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The first time I thought I was dying
A dazzling collection of essays that unpacks our unruly bodies and minds and questions why we are taught to fear and punish them, from an exciting and award-winning new author.
We live in a world that expects us to be constantly in control of ourselves. Our bodies and minds, though, have other ideas.
In this striking debut, artist and writer Sarah Walker wrestles with the awkward spaces where anatomy meets society- body image and Photoshop, phobias and religion, sex scenes and onstage violence, death and grief. Her luminous writing is at once specific and universal as she mines the limits of anxiety, intimacy and control.
Sharp-witted and poignant, this collection of essays explores our unruly bodies and asks how we might learn to embrace our own chaos.
We live in a world that expects us to be constantly in control of ourselves. Our bodies and minds, though, have other ideas.
In this striking debut, artist and writer Sarah Walker wrestles with the awkward spaces where anatomy meets society- body image and Photoshop, phobias and religion, sex scenes and onstage violence, death and grief. Her luminous writing is at once specific and universal as she mines the limits of anxiety, intimacy and control.
Sharp-witted and poignant, this collection of essays explores our unruly bodies and asks how we might learn to embrace our own chaos.
- GenresNonfictionEssaysMemoir
288 pages, Paperback
First published August 3, 2021
8 people are currently reading
355 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews
August 21, 2021
If you were a drama kid in high school, The First Time I Thought I Was Dying by Sarah Walker is a must-read. It's along the lines of Maggie Nelson's The Argonauts, Bri Lee's Beauty, and Fiona Wright's fabulous essay collections. Of course, given the subject matter, the collection warrants a few trigger warnings around consent and coercion, and body shaming, but assuming you can deal with those, this is a very interesting and insightful read.
My full review of The First Time I Thought I Was Dying appeared first on Keeping Up With The Penguins.
My full review of The First Time I Thought I Was Dying appeared first on Keeping Up With The Penguins.
August 2, 2021
If more people wrote essay collections instead of memoirs, I would read a lot more non-fiction. This was such a good book. I started off reading it with the intention of knocking off one essay over breakfast each day, continuing on everyday until I finished. One turned into two and then three and breakfast just stretched on and on.
‘My friend Luc calls the internalised misogyny that forces women to police their own bodies the ‘self-hatriarchy’. To recognise it is to learn to defy it. A body that acknowledges and delights in its own complexity is hard to market to. To let hair grow, to cease to obsess about the smells produced by the many holes and crevices of the self: this is to become resistant to the power of advertising that grows fat on shame. Between the twin dysfunctions of paranoia and ill health, there is a middle ground, a faith in the power of allowing the body to be bodily, of allowing what is revolting to be a part of what makes us human.’
There were so many moments of insight throughout this book, and so many times something resonated. As a parent of older teenagers, there were particular essays that gave me a point of view into something that I have not been able to get a bead on until now. But my appreciation was not limited to what I could glean as a parent. On a personal level, I found much to contemplate. It was also rather nice to discover that someone else thinks about the things that I do. Dealing with many topics that include grief, self image, self harm, mental illness, family relations, sex, fear, theatre, photography, death, illness, bodily functions, art, and honestly, so much more. Each essay is themed but also covers an array of topics, plus, each one is prefaced with a photo that aligns with the theme at hand – the author is a photographer, so I liked this blending of artistic mediums.
‘The dead never change, but the living do. In every second, we change. That is our burden and our gift.’
The First Time I Thought I Was Dying has wide appeal but is also a challenging read – yet in a good way. In the way that flexes your senses, stretches your mind, and ignites your emotions. One might go so far as to say that the collection as a whole is its own work of art. A stunning debut that I highly recommend.
Thanks to the publisher for providing me with a review copy.
‘My friend Luc calls the internalised misogyny that forces women to police their own bodies the ‘self-hatriarchy’. To recognise it is to learn to defy it. A body that acknowledges and delights in its own complexity is hard to market to. To let hair grow, to cease to obsess about the smells produced by the many holes and crevices of the self: this is to become resistant to the power of advertising that grows fat on shame. Between the twin dysfunctions of paranoia and ill health, there is a middle ground, a faith in the power of allowing the body to be bodily, of allowing what is revolting to be a part of what makes us human.’
