A Tribute To Daisy Johnson

For a long time, I avoided all things superhero because they reminded me of my Dad who died suddenly in 2008, when I was thirteen years old. He loved superheroes and passed that love on to me: we’d spend Saturdays watching Justice League and Teen Titans, drawing the characters and designing our own heroes and villains. It was something really special that we shared but when he died, they just became a painful reminder of what I’d lost. So I avoided anything related to superheroes for a long time.

But then, at some point in 2015, I stumbled upon Agents of SHIELD and instead of the hollow ache that I’d come to associate with anything superhero related, something just pulled me in. I loved the characters, I loved the relationships, I loved the stories and the different aspects of sci-fi and drama and action that they explored. I also loved how they didn’t take themselves too seriously, but how they also let the heavier moments rest and breathe. I can’t really explain it but for the first time I felt comforted by the superhero world, rather than saddened by it.

I instantly loved Daisy Johnson. Now, I could write a thesis on her (I’ll try not to, I promise). She’s smart and funny and tough; she also feels her emotions deeply and is incredibly driven, often by those deep emotions and her sense of what’s right and wrong. Over the seasons, we see her go from a foster kid turned hacktivist, trying to find information on her parents to a loyal, dedicated agent and superpowered hero. Of course, she grows up and goes through a lot in that time: she’s betrayed by people she trusts; she develops powers that allow her to manipulate vibrations, to the extent that she causes earthquakes while unable to control her abilities (or emotions); she discovers that she’s a descendant of an ancient race that call themselves Inhumans and finally meets her biological parents, only to be caught in a war between the Inhumans and SHIELD; she guides new Inhumans as more and more gain their abilities (a result of the war); she becomes a leader; she loses more loved ones than anyone should; she isolates herself after she’s brainwashed, unable to forgive herself for the harm she causes; she struggles with trust and guilt and how dangerous her powers make her; she finds herself in a virtual reality, in a dystopian future, far out in distant space, in an alternate timeline… But through all of that, she finds family in her team and a place to belong in SHIELD, two things she’s spent her whole life searching for.

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She’s not perfect, of course – she makes her fair share of mistakes and bad decisions. Sometimes she hurts the people she loves. But while every blunder becomes a part of her, she doesn’t allow them to define her. She’s defined by the future, by what she does next. She inspires me to be the same. And above all else, her motivation is to help people and that’s something that’s never changed; it’s something that’s at the very core of her and I find that really inspiring too.

The show ended a few months ago and if I’m honest, I’m still trying to get my head around that. How can my favourite show be over? But if it had to end, they couldn’t have done a better job. The last two episodes of the season are some of the best they’ve ever done (although I’m not sure anything could surpass the legendary time-loop episode) and the final scenes are as heart-warming as they are heart breaking.

*Major spoiler alert* The season (and the show) end with the team meeting (bizarrely enough, through an ultra sci-fi version of Zoom) for the first time in a year. They catch up for a few minutes before leaving one by one, giving us the opportunity to see what adventures they’re in the midst of now. Eventually the only two left are Daisy and Phil Coulson (“It was so special to have that moment with Clark [Gregg].” Chloe Bennet says), without whom the show would never have existed. It’s kind of funny: the show would never have existed without Coulson and neither would Daisy, had he not pulled her out of her van and onto the SHIELD plane. From that moment on, there’s something really special about their relationship. Every relationship in the team is unique and special but there’s just something about Coulson and Daisy’s relationship that has always felt bigger than words. There’s definitely elements of student-teacher, best friends, partners in crime, and father-daughter (the last comes up throughout the show), but again, it seems to transcend all of those. The actors seem to agree, and both have spoken about how similar that relationship is to their relationship in real life.

