed her with an intense look that said things she wasn’t ready to hear, just now, wasn’t sure she could take. “Better with two,” was all he said, watching her intently.
And with a deep draw on courage she didn’t know she had, she took a deep breath and placed her hand in his.
“Better with two.”
His eyes glowed. “Brilliant. Allons-y!”
And with that, they walked off into…possibility.
And hope.
Things weren’t perfect. She still had a lot to process, and frankly, so did he. She wasn’t ready to share herself with no holds barred, yet, and maybe neither was he- not this him, at any rate. But she was Rose Tyler and he was the Doctor, and together they were Rose Tyler and the Doctor in the TARDIS.
Just read an excerpt from a productivity/goal setting book that concerned Tolkien.
His publisher mentioned that people wanted more about the hobbits after Tolkien published The Hobbit.
So Tolkien started another novel.
And apparently bounced between the depths of despair and the height of confidence for the entire process (he said that: “his ‘labour of delight’ had been ‘transformed into a nightmare.’”)
Hegave up multiple times.
That book? Fellowship of the Ring.
You know what kept him going? C.S. Lewis’ support.
First lesson: if you’re stressing over your book, remember that Tolkien did too.
Second lesson: Writers have to support each other. Seriously. It might be the difference between a book that becomes belovedby hundreds of thousands (maybe even millions) even existing or not.
It’s so hard to feel enough to be able to keep moving lately, because self motivation is such a challenge. There’s a major message to push through whatever it is that hurts at the moment, for the sake of healing through progress toward our aims. Yes it’s painful now, and there’s plenty of self doubt. The pain can sometimes makes us feel numb, but stopping any progress now will hurt even more.
On the other side of this is a change in fortune; quite literally. There’s also less fear of being unaccepted and more interaction with others that is peaceful and meaningful. It’s just this period of questionable stagnancy, apathy and pain surrounding self doubt that must be pushed through.
“My worst on-set habit [is] internal self-sabotage. And it’s usually the first two weeks of a job – I always walk around like paranoid that they hate me and they wanna get rid if me.”
traumatic memories, especially traumatic memories from when you were a child, are notoriously difficult to access in their entirety. there are a lot of reasons for this- dissociation, injury, and memory deteriorating over time to name a few- and this can present a challenging question to survivors: how do i know i’m not lying?
people who are faking trauma or mental illness in general know they’re faking it. if you didn’t wake up one day and plan out what a fake traumatic memory you were going to have, and all the triggers you wanted to have, then you’re not faking.
processing trauma memories is difficult and frightening and confusing, but you are not a liar or a faker.
With my headcanons I’m in the minority. But I like this side of the fandom.
But the other side - the majority - on the other hand, I don’t enjoy at all.
And it’s not just because I don’t share their headcanons, no.
It’s the way they treat the topic of trauma.
So… can we please talk some more about the fact that said majority of said fandom keeps condemning Aziraphale for being traumatised?
I see tons of fanfictions, fancomics and fanart where Aziraphale is portrayed as cruel, cold and stupid for “refusing Crowley’s love” and “hurting Crowley so horribly”….
This is not only annoying, it’s harmful.
Let’s remember a few things:
His superiors were intimidating and emotionally abusing him. He was trapped in a toxic household, he was never enough, he was constantly threatened, he was threatened not to do anything unwanted to their superiors - or else there would be consequences and punishments - every day.
He had to live in constant fear of not letting anyone down or it would be his fault.
And I don’t think the archangels were speaking well of demons.
Slaying and killing them must be something Aziraphale has heard not infrequently from his bosses.
Do you think it would have been smart to have crossed any lines with Crowley anyway, sending him and himself to certain death?
And that aside, Aziraphale must have lost not only his trust in fate from the protracted gaslighting, but also his trust in himself. He is scared, he is insecured and doubting.
Aziraphale’s only “family” would kill his only real friend if they found out, and he was additionally abused by these very family, for thousands of years.
He wanted to protect Crowley, he didn’t want to put him in danger.
And he was scared, insecure and traumatised…
Crowley is not stupid. He knows. He knows all of this.
He still tries, but why should he have been hurt by Aziraphale “rejecting” him? He was aware why Aziraphale was acting this way.
And I can’t say this often enough: It’s the majority of this fandom who call Aziraphale cruel and cold for being afraid of Crowley potentially being killed, and for being scared, for being traumatized himself.
Why do so many fans enjoy this?
Many of them do this because they want Crowley to be babied by Aziraphale, and Crowley to have “worse” trauma than him, with that he can get coddled by a strong angel.
So, Aziraphale’s trauma gets downplayed as non-existent.
This is not a fucking contest.
I’m not saying Crowley is trauma-free, but acting like Aziraphale never was traumatized and should even apologize for what he did, only because you want him to look “stronger” that Crowley, is very toxic and with that you are supporting the myth of physical trauma being worse than mental one.
Wich is untrue. They’re both equally bad.
And it’s honestly so upsetting that most fans here support and enjoy this harmful downplaying in media. This is extremely harmful for real people in the fandom who experienced abuse. And outside of the fandom, too.