There were so many moments of insight throughout this book, and so many times something resonated. As a parent of older teenagers, there were particular essays that gave me a point of view into something that I have not been able to get a bead on until now. But my appreciation was not limited to what I could glean as a parent. On a personal level, I found much to contemplate. It was also rather nice to discover that someone else thinks about the things that I do. Dealing with many topics that include grief, self image, self harm, mental illness, family relations, sex, fear, theatre, photography, death, illness, bodily functions, art, and honestly, so much more. Each essay is themed but also covers an array of topics, plus, each one is prefaced with a photo that aligns with the theme at hand – the author is a photographer, so I liked this blending of artistic mediums.
‘The dead never change, but the living do. In every second, we change. That is our burden and our gift.’
The First Time I Thought I Was Dying has wide appeal but is also a challenging read – yet in a good way. In the way that flexes your senses, stretches your mind, and ignites your emotions. One might go so far as to say that the collection as a whole is its own work of art. A stunning debut that I highly recommend.
Thanks to the publisher for providing me with a review copy.
November 20, 2021
Sarah Walker is my favourite writer. She puts words to foggy concepts that I don’t even realise have been floating in the back of my head. The fierce clarity and broad dimensions that she sees the world is a gift, and her writing grants us a lens into her magnificent brain.
Am I raving too much? Probably. I don’t care. This is my book of the year.
Am I raving too much? Probably. I don’t care. This is my book of the year.
November 6, 2024
It humanizes a lot of issues people do not want or do not have the tools to talk about. I particularly liked her exploration of power dynamics.
“In fight scenes, it is the victim who actually sells the violence. The slap is faked, the yell is real.”
—————
Could be seen as a spoiler.
“He was talking to stay afloat now. For a second, though, his eyes focused on me. You might find it hard to breathe, because she’s in you now. You’re breathing her breaths, too.”
“Mum became reduced to a handful of narratives: Loved dogs. Loved a bevvie. Loved her friends. Terrible cook. She became small. You could hold the idea of her between cupped fingers. She became a handful. It was not the same type of handful she was when she was alive.”
“In fight scenes, it is the victim who actually sells the violence. The slap is faked, the yell is real.”
—————
Could be seen as a spoiler.
“He was talking to stay afloat now. For a second, though, his eyes focused on me. You might find it hard to breathe, because she’s in you now. You’re breathing her breaths, too.”
“Mum became reduced to a handful of narratives: Loved dogs. Loved a bevvie. Loved her friends. Terrible cook. She became small. You could hold the idea of her between cupped fingers. She became a handful. It was not the same type of handful she was when she was alive.”
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 20, 2021
I love a good essay collection and this one is stellar. Looking at what it is to be human - exist in an unpredictable, remarkable and vulnerable physical form and in an unruly and mysterious mind. This is certainly a collection of personal essays, which means that somethings will ring so true and hit so close to home while others fall outside the reader’s experience. So take that as you will - but I loved the immediacy and the kind of casual poeticness of the writing. I highly recommend it!
May 19, 2021
Interesting, gritty, confronting. Sarah walker's biography tackles difficult and important issues ranging from body image and mental health to the impact of the 'Me too' movement in Australian acting circles.
She examines sex and relationships, consent and control. Talks about self-harm from the perspective of someone who has done it and watched others suffer with it. She looks at the mental health system and how far we have to go.
Sex, death, suicide, love, loss, anxiety: no topic is off limits and I respect her for it. This is sometimes hard to read but well worth it and I think of particular interest if you have teenage daughters. This book will make you uncomfortable, it will make you think, it will unsettle you.
She examines sex and relationships, consent and control. Talks about self-harm from the perspective of someone who has done it and watched others suffer with it. She looks at the mental health system and how far we have to go.