“It’s such a dynamic friendship in a way that you don’t really see that often in life, let alone on TV. He is a coworker, and people say father figure, but he’s so much more than that. He’s a friend, a mentor, he’s hilarious. I just feel so special to have such a unique, dynamic relationship with this person. And obviously that shows up on camera and it’s nice. It’s really special.” (x)

“From the first interrogation scene with Skye, after we pulled her out of her van, there was just something different about Chloe Bennet. And the way she has a realness and a fire to her as a performer. There are a lot of great actors to work with on that show but the through line of that relationship, that friendship, that family-type relationship… people say father/daughter, and it definitely has that in it, but I think, like my relationship with Chloe, it has so many permutations and it isn’t that simple. Where she’s helping and teaching and rescuing me as much as I’m doing that for her. For me, it was that part of the show where I grew the most as an actor and as a human,” says Clark Gregg. (x)

This relationship has always been one of my favourites on the show and one that’s felt very close to my heart. Maybe that’s due to the loss of my own father and watching a character I love and relate to find that relationship, I don’t know. But I’m grateful that we got one last moment between the two of them. The atmosphere is warm and supportive, and they exchange a few meaningful words before parting. Daisy tells Coulson that he’s still needed out in the world, finding new recruits for SHIELD, commenting on one final thing that has come full circle in this final episode: Coulson was the first person to believe in her, which ultimately led to who she is today and now she is following in his footsteps, the first to believe in her sister (discovered in the alternate timeline) and guiding her on the road to becoming a SHIELD agent. It’s a very emotional moment, even as the actors carry it off effortlessly.

Coulson leaves and Daisy takes a moment to look around at all of the empty chairs. But it’s not the end. She evidently has ongoing secret communications with Simmons and they’ve promised to meet up as a team at the same time and place every year (although, in my head, they meet in various combinations between those full team gatherings). Then she removes her communications device and we discover that she’s on a spaceship – the commander of said spaceship – with Daniel Sousa (her new, taking-it-slow-but-utterly-head-over-heels-for boyfriend) and her sister, Kora. And the last we see of her is the three of them staring out at a stunning nebula.

(Apparently the nebula was never officially named but Jed Whedon, writer of the episode, left it as: “The three look out at the Nebula, an otherworldly multicolored cloud of space dust. A new family.” (x) That made me super emotional: the show began with Daisy searching for her family, finding a completely unexpected family in SHIELD, and the show ends with her building a family, or an extension of her existing family. So that quote felt very special.)

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In these final scenes, there’s something different about Daisy. Yes, she’s still Daisy – there’s always been something incredibly consistent about her as a character, right from the beginning – but there’s also something we haven’t really seen before. There’s a sense of calm, a sense of peace. She knows who she is, she has complete faith in herself and her abilities, and she’s surrounded (physically and emotionally) by people who love her and support her. As Chloe Bennet says, “There’s a lot more groundedness within her.” She’s grown into someone her season one self could never have imagined and it’s incredible. I found it more inspiring than I can put into words, considering how much of myself I see in her as a character. Her ‘ending’ gives me hope.

I got caught up with season seven a few days before the finale. It was clear the finale was going to be incredible and I just felt that I wanted to do something to commemorate how much the show and how much Daisy meant to me, how much of an effect they’ve had on my life. I thought about it and decided that I wanted to get a daisy tattoo: to remind me how much this show and this character have meant to me and helped me through hard times; to remind me of Daisy and all of the things about her that inspire me, like her determination, her strength, her resolve to help people, and so on; to honour the love of superheroes I share with my Dad and that connection we will always have.

At some point between that moment and the finale, Chloe Bennet posted on Instagram, asking for suggestions as to what she should do with all the stuff she’s collected from her time on the show. I replied with some ideas but I also thanked her for all the show and Daisy have done for me, as well as my plan to get a daisy tattoo. And then – on the day of the finale, a plan she’d apparently had for a while – she posted a couple of photos on Instagram… of herself getting a daisy tattoo.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. It put the biggest grin on my face. I loved the idea that we’d both had the same thought process over commemorating Daisy, although obviously Chloe Bennet’s relationship to Daisy is on an entirely different level to mine. In one interview, she said: “I definitely would [play her again]. I mean, I have such a soft spot for her. I started shooting the show when I was 20, and then I finished when I was 27. To get this time right now, in isolation, to kind of contemplate the past seven years and how much it’s meant to me – it hasn’t really hit me yet that the show is over, so it doesn’t really feel like I’m done playing her yet.” And in another, she said something similar: “I don’t feel like I’m done playing her. I feel like there’s room in the Marvel Universe for more Quake. So hopefully you’ll see that happen!”