As an experiencer of emotional abuse, and someone who is constantly unsettled and insecure because of certain trauma, I really don’t get how so many people can be this shortsighted…
I recently saw someone propose that the scene with the books was not necessarily the moment Aziraphale realized he loved Crowley, but rather the moment he realized Crowley loved him.
And that made no sense to me.
After all, Crowley is so obvious about it, surely he must have already known. Surely? They’ve been flirting back and forth for six thousand years (well, just shy of, at this point). It’s clearly a two-way game, is it not? Crowley loves him, he loves Crowley, they play these little games like “haha help me I’m locked in the Bastille”, so on and so forth. He can’t not know.
How does the saying go? If you smell something bad in the morning, you’ve smelled something bad. If you smell something bad all day, who’s the common denominator? If all of the other angels get along and mesh well with each other, but they don’t get along with you, who are you going to think is the problem? You.
You look at life through your own lens. You look at other people through your perspective. He might see the ways Crowley clearly cares about him, but not truly believe himself. He’s a demon. Of course he doesn’t actually love an angel. That would be ridiculous. Who would think such a thing? Even angels don’t care for him this way, why would a demon?
After I considered this, I considered the fight in the 1800s. I considered the way Aziraphale was so reductive about their relationship and how that always seemed kind of odd to me.
Then it occurred to me that this is something I’ve done as someone who also has anxiety, and was taught not to trust their own thoughts, feelings, and opinions.
Saying out loud, “We have a deep and caring relationship,” when you’ve never actually said you have a deep and caring relationship, is an incredibly vulnerable thing to do for someone who is otherwise not allowed to be vulnerable (which is both of them, to be fair). Believing that you have such a relationship is also an incredibly difficult thing to do for someone who doesn’t know if they should trust their feelings.
In this context, when Aziraphale calls their relationship fraternizing, he wouldn’t be purposely trying to devalue the actual feelings they have for each other. He would be devaluing himself, because he assumes they can’t have these feelings for each other, because he’s not worthy of those things. He would also be devaluing his own perspective, and putting Heaven’s perspective of demons above his own experience.
Of course they’re just fraternizing. How could someone care for him this way, let alone a demon?
Of course Crowley would want it as a suicide pill. What other reason would he have?
Of course Crowley thinks he’s an idiot. That’s what he is, isn’t he? The archangels certainly think so, and how could they be wrong? They’re closer to God than he is. After all, he’s here fraternizing with (and loving) a demon, which he KNOWS is wrong and he just can’t help himself. Tsk.
The saddest thing is that Crowley doesn’t see that, making it incredibly hurtful for him.
He has spent the better part of nearly 6000 years showing the angel that he cares about him. He’s a demon, for Hell’s sake, how much more obvious could he be without getting himself tossed into a pool of holy water? He’s so clever, the angel – he can’t not know how Crowley feels. He reciprocates! He knows this, and he’s going to boil this down into fraternizing? Ouch.
But they’re not on the same side with this issue, they’re communicating from two completely different sides. It’s like a wink, only instead of a wink it’s “fraternizing”, and instead of switching the wrong babies they don’t speak for 80 years.
That shifts the perspective on “you go too fast for me” as well.
In the context of a mutual romance that spans several millennia, the notion that anything about this relationship is any kind of fast is pretty comedic.
In the context of a romance where at least one side is continually doubting himself and telling himself that what they have couldn’t be real, it would make sense. If it took him until 1940 and a demonic miracle around his books of prophecy to finally admit to himself that Crowley actually DOES love him, then perhaps nothing “fast” even happened up to that point.
And speaking of metaphors, the Bentley as a metaphor for a vehicle of change is… extremely fitting, considering the 1940s is the first time it’s shown up, and the 1940s would be the first time they’d REALLY on the same page about their relationship.
Then, between either perspective (he either knows Crowley loves him or he doesn’t) there’s also that high-key level of fear instilled by Heaven. Even if he was wrong (right?) – even if he did believe that he was loved, he couldn’t have it. Heaven says he can’t have it. Heaven is a colossus that even Satan himself and his army of angels could not take down; how could he have any hope of fighting against that? More reason to convince yourself that there aren’t actually any feelings there, and therefore nothing to worry or feel guilty about.
It fits in with the continual opportunities and favors Aziraphale asks for – each one is another affirmation that Crowley does indeed care for him. It’s another piece of evidence for someone who is supposed to listen to Heaven over himself, for someone who is taught not to trust his own inner guidance.
It’s an interesting perspective for sure, and one that I happen to relate to a lot. There’s more I have to say in relation to Aziraphale and Heaven in general, but I’ll leave that for another post.
Suffice to say, I’m very eager to see how all of this affects him moving forward on his own side with Crowley. We’ve already seen a glimpse of happy/confident Aziraphale, and I’m sure there will be more. That’s something else I relate to, but again, I’ll leave it for a follow up post.
![“My worst on-set habit [is] internal self-sabotage. And it’s usually the first two week](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3ace24d7d3101607535351b8b3436ba2/tumblr_or1u6y6jYa1r9myx5o1_1280.jpg "“My worst on-set habit [is] internal self-sabotage. And it’s usually the first two week")