Sex, death, suicide, love, loss, anxiety: no topic is off limits and I respect her for it. This is sometimes hard to read but well worth it and I think of particular interest if you have teenage daughters. This book will make you uncomfortable, it will make you think, it will unsettle you.
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September 16, 2021Let me start by saying the most important thing you should know about Sarah Walker’s debut essay collection: you must read it in reverse. Its pinnacle – singular, almost unbearably poignant – is buried at the back. Helen Garner is a fan; so am I.
First appearing in Australian Book Review last year, Contested Breath concerns the loss of the author’s mother. Having begun to acclimatise to the reality of her death, Walker writes how, arriving at her house, “[t]he body on the carpet was a surreal glitch in the image. It was dense, somehow. It drew the eye.”
The brilliance of this lies in how Walker’s appreciation of theory informs the reader without detaining them; Barthes’ punctum – the idea of a visual detail that disturbs and discomfits the audience – is in the wings, but never so gauche as to enter. A lesser author would have duly shepherded the critic onto the stage, throat-clearing and adjusting his tie.
Walker’s descriptions of COVID are equally suggestive, their inflection Didionesque and subtly shaded with detail: “There was a charge in the air, a darting of eyes, the brittleness of people about to cry or shout.” She is paralytic with grief, standing adrift at her mother’s casket: “I said the things you say – thank you and I’m sorry and how did you fit two babies inside your tiny body?”
Encountering writing of this calibre, you find yourself surreptitious, furtive, smiling. “Oh, that’s a nice sentiment,” you say; “now there’s some good phrasing.” You draw your pen downward, acquiescing to the margin’s blank white invitation. By the end, I realised my pen had carved a highway of black along every page.
Sarah Walker is already well known as an artist and photographer – her images punctuate each chapter – but she is perhaps less well known as a writer, despite Walkley-nominated essays and criticism and being shortlisted for the Calibre Essay Prize.
Continue reading: https://www.smh.com.au/culture/books/...
First appearing in Australian Book Review last year, Contested Breath concerns the loss of the author’s mother. Having begun to acclimatise to the reality of her death, Walker writes how, arriving at her house, “[t]he body on the carpet was a surreal glitch in the image. It was dense, somehow. It drew the eye.”
The brilliance of this lies in how Walker’s appreciation of theory informs the reader without detaining them; Barthes’ punctum – the idea of a visual detail that disturbs and discomfits the audience – is in the wings, but never so gauche as to enter. A lesser author would have duly shepherded the critic onto the stage, throat-clearing and adjusting his tie.
Walker’s descriptions of COVID are equally suggestive, their inflection Didionesque and subtly shaded with detail: “There was a charge in the air, a darting of eyes, the brittleness of people about to cry or shout.” She is paralytic with grief, standing adrift at her mother’s casket: “I said the things you say – thank you and I’m sorry and how did you fit two babies inside your tiny body?”
Encountering writing of this calibre, you find yourself surreptitious, furtive, smiling. “Oh, that’s a nice sentiment,” you say; “now there’s some good phrasing.” You draw your pen downward, acquiescing to the margin’s blank white invitation. By the end, I realised my pen had carved a highway of black along every page.
Sarah Walker is already well known as an artist and photographer – her images punctuate each chapter – but she is perhaps less well known as a writer, despite Walkley-nominated essays and criticism and being shortlisted for the Calibre Essay Prize.
Continue reading: https://www.smh.com.au/culture/books/...
October 13, 2021
There's something so cathartic about reading non-fiction that you relate to. The First Time I Thought I was Dying is an amazing collection of essays. It's full of heartfelt musings that resonated with me, particularly the first essay 'Healing Brush' but also, strangely, 'Honeycomb and Waterfalls' an essay largely about vomit.
I'd hazard a guess to say that nearly every woman could relate to 'Healing Brush' which is all about body image, using Photoshop to erase imperfections, and the impossible concept of an ideal body. Much of Sarah Walker's dieting experiences were similar to my own. Was my eating and body image disordered or was it just the typical experience of a teenage girl in a society that heavily dictates what female bodies should look like?