When this fan-made trailer appeared, at least half the internet fell for it, believing that a Daisy centric show was in the works. You’ll see why when you watch it.

It’s stunning, a perfect summation of Daisy’s story so far and an exciting look at how her story could continue. As much as I’d love a show about Daisy, or really just any extra Daisy content, the idea does make me a little nervous. She’s been so beautifully developed as a character that I’m not sure I’d trust her with anyone but Jed Whedon and Maurissa Tancharoen (the main showrunners of the series from the start). But knowing how much Chloe loves Daisy, I doubt there’s any reason to worry; Daisy couldn’t be in safer hands. I love Chloe Bennet and find her hugely inspiring too but I think I’ll save that for another post, otherwise we could be here forever…

And as I said, I probably wouldn’t have had any of this without Dad. And while the loss of him – that scar, that hole – will always be there, having this thing that he loved so much – this love that he passed on to me – back in my life has been a healing experience. The characters, the stories, and the lessons they teach us are his legacy to me and I’m grateful for whatever it was about Agents of Shield that made me feel able to engage with these worlds again.

Today would’ve been his birthday and while I have no way of knowing what life with him in it would have looked like, I like to imagine that we would’ve spent the day together: swimming in the morning (another thing we often did together) and then spending the afternoon and evening curled up on the sofa, taking turns choosing episodes of our favourite superhero shows. And I have no doubt that a great deal of them would’ve been from Agents of Shield.

Mourning A Public Figure

Last week was the two year anniversary of Claire Wineland’s death. She was a twenty one year old activist, raising awareness around Cystic Fibrosis and founding Claire’s Place Foundation to support children with Cystic Fibrosis and their families. She spoke at many conferences (including TEDx and the International Respiratory Convention and Exhibition) and posted multiple videos on YouTube, talking about her illness but also her life and her thoughts on various subjects.

In 2018, she went into hospital for a double lung transplant. I remember watching the Instagram Live where she announced that she’d received the call as she dashed around her home, gathering everything she needed. It was so exciting and I was so happy for her. She had the surgery and everything seemed to be going well. But then she had a stroke and a week later, according to her advanced directive, was taken off life support. She died on the 2nd September 2018 at the age of twenty one. I wrote several posts about her, including one in remembrance.

I was deeply upset at the news of Claire’s death. When I discovered her YouTube videos in mid-2017, I instantly fell in love with her personality, her eloquence, her thoughtfulness. I really felt a lot of the ideas she expressed and despite the fact that we’d had very different life experiences, it felt like we had something in common, something in the way we thought and felt. And despite only having a few interactions on Twitter, I felt a connection to her – obviously not the same connection as the ones I have with my friends, for example, but a connection nonetheless. She had a big impact on my life and when she died, I felt like I could feel the edges of the space in which she’d previously existed, like there was a hole where she’d been. It was a very distressing feeling.

Two years later and I still feel her loss. She was so full of life. You know how some people just seem bigger than others, have minds somehow more infinite, have something extra special about them? That was always the way Claire felt to me. I’d felt so sure that I’d watch her go on to do even more great things. Her death felt so unfair and it still does. It still hurts. The documentary about her, CLAIRE, came out on the first anniversary of her death and as much as I want to watch it, I haven’t been able to. It’s just felt too hard. One day, I will but I just haven’t felt ready.

Over the last few years, I’ve had several similar experiences. The first, I believe, was Cory Monteith in 2013. I was still watching Glee at the time and he was so young; his death was so sudden. Then there was David Bowie, who has always been incredibly important to my brother, and Alan Rickman, who had been a consistent presence in my life through his role in the Harry Potter films. If you’ve read previous posts of mine, you’ll know how important Harry Potter has been throughout my life. And more recently, there have been the deaths of Cady Groves, a singer I’ve been a fan of for a decade, and Naya Rivera, another Glee alumni.

