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So Long London: A tale of carer's fatigue, shared trauma and recovery... even when the other person refuses to.

This post is one I've been wanting to make since TTPD:TA dropped but have always been so hesitant to. So Long London is a song that is very dear to me. It (along with TSMWEL) is the most I have felt listening to Taylor's music since Cornelia Street (my favourite ever song from her!) and is relatable to the point of rarely speaking about it given the 'if you relate to this song, you are ableist and a shitty person' takes that came out of it being released.

The sad truth is that I think a lot of these criticisms came from a place of love. As the world has progressed and understood mental health more, there has become a push and pull between accepting people how they are and protecting your peace. The extremes of both of these points can be seen either throughout this song or its criticisms. Those criticising the song see it as the extreme of protecting one's peace and 'abandoning' someone in need. However, the song itself is anything but that. It is a song about a narrator who literally did what these critics thought they should to the point where they are now just as ill as the muse. It hasn't saved anyone, it hasn't fixed anything, there are simply now two (more than before) mentally ill people instead of one. Misery loves company indeed. But where the muse and critics of the narrator cling onto happiness not being a choice, the narrator sees the nuance. No, happiness is not a choice, but certain actions will either help or hinder their chances of happiness and while they have always attempted to help both theirs and the muses', the muse chose to hinder them to a point where the narrator's ultimate choice of happiness must be made without the muse. Because either way, their future is going to end up without the muse; it is simply whether that is by choice of happiness or until death does them part on the narrator's end.

I also think a lot of nuance is lost purely due to the song being sung by a billionaire. This of course goes for TTPD:TA as a whole, but focusing on this song, when looking at the criticisms, a lot of them seemed to revolve around Taylor's ability to simply leave Joe or seek help elsewhere. And of course, there is privilege in this. No one is denying that. But, along with falling into victim blaming territory, critics seemed to have the same attitude about everyone who related to the song. But very few people who related to the song would have the same privilege as Taylor. Between finances and legalities (custody of children, children relating this to parents, lack of other support etc), choosing to leave in this situation is often life and death (even if the death is not from physical violence) and having it reduced down to the muse being abandoned is both cruel and a disservice to the song.

So in hopes of de-villainising the narrator, I've decided that this post is going to be purely how I relate to the song from this point out. I've touched on this in past Swift Song Club posts with vague mentions of how the previous songs relate to a certain person to me, but this is going to be far more in depth and specific to me and my situation. It can also be used as a bit of a window into my life for those of you who are “newer” (I say as if that isn't like 7+ years at this point lmao) to my blog and were not around for the days where I would primarily post about my life with no regard to who saw it. On that note, I will be discussing toxic family dynamics (including estrangement and domestic abuse), suicidality and will be touching on disordered eating, so take that as your trigger warnings.

On the most part, I'm going to be going line by line throughout the song, but to start out, I want to give a bit of background. Growing up, there was a lot of things in my household which were normalised that shouldn't have been ranging from (often very public) verbal fights and insults to physical violence. I was also raised by a father with a disability and a mother who never finished school and ultimately quit working for a long time to raise us as my father's disability did not allow him to; both of which had families who talked the talk more than walked the walk when it came to support, and, in my mother's case, was even more abusive than the environment I was raised in. I say that not to excuse anything, but I recognise they did their best with what they had up to a certain point. Given how tough he felt he father was on him, my father grew up being a people pleaser and the 'fun' and 'nice' but irresponsible and manipulative dad, forcing my mum to be the 'mean' parent.

This dynamic came to a head in regards to my younger sister. While I'm not going to pretend like my older brother or I didn't have our own issues caused by internalising the situation, my sister's reaction to everything was to learn that violence and manipulation was the way to get what she wanted; and often that was enabled by my father. It reached a point where the police and child services ended up being involved for years before ultimately taking my sister away for what we were initially told would be a short period, but ended up being a complete estrangement. We also were unaware for almost a year that my sister and father were in contact. Ultimately, my parents separated soon after my 20th birthday, which led to my bitter father flat out admitting that he would (and then successfully did within a week!) turn both sides of the family, my sister included, against my mother, brother and I. We also suspect that he twisted the truth to other parties involved including family services and the police. It also led to him leaving us in debt during a time period where my mother who had not worked for 20+ years due to raising the kids (and in her late 50s and mobility issues by this point) could not earn her own money and due to still being married to him, was not entitled to government welfare at first. My brother was working part time and I was just about to go into university so had not planned to work, but ultimately got a full time job and ate one meal a day just to pay it back and get mum, my brother and I back on our feet.