Something I never expected to read about was vomit phobia and the anxiety it induces in certain settings and public spaces. Vomit is something I've never been able to deal with - I can't watch it in movies, I block my ears to it in real life and any close encounter leaves me shaking and lightheaded. While this essay was not easy for me to read, I felt so understood.
There were also topics explored that I don't have personal experience with, and these essays were super informative and written with such empathy. Walker touchingly explores borderline personality disorder, the behind-the-scenes world of community and university plays, anxiety that impacts your daily life, and losing a parent coupled with the uncertainty of the early months of the pandemic.
The book is part memoir, part social commentary. To say it's a book about bodies sells it short. There's so much more to it - the exploration of mental health, the personal experiences, the memories, the struggles, the friendships, the coming of age, the connection between mind and body. There's so much bubbling under the surface and that adds immensely to the essays.
I guess it's much like a woman's body. How it looks is almost the least important thing about it. The real worth is in the way our bodies (and minds) interact with the unpredictable, messy world around us.
I'd hazard a guess to say that nearly every woman could relate to 'Healing Brush' which is all about body image, using Photoshop to erase imperfections, and the impossible concept of an ideal body. Much of Sarah Walker's dieting experiences were similar to my own. Was my eating and body image disordered or was it just the typical experience of a teenage girl in a society that heavily dictates what female bodies should look like?
Something I never expected to read about was vomit phobia and the anxiety it induces in certain settings and public spaces. Vomit is something I've never been able to deal with - I can't watch it in movies, I block my ears to it in real life and any close encounter leaves me shaking and lightheaded. While this essay was not easy for me to read, I felt so understood.
There were also topics explored that I don't have personal experience with, and these essays were super informative and written with such empathy. Walker touchingly explores borderline personality disorder, the behind-the-scenes world of community and university plays, anxiety that impacts your daily life, and losing a parent coupled with the uncertainty of the early months of the pandemic.
The book is part memoir, part social commentary. To say it's a book about bodies sells it short. There's so much more to it - the exploration of mental health, the personal experiences, the memories, the struggles, the friendships, the coming of age, the connection between mind and body. There's so much bubbling under the surface and that adds immensely to the essays.
I guess it's much like a woman's body. How it looks is almost the least important thing about it. The real worth is in the way our bodies (and minds) interact with the unpredictable, messy world around us.
May 27, 2023
This book filled with essays covering all sorts of aspects of life, from love, sex, unruly bodies. The different essays hang together, often gritty and capturing so many different thoughts and putting a perspective to a world in which I have sat up against and been immersed in. Some of the characters and people mentioned friends, colleagues and acquaintances, which gave a different sense of proximity, including significant life events including the first friend I knew to suicide. Having gifted my copy to friend she also raves about how it connected so strongly to her in different ways ways. Sarah is an incredible thinker and creative and looking forward to something else emerging from her soon.
March 23, 2023
Australian. Some pretty good essays with wonderful bits. Healing Brush deals with body image/weight issues,3.5.
Stage Directions talks of the stories theatre forces on the audience, 4.5. "Shows where we were in the presence of something mystical and odd... It was better than drugs, better than sex. It was the feeling of being part of the whole universe in a tiny theatre.."
Honeycomb and Waterfall speaks of an American evangelical visiting pastor and his effect on the crowd. "This isn't God, I thought. This is theatre." 3
Title essay: panic, trauma, therapy 4
Contested Breath: Covid, funeral, grief 4.5
WSU library
Stage Directions talks of the stories theatre forces on the audience, 4.5. "Shows where we were in the presence of something mystical and odd... It was better than drugs, better than sex. It was the feeling of being part of the whole universe in a tiny theatre.."
