A.D. John reviews Because I Am Not Myself, You See by Ariane Beeston
Because I am Not Myself, You See
Ariane Beeston
ISBN 978-1760644505
Reviewed by A.D. JOHN
I tumbled headfirst into Ariane Beeston’s beautiful, poignant, and heart-wrenching memoir, Because I’m Not Myself You See. It affected me like no book has in recent memory. I devoured it over a weekend, engrossed in a story that opened my eyes to postpartum psychosis—a condition both terrifying and isolating. Whilst reading, I was reminded of novelist and poet Alice Walker’s words: “Hard times require furious dancing. Each of us is proof.” In many ways, Beeston’s memoir is its own furious dance—a lionhearted, defiant act of poetic expression that transforms pain into a resonant story of fortitude, resilience, and healing.
This work confronts us with the unsettling realities of postpartum psychosis, a condition that endures in the background of mainstream medical discourse despite affecting countless new mothers. As a psychologist and former child protection worker, Beeston occupies a unique position—offering a rare, paradoxical insight that deepens her fears of inadequacy while arming her with the language to understand it. Her narrative is not merely a personal testament but an exposure of a societal blind spot, challenging the stigma surrounding maternal mental health.
Throughout the opening chapters of Because I’m Not Myself You See, Beeston leaves a breadcrumb trail of personal insights that, in hindsight, hint at her later diagnosis. She recounts her time on the phones at the DoCS helpline in NSW, her role as a field caseworker at a Sydney community service centre, and, most ironically, her “dream job” as a psychologist at a DoCS office in Western Sydney. These roles bring her into frequent contact with removals and the organisation of visitations for parents labelled “unfit” by the system, with her team informally referred to in the office as “The Removalists.” This nickname alone subtly foreshadows her own fears as a new mother; it’s easy to see why, after the birth of her son Henry, she becomes anxious that someone might come to take him away. Her distress deepens when she notices a rash on Henry, a sign she misinterprets through the lens of her professional experience, and her internal alarm only grows louder.
Beeston shares intimate truths, painting a raw picture of postpartum reality. From night sweats following Henry’s birth to the disquieting struggle of bonding with her newborn son, she uncovers dimensions of new motherhood that are seldom acknowledged. The pressure she feels when an instinctive connection with her child doesn’t immediately form is particularly heart-wrenching, resonating as deeply human, delicate and vulnerable.
In the chapter titled “Transference,” Beeston explores the delicate boundary where professional support blends imperceptibly with emotional enmeshment, an involvement from her doctor that disrupts the clarity of the caregiver-patient relationship. The confusion this overstepping instils within her is palpable, a reminder of the delicate balance required in therapeutic settings, where boundaries exist to protect as much as to heal. This encounter, brief as it seems, sends her spiralling, introducing a tension that will take years to unravel. Yet, as absorbing as this chapter is, Beeston chooses not to delve deeper into the complexities of transference, leaving questions unanswered about the broader implications of therapeutic attachment and the ways in which a healer’s intentions can inadvertently wound.
The memoir is not without its difficult moments. The direct and indirect accounts of loss—whether from suicide, infanticide, or neonatal death—are haunting. These stories are challenging to read, yet Beeston presents them with an unflinching honesty. They underscore the urgency of recognising maternal mental health and its wide-reaching impact, emphasising that it is a critical component of well-being for both mother and child.
Even within the darkness, Beeston finds moments of levity and resilience, drawing a chuckle from the bleakest of situations. In the chapter titled “If They Make Me Do Art Therapy,” while staying at the mother and baby psychiatric unit at St John of God Hospital in Burwood, she shares her humorous perspective on art therapy sessions.
Recovery, as Beeston reveals, is not a linear ascent but a labyrinthine journey fraught with regressions and unforeseen detours. The memoir dismantles the comforting illusion of a definitive cure, exposing the fragility of mental health and the perpetual vigilance required to maintain it. “Even after you’re better and no longer just living but thriving, if you’ve lost your mind before, you carry the fear of losing it again,” she writes. This acknowledgment disrupts conventional narratives of mental illness as a journey from sickness to cure, insisting instead on the authenticity of fluctuation—a more honest reflection of lived experience.
Equally compelling is the portrayal of her husband, Robb, who stands beside her with steadfast support throughout her journey. His unwavering compassion highlights the vital role that partners play in navigating postpartum challenges. Beeston reflects on the pressures her illness places on their relationship, acknowledging the complexities both faces. She contemplates the sacrifices Robb makes for their family—the missed opportunities—to provide stability for their son after years of “choppy waters.” His experiences underscore the need for greater awareness and support for partners, who often grapple with their own emotional struggles while striving to remain a steady source of strength.
Beeston’s literary style elevates the memoir beyond a personal account. Using techniques like epizeuxis and polysyndeton, she weaves a hypnotic rhythm into her prose. The deliberate repetition and flowing conjunctions mirror the relentless cycles of her mental health struggles, pulling readers into the pulsating heart of her experience. The memoir becomes an immersive journey, where language itself serves as a conduit for emotion, amplifying the relentlessness of postpartum psychosis.
The memoir also masterfully examines the gradual erosion of friendships. Beeston recalls the quiet drifting apart and isolation that arises when one’s world narrows to the immediacy of survival. She acknowledges her friends’ efforts to stay close yet admits to a sense of retreat as her energy is consumed entirely by caring for Henry. This honest exploration uncovers how illness can reshape relationships, fraying bonds once considered tight knit.
What distinguishes Because I’m Not Myself You See is its unflinching examination of the interconnectedness of personal and systemic challenges. Beeston does not isolate her experience within individual pathology but situates it within a broader context of cultural and institutional shortcomings. Her advocacy extends beyond the immediate challenges faced by mother and baby, thoughtfully exploring the relationships that surround them—especially those of fathers and partners. Beeston urges for a more holistic approach to mental health that considers the entire family unit.
In her introduction for the memoir at Abbey’s Bookstore, Ariane shared that this is the book she wished she’d had while going through her battle with postpartum psychosis. I believe it’s a book all parents should read. To declare this recounting “important” for parents or anyone close to them feels like an understatement. Ariane’s raw chronicle of those dark days and her journey back into the light offers not only profound insights into mental health but also a deeper understanding of this brutal and oppressive affliction, helping loved ones and partners become more prepared and supportive. Above all, this courageous work has the potential to save lives.
A. D. John is a Wiradjuri writer residing on unceded Gadigal land. He is a recipient of the 2023 Penguin Random House “Write It” Fellowship and a winner of the 2023 Writing NSW Cultivate Mentorship Program. His work has been published in Mascara Literary Review and Kill Your Darlings magazine. He is currently studying for a Master of Creative Writing at the University of Sydney.