As you can imagine, the loss of pretty much everything she had known for the previous decades did a number on my mother. Alongside her mobility issues, she became extremely bitter and more concerningly, suicidal. Despite my own mental health challenges (both caused by this situation and others) and the increased pressure I'd never faced of working full time while going through my double degree in psychology and law, I quickly fell into the role of her carer, another thing I had no prior experience with, due to necessity. It became life engulfing, and while I don't regret it and genuinely do feel like I made a difference, it too hit a breaking point three years later when it became undeniable that it was not just her who was not receiving the support they needed to the point of resentment and suicidality, it was me too. The main difference ultimately being that while I wanted to and did all I could to get better, mum had made it clear she never intended to and saw my recovery as a betrayal to herself. Nowadays, we have reached a better spot where she is somewhat better (still bitter, but functional and not suicidal to the level that I feel she cannot be alone) and I have regained my life, but while this shift happened in the late 2010s, the visceral relatability of So Long London still brings me back to those years and ultimately makes me so sad for but proud of that version of me and how she did her best, even if that best looks very different to my best now.

Anyway, let's get into the line to line version of it all.

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist. I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift. Pulled him in tighter each time he was driftin' away

Growing up, I was always quite the tomboy whereas my sister was your typical girly girl. She loved makeup and barbies and flowers and the colour pink and rainbows and anything inbetween; fairy lights included. And for a long time after she left (in part because she had done it before and come back), I truly believed reconciliation was the end of the race for us all. Like it was naïve, but I really felt that a lot of her flaws were learned and would be unlearned when she got away from the environment and felt less caged. Likewise, I really thought that my father and extended family had the ultimate goal of reconciliation too. But for however artificial that light was, it was what was guiding me and getting me through it all; I just had to keep mum alive long enough to see it through.

I feel like here is a good spot to note that controversially, So Long London (and You're Losing Me) serve as tragic sequels to Soon You'll Get Better for me. I have always found Soon You'll Get Better's track placement on Lover to be very interesting, and while I definitely think Andrea is the primary muse for it, it would not surprise me to hear that it served multiple purposes for Taylor over the years in regards to balancing relationships with mentally and physically ill loved ones alike. But yeah, perhaps due to my own experience with it, these opening lines feel very resonate to the second verse of Soon You'll Get Better to me (with both songs having many similarities) with the main difference being Soon You'll Get Better happening in the moment while So Long London feels like looking back on the situation. It is also the sad answer to Soon You'll Get Better's bridge in which the answer to “What am I supposed to do if there's no you?” is to get better yourself.

My spine split from carrying us up the hill. Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill // I didn't opt in to be your odd man out. I founded the club she's heard great things about. I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

As the years went on though, the weight of everything became too much. Mum got sicker and more resentful to the point she couldn't be around the house or anything to do with it; myself included. And yet the expectation of being around when she felt she needed it was there. While I am aware of all she lost, it is also not lost on me that throughout those years, despite her calls that I had abandoned her, I had left all of that and more behind to show my support to her, just for it to not be enough for her.

Between the lack of support (not just from her, like generally), the lack of willingness on mum's side to recover and me not looking after myself due to how life engulfing this had all become, I got just as ill; albeit, more functional. And as part of that, like a cold, I caught the bitterness my mum had felt; particularly in the resentment she felt towards me being mirrored back.

I stopped tryna make him laugh, stopped tryna drill the safe. // I stoppеd CPR, after all, it's no use. The spirit was gonе, we would never come to. // Thinkin', "How much sad did you think I had, did you think I had in me?" // Two graves, one gun I'll find someone // A moment of warm sun but I'm not the one

My bitterness led to a point of stopping to try and make mum get better. Was it giving up? Was it acceptance? Perhaps it was a little of both. But either way, I reached a point where I realised that I had fought so hard to keep myself alive before (issues predating the estrangement) that I could not give that up. And all she could see was someone giving up and taking the 'easy' way out. Because unfortunately, in her less well days of the time, mum saw this as a betrayal. I had 'forgotten' her and everything that had happened to us.