Honeycomb and Waterfall speaks of an American evangelical visiting pastor and his effect on the crowd. "This isn't God, I thought. This is theatre." 3
Title essay: panic, trauma, therapy 4
Contested Breath: Covid, funeral, grief 4.5
WSU library
December 3, 2024
Oh my goodness this was fantastic. There was a moment early in this essay collection where I thought, 'good heavens I don't think I've ever read anything so relatable'. Sarah's essays are deeply personal in a way I absolutely love. It is honest, heart on the sleeve stuff and I couldn't get enough. The early essays about body image and *being an actor* made me gasp with recognition - things I thought I'd safely hidden away and forgotten. It's also incredibly well-researched and informative outside of the personal experience, with intelligence and statistics on literature, mental health, medicine... All sorts of topics. I can't imagine anyone not getting something out of this book.
January 16, 2024
A collection of essays on a range of topics related to bodies - I really appreciated her insight in areas like photography, death and grief, and was at times enthralled by her wording. In some parts I felt it was a little over done, perhaps some topics were weaker than others, but it didn't take away from the juicy bits.
October 6, 2021
Such an original collection of essays. I was drawn to finish them and was greedy for more. And thank you Sarah for some amazing lines that will stick with me, like "...the unvarnished frankness of watching your own anus expand and contract."
March 13, 2022
Sarah Walker writes insightfully about her life.
Her foibles, obsessions and struggles and is able to put them in a wider context.
I would have liked to have read more but the book is in demand at the library.
Her foibles, obsessions and struggles and is able to put them in a wider context.
I would have liked to have read more but the book is in demand at the library.
July 7, 2024
This series of essays really hits with passion. Topics on love and youth, the earnestness of acting and theatre, illness and depression, technology and self harm, art and performance are all captured with sensitivity and pathos. A brilliant new Australian voice.
November 26, 2021
I want to buy a copy for each of the people I love. Heavy themes delivered with eloquence and respect.
April 12, 2022
Seriously incredible book so well written
May 28, 2022
Very intriguing book of essays/stories of events in the author's life. Some of the essays hit home on a very personal level. Really interesting book.
July 9, 2022
2.5 stars
July 13, 2022
Wow this was BRILLIANT!!!
Read
May 30, 2023DNF @ 37%
March 14, 2024
me encantó y queda claro mi patrón de libros de ensayos, fuertes y profundos. me gusta como los redacta con facts científicos en medio y lloré en el metro con el último.
March 30, 2025
A different read than I usually would opt for, but insightful and wrote all the truths around anxiety and managing the fear of not being in control.
June 18, 2024
P134
Children are said to truly understand death when they can comprehend four main concepts: irreversibility (that death is permanent), finality (that functioning ends), causality (that things cause us to die) and inevitability (that death is universal for all living things.) the last is the hardest….i wanted to run, but every direction was a step closer to the end. I was barrelling towards nothing. The greatest fear of all, the greatest betrayal: that our bodies, which know how to give birth and clean themselves and shit and fuck, also know how to die. To what is beautiful and controllable about us will fade. We can only stand by, in awe.
Be revolted by your body. Be fascinated by your body. Not everyone is beautiful, but everyone is disgusting. In our complexity, we are whole.
Children are said to truly understand death when they can comprehend four main concepts: irreversibility (that death is permanent), finality (that functioning ends), causality (that things cause us to die) and inevitability (that death is universal for all living things.) the last is the hardest….i wanted to run, but every direction was a step closer to the end. I was barrelling towards nothing. The greatest fear of all, the greatest betrayal: that our bodies, which know how to give birth and clean themselves and shit and fuck, also know how to die. To what is beautiful and controllable about us will fade. We can only stand by, in awe.
Be revolted by your body. Be fascinated by your body. Not everyone is beautiful, but everyone is disgusting. In our complexity, we are whole.
July 4, 2023
Beautifully written, and heart breaking. Feels so relatable but not at the same time.
The feelings of the work bubble to the surface and bubbled up in me. Later essays of the book are deeply touching
The feelings of the work bubble to the surface and bubbled up in me. Later essays of the book are deeply touching
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July 3, 2022This review was first published on the Underground Writers website and can now be read on the reviewer's blog here: https://oddfeather.co/2021/09/09/revi...
