Dare to be different

and in doing so, find your tribe.

It was at the Green Gathering, an eco festival in Chepstow that prides itself on being a festival beyond hedonism, as I sat on a compost toilet listening to the Dark Side of the Moon being played from somewhere across the site, cut across by laughter from the first workshop of the day, that the thought came, that here, with these alternative, nature-loving, eco-warriors, it was okay to be me.

But I haven’t always thought like this.

picture by Lou Hamilton

As newlyweds, we trundled our wheelbarrow, clattering on the cobbles with spade and fork banging against the metal, as we made our way through the streets of Stockton to our allotment where we grew our fruit and veg. I sometimes felt like a stranger in the community there, shopping at the local Londis – my accent was wrong, we had plants instead of net curtains in our terraced house on Derwent Street, my husband had a long, henna’d pigtail, and I had mud under my fingernails.

Living and working in Weardale, I lost count of the number of times I was told, ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’ or was asked, ‘Are you local?’ We were seen as undesirables with our converted Dodge truck with its multicoloured panels and wood-burning stove chimney sticking out the top, driven by my husband whose hair by now was as long as his chest-length beard. We shared a part-time, temporary job while we both looked after our young family, and we grew veg in our polytunnel. My son wasn’t invited to his classmates’ birthday parties as his parents were ‘weird’.

In later years, in my teaching job, I’d get short shrift in staffrooms when sat with my homemade, homegrown lunch, in my recycled ice cream tub lunchbox, talking about seasonal eating and growing food. I’d share photos of adventuring holidays like the one spent travelling along the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs by local bus and taxi in Morocco, then going by camel across the Sahara desert, lying back outside a Berber tent to watch a meteor shower.  Eyes would glaze over, and heads would turn to continue conversations that were more within comfort zones. I was an oddity.

I wrote sensory dramas, trying to bring the world alive to pupils with profound learning disabilities whom the education department had decided should study the National Curriculum subjects alongside their mainstream peers. How could someone who didn’t know that was his hand in front of him, understand about history and the passing of time and learn about the Ancient Greeks? I wrote a performance of The Odyssey involving all the senses that we performed together. Every time Odysseus got back on the boat, we waved our arms to Rod Stewart’s ‘We Are Sailing’ hoyed seaweed from buckets and sprayed salt water around the room. On the island where Cyclops was, a giant fluorescent eye was illuminated with UV lights as we shone torches around the room to a German Techno version of the theme of Midnight Express. On the island inhabited by the Sirens who lured sailors to their death, we danced in grass skirts and coconuts to Toots and The Maytals Pressure Drop. But while the kids loved it, it didn’t go down well with everyone, and remarks were made in the staffroom about the weirdness and extravagance of my performances. I was clearly on drugs.

It was as if some were threatened by creativity.

Not fitting in. It’s been a theme and it’s been lonely at times, but it never occurred to me to live any differently. I was interviewed recently by Lou Hamilton for her podcast, Brave New Girl, on daring to be different and how this is a central theme to my novel, The Rewilding of Molly McFlynn. It's hard when you don’t fit in, and like Molly who struggles to fit in with her mainstream peers, it’s not been easy, sticking out like a sore thumb, as I moved from south to north and chose to live an alternative life, making my own clothes, respecting the seasons and trying to reduce the drain on our planet’s precious resources. However, as I began to write about sustainable living, firstly through my blog, The Bridge Cottage Way, and now in my novel writing and social media posts, I appear to have found my tribe. I’ve only got to read some of the reviews coming in to realise that while my work is pitched at the young adult market, it has found its home amongst older readers who understand the need to nurture and take care of the planet, who maybe didn’t fit in themselves at school, because of being different, many of whom now follow me on social media.

It is the message that it’s okay to be different that I take into schools now, as I talk about The Rewilding of Molly McFlynn, and use the seventeenth-century witch trials as the catalyst to show how the othering women and girls occurred because they lived on the margins of society, didn’t fit in, and this continues today. It takes courage to be different and stand up for what you believe in and the values you place in your life.

I’m going to leave you with words lifted directly from Lou Hamilton’s blog:

‘Molly's story is not just about individual growth; it's a call to recognise and respect differences in others and ourselves. It challenges the reader to think about their own identity, the pressures to conform, and the courage it takes to carve one's path. The narrative underscores the significance of finding one's tribe while maintaining personal values and identity.

In a world where deviation from the norm can lead to "cancellation" or ostracism, Sue Reed's book serves as a reminder of the importance of community, empathy, and acceptance. It encourages young readers to embrace their uniqueness and contribute positively to the world, advocating for sustainable living and environmental consciousness.’

Do you dare to be different?

Listen to Brave New Girl Podcast with Sue Reed on Spotify or Apple

Order a signed copy of The Rewilding of Molly McFlynn (UK only)

NB The Rewilding of Molly McFlynn is now available worldwide.