As time went on, I had to accept that she was willing to die remembering and 'fighting for justice' and saw me as weak and a traitor for no longer being able to do that, forgetting that in order to fight, you need to be alive and that healthy people can fight better than unhealthy people. Meanwhile, she also could not comprehend that I still had (on average) another 60 years to live and could not fathom them being miserable and that holding onto that sadness hadn't fixed anything; it had simply made two suicidal people. She needed help, or something, and despite the ups and downs and genuinely feeling like I helped in the long run, I clearly was not the person who could give whatever it was she needed to her, at least not in that moment.

Just how low did you think I'd go 'fore I'd self-implode 'Fore I'd have to go be free? // And you say I abandoned the ship but I was going down with it. My white-knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment // And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free for so long, London Stitches undone // I'm just mad as hell 'cause I loved this place for so long, London

By the time I accepted that I needed to recover myself if anything was going to change, my mental state had led to a point I had destroyed friendships, the academic and social aspects of university and my early 20s as a whole, my body, my relationship with my childhood home/city, my previous recovery, an engagement and my soul holding tight to someone who resented me for my optimism and willingness to recover. And if I'm honest, even now, I am still working on that acceptance and moving past the anger I have for giving all of that energy for someone who was not even willing to live and try to build a happier life with me at the time and instead expected me to meet them at their misery.

You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? I died on the altar waitin' for the proof. You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

Throughout this period, mum's defence was always that she loved me and would have done the same if it were me and not my sister who had left like that and that she would die for me. And I do not deny that for a moment. But I didn't need her to do that for me. I needed her to live for me; to show that I was worth living for. I had told her as much. And all I got in return is hurt in the form of resentment from a woman who (at the time) only had her blues left in her mind. She was 'nothing' without them and would have done anything to see her goal for 'justice' through; including sacrificing everything she had left.

And my friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair. Every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there

Something I find interesting about TTPD:TA is how the mental health of the muses are front and centre and yet this line was simply read as the muse wanting an out to the relationship and/or having an affair. Because to me, and again, perhaps this is due to my own experiences, screams out suicidal thoughts. 'There' is not a relationship; it is Earth/life as a whole.

Throughout my experience with my mum, my loved ones were all very front and centre about how codependent the situation was and expressing their concern (and understandable frustration when I would continuously be cancelling plans!) that I wasn't living my life. They saw that I couldn't go on like that well before I did. Because truly in the moment, it felt like every breath may be mum's last if I slipped up and/or wasn't around in the 'proper' way. I was on fight or flight mode and terrified for every second of my life for all those years. Like I think this is always going to be the most visceral line Taylor writes in her career for me in how on point it was for that time and how it never fails to take me back to that point. Everyone in that situation deserved better, but god do I wish I could give early 20s me a hug and let her know that it will not always be like that.

Oh, the tragedy...

Looking back, I think the saddest part of the destruction of my relationship with not just my mum, but all of my family is that like despite the toxicity and abuse, none of it was malicious. Everyone was doing the best with what they had. Mum had every right to be traumatised and for that not to be neatly wrapped up in a package and to expect more from everyone and a better result. But I also had every right to accept what had happened and move forward. And, at least at the time, that just wasn't congruent with each other. Likewise, my family had the right to not reconcile if that's not what they felt was best for them (there's irony in me saying that given I am the one stopping reconciliation with a lot of them now, but you get my point, I am now also entitled to that!). Overall it was a situation that felt both destined yet preventable.

And I'm just getting color back into my face

As I mentioned, confronting mum and sticking to my guns about it has led to a point where we are in a much better position now; both together and individually. And I am so grateful for that. Early last year, I got undiagnosed for the mental illnesses I had. Just this week, mum had a breakthrough where she has accepted she needs a professional carer. So while my life is not perfect ([half jokingly] If anyone is handing out new careers, I'll take one lmao), I've gotten back so much of the zest I had in my childhood and have healed a lot of the wounds regarding a lot of this stuff. But it took time and life paths that I'll never get back, and there's something so bittersweet about that all.

I doubt anyone is still reading, but if you are and any of this resonates to your current position, please reach out for help. It's not easy, it will kill your pride and be embarrassing, but one thing I've learned in hindsight is that I was not as alone as I felt in the moment. Carer's fatigue is real, and while of course the person 'actually' going through it needs support, you cannot continue to be that if you are not looking after yourself. In this day and age, it is also rare that a carer is not also 'going through' what is happening alongside the person they are caring for. You deserve support too and I wish you all the best.

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