This is the Abyss
by Jacqueline Fletcher
Art as Survival | The Abyss of Emotion
This painting was born in a moment of collapse; when sadness felt vast and joy impossibly far away. Flourescent swirls of ink stretch across the canvas like galaxies colliding: deep blues of despair chasing the electric pinks of hope. The imagery is bright, but the story beneath is not. Just like me: always smiling... Always hiding.
There’s movement here, but no certainty. The ink bleeds and spreads like feeling itself. Will the darkness take over, or will something new emerge? The form echoes the expansiveness of a nebula, and nods to the aching near-touch of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam; a gesture that almost connects. Almost.
This is the space between despair and healing. The moment when you’re still reaching, not knowing what will come. A visual echo of that question we carry but can’t quite say: will I ever feel whole again?
Learn More: The Fight Behind the Brushstrokes
This isn’t heroism. It’s survival.
This piece was born from the kind of sadness that no one could see- not fully. I’m surrounded by love, by wonderful friends, and still, I’ve never felt more alone. Everyone means well. They tell me I’m amazing. That they don’t know how I do it. But I do... because I have no choice. I didn’t sign up for this out of some kind of profound duty or strength. I was thrown in. And I’m still here because if I don’t float, I sink.
This isn’t what I wanted. Not for me, not for my children. Kind words and sympathetic glances only remind me how far removed we are from what others call "normal". Their children are thriving. Ours are not. And in that contrast, something quietly breaks.
This painting is that break; a portrait of quiet, unbearable melancholy. It’s what it feels like to be surrounded by love and still completely unseen. To smile through pain that no one quite believes, because you’ve learned how to hide it. It’s the abyss. The emptiness. The endless pretending.
Because when the system fails families like ours, the grief is silent. When carers burn out, no one stops to ask why. And when neurodivergent children are excluded or misunderstood, we are left to absorb the damage alone.
The Abyss is the moment before the shift. The dark before the light. The part no one talks about, but too many of us know.
The UK’s Crisis in Special Needs Education
The SEND system is in crisis. Thousands of children are left without the right school, denied EHCPs, or stuck on endless waiting lists. Councils are overwhelmed, delays are unlawful, and families are forced into exhausting legal battles just to access basic support. This isn’t rare. It’s happening everywhere, and it’s getting worse.
The Emotional and Financial Toll of Carer Burnout
Caring for a disabled or neurodivergent child is a full-time job) with no pay, no breaks, and little support. Carers, especially mothers, often lose careers, health, and community just to keep their children safe. The toll is relentless: exhaustion, grief, and financial hardship. Burnout isn’t a buzzword- it’s survival. And far too many of us are barely holding on.
Why So Many Families Are Pushed to the Edge Just to Be Heard
Families of disabled children are forced to fight for every basic right. To get support, we must chase paperwork, relive trauma, and prove our child’s needs again and again; often while being ignored or dismissed. Many are pushed to breaking point just trying to be believed. The system isn't broken by accident. It's built this way.