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walker’s The First Time I Thought I Was Dying is a collection of nonfiction essays about the many facets of living in and taking care of a human body, while knowing that one day it will cease to function altogether. Each chapter is a personal essay about a different aspect of life in a body, starting with her work as a photographer and the different ways we present versions of ourselves that we deem acceptable or desirable to an audience. From there she moves on to her experiences—both lived and witnessed at close hand—of what it means to push at boundaries when performing on the stage; emetophobia and personal control over the body; sexual coming of age and the state of sex education in Australia; eating disorders and the manipulation of self-image through photography; the many types of self-harm and where they come from; states of anxiety and how it can manifest as phobias; and adjusting rituals of death and community during a pandemic.
Walker somehow manages to make these very difficult, very real topics highly readable; I read the whole book in two days! In sharp, clear prose she lays bare deeply personal experiences alongside facts, figures and studies of everything from sex education in schools to suicide to grief to body hair removal. I found that her pragmatic, matter-of-fact syntax and her deeply compassionate and insightful point of view kept me engaged and eager to learn more. Her work and lived experiences as an artist, writer, photographer, and theatre performer give her a broad and critical insight into culture
Overall, I found this work to be very perceptive and eye opening. Walker’s experiences may not be relatable to everyone, but she expertly uses her experiences and knowledge as jumping off points for a broader conversation that includes everyone. For example, the chapter ‘Yes Yes No’ interrogates the universal experience of sexual coming age, and how, particularly in Australia, the two main sources of information for young people navigating this process are sex education at school—which is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasure—and pornography—which is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education – that isn’t purely clinical or pornographic—could actually look like and the good it could do.
I would recommend this work to anyone who is interested in prodding and exploring the taboos and boundaries between the self and society. I would also recommend it to anyone who has ever wondered about the ways in which we all communicate and live in the strange, gross, wonderful meatbag homes of our selves.
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walker’s The First Time I Thought I Was Dying is a collection of nonfiction essays about the many facets of living in and taking care of a human body, while knowing that one day it will cease to function altogether. Each chapter is a personal essay about a different aspect of life in a body, starting with her work as a photographer and the different ways we present versions of ourselves that we deem acceptable or desirable to an audience. From there she moves on to her experiences—both lived and witnessed at close hand—of what it means to push at boundaries when performing on the stage; emetophobia and personal control over the body; sexual coming of age and the state of sex education in Australia; eating disorders and the manipulation of self-image through photography; the many types of self-harm and where they come from; states of anxiety and how it can manifest as phobias; and adjusting rituals of death and community during a pandemic.
Walker somehow manages to make these very difficult, very real topics highly readable; I read the whole book in two days! In sharp, clear prose she lays bare deeply personal experiences alongside facts, figures and studies of everything from sex education in schools to suicide to grief to body hair removal. I found that her pragmatic, matter-of-fact syntax and her deeply compassionate and insightful point of view kept me engaged and eager to learn more. Her work and lived experiences as an artist, writer, photographer, and theatre performer give her a broad and critical insight into culture
Overall, I found this work to be very perceptive and eye opening. Walker’s experiences may not be relatable to everyone, but she expertly uses her experiences and knowledge as jumping off points for a broader conversation that includes everyone. For example, the chapter ‘Yes Yes No’ interrogates the universal experience of sexual coming age, and how, particularly in Australia, the two main sources of information for young people navigating this process are sex education at school—which is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasure—and pornography—which is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education – that isn’t purely clinical or pornographic—could actually look like and the good it could do.
I would recommend this work to anyone who is interested in prodding and exploring the taboos and boundaries between the self and society. I would also recommend it to anyone who has ever wondered about the ways in which we all communicate and live in the strange, gross, wonderful meatbag homes of our selves.
Read
April 20, 2024This review was first published on the Underground Writers website, and you can also read it on my blog here: https://oddfeather.co/index.php/2021/...
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walker’s The First Time I Thought I Was Dying is a collection of nonfiction essays about the many facets of living in and taking care of a human body, while knowing that one day it will cease to function altogether. Each chapter is a personal essay about a different aspect of life in a body, starting with her work as a photographer and the different ways we present versions of ourselves that we deem acceptable or desirable to an audience. From there she moves on to her experiences—both lived and witnessed at close hand—of what it means to push at boundaries when performing on the stage; emetophobia and personal control over the body; sexual coming of age and the state of sex education in Australia; eating disorders and the manipulation of self-image through photography; the many types of self-harm and where they come from; states of anxiety and how it can manifest as phobias; and adjusting rituals of death and community during a pandemic.
Walker somehow manages to make these very difficult, very real topics highly readable; I read the whole book in two days! In sharp, clear prose she lays bare deeply personal experiences alongside facts, figures and studies of everything from sex education in schools to suicide to grief to body hair removal. I found that her pragmatic, matter-of-fact syntax and her deeply compassionate and insightful point of view kept me engaged and eager to learn more. Her work and lived experiences as an artist, writer, photographer, and theatre performer give her a broad and critical insight into culture
Overall, I found this work to be very perceptive and eye opening. Walker’s experiences may not be relatable to everyone, but she expertly uses her experiences and knowledge as jumping off points for a broader conversation that includes everyone. For example, the chapter ‘Yes Yes No’ interrogates the universal experience of sexual coming age, and how, particularly in Australia, the two main sources of information for young people navigating this process are sex education at school—which is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasure—and pornography—which is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education – that isn’t purely clinical or pornographic—could actually look like and the good it could do.
I would recommend this work to anyone who is interested in prodding and exploring the taboos and boundaries between the self and society. I would also recommend it to anyone who has ever wondered about the ways in which we all communicate and live in the strange, gross, wonderful meatbag homes of our selves.
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walker’s The First Time I Thought I Was Dying is a collection of nonfiction essays about the many facets of living in and taking care of a human body, while knowing that one day it will cease to function altogether. Each chapter is a personal essay about a different aspect of life in a body, starting with her work as a photographer and the different ways we present versions of ourselves that we deem acceptable or desirable to an audience. From there she moves on to her experiences—both lived and witnessed at close hand—of what it means to push at boundaries when performing on the stage; emetophobia and personal control over the body; sexual coming of age and the state of sex education in Australia; eating disorders and the manipulation of self-image through photography; the many types of self-harm and where they come from; states of anxiety and how it can manifest as phobias; and adjusting rituals of death and community during a pandemic.
Walker somehow manages to make these very difficult, very real topics highly readable; I read the whole book in two days! In sharp, clear prose she lays bare deeply personal experiences alongside facts, figures and studies of everything from sex education in schools to suicide to grief to body hair removal. I found that her pragmatic, matter-of-fact syntax and her deeply compassionate and insightful point of view kept me engaged and eager to learn more. Her work and lived experiences as an artist, writer, photographer, and theatre performer give her a broad and critical insight into culture
Overall, I found this work to be very perceptive and eye opening. Walker’s experiences may not be relatable to everyone, but she expertly uses her experiences and knowledge as jumping off points for a broader conversation that includes everyone. For example, the chapter ‘Yes Yes No’ interrogates the universal experience of sexual coming age, and how, particularly in Australia, the two main sources of information for young people navigating this process are sex education at school—which is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasure—and pornography—which is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education – that isn’t purely clinical or pornographic—could actually look like and the good it could do.
I would recommend this work to anyone who is interested in prodding and exploring the taboos and boundaries between the self and society. I would also recommend it to anyone who has ever wondered about the ways in which we all communicate and live in the strange, gross, wonderful meatbag homes of our selves.
January 2, 2024
There's a lot to be said about a good book of essays and this is a good book of essays. I devoured this. I loved the writing, the themes, the messages. It was subtle in the way it tackled complex topics. At different times I cringed, became enraged, laughed, averted my gaze and cried.
June 21, 2022
I liked this book a lot - interesting, and confronting in places
Displaying 1 - 29 of 29 reviews