I struggled with each of these deaths, all of these people having had an impact on my life. But I think the only death that has had as dramatic an effect on me as Claire Wineland’s was that of Christina Grimmie. I’d been following Christina on YouTube for years; I just fell in love with her voice and her piano playing, how unapologetically herself she was. She was about my age and pursuing music so it’s not surprising that I related to her. But with managing both my mental health and university, I’d fallen behind on a lot of people in my social media bubble, Christina included. Then I woke up one day and she was gone; I still remember the moment I found out. I was stuck in a state of paralysed shock for days and I had nightmares that went on for months. Much like with Claire, I felt like there was a hole in the fabric of the universe where Christina had been, should still be. Even now, I still think of her often.

Grieving for a celebrity or public figure can feel like a bit of a minefield, I think. There’s the internal conflict: you didn’t know them personally but the feelings are still very powerful. Plus there are always people ready to tell you that you don’t have the right to mourn someone you never actually knew and because you didn’t know them, whatever you’re feeling can’t be grief. But personally, I don’t agree.

Grief is an incredibly complex emotion. I don’t think anyone truly understands it. Personally, I wouldn’t classify it as a single emotion; I see it more as an umbrella term, a checklist of things you may experience although you won’t necessarily experience all of them. I don’t think there’s a big enough word to describe what we go through when we’re grieving. It’s a natural disaster, an emotional natural disaster. It’s so complicated and having lived through both the losses of people in my life and public figures I cared (and still care) about, it’s my experience that the two are definitely different (having said that, we could have a whole other conversation about how the grief for each person is completely different) but that they’re both real and they’re both profound.

I definitely want to write more posts about grief but I want to keep this one to the grieving of a public figure. As I said, it is, of course, different to losing a person who is physically in your life but if you feel a connection to someone, it is inevitable that their death will be painful. As far as I’m concerned, that connection is the key. Whether they’re an actor, singer, writer, activist… they’re all reaching out, with their stories, their songs, their words. They’re reaching out with the intention of creating a connection with another person, a person who finds meaning in what they have to say. And I think it’s fair to say that – often – the deepest connections are the ones that are built from the most personal places (for example, their presence or their work has gotten you through a difficult time, you relate strongly to something they’ve said or created, etc). So of course we would feel the loss that connection. Of course it would be painful and distressing and maybe even traumatic.

And then there’s the moving forward to consider. There will always be things that remind you of them, such as events they would go to or public appearances they’d make. And in the case of creatives, yes, we will always have their past work but that may be difficult to consume again: the emotions and memories associated with them may be overwhelming; it may be painful because it reminds you that they’re no longer here; if they helped you through difficult times, it may be difficult knowing that they won’t be there to help you through any future hard times; knowing that they’ll never create or release anything new may be distressing, especially when the release of new work was a big occasion in your life.

I think that the only way to truly move through an event like this is to talk about it or, at the very least, express your emotions:

  • Hopefully your loved ones will understand what you’re going through, especially if you’ve mentioned this person before or they’ve seen or heard you consuming their content, whether that’s listening to their music, watching their videos, or reading their works. If you can talk to someone close to you and at least get your emotions out of your body; sometimes I think that keeping the emotions stored inside your body only makes them harder to shift further down the road. (If someone you don’t feel comfortable telling the whole truth asks you why you’re upset, you can always tell them that a friend or someone you know has died – that will explain your mood and they’re unlikely to ask too many questions.)
  • You can express your feelings on social media, if you feel comfortable sharing with an unknown audience. Sometimes that can be too scary but sometimes it can be cathartic to put your thoughts out into the world, not knowing where they’ll go or who they’ll reach.
  • You can write a letter to the person who has died. I’ve always found writing to be a good way of getting my emotions out. If you want to, you could post it online if you keep a blog or something similar, or you could simply keep it for yourself as a reminder of what they meant to you and everything you felt at that particular moment in time. When it comes to such an emotionally charged moment, in the future you may want to remember everything about the experience. You may not, of course, but you can’t know that in the present moment.
  • I’ve always found journaling to be very helpful in coping with and managing the ebb and flow of my emotions. Since it’s just for me, I can feel and say whatever I like without fear of judgement, which I think allows me to move through each emotion with less friction. Putting words to what I’m feeling somehow makes it all easier to process and work through. It doesn’t necessarily mean those feelings go away, but the strength of them does become easier to cope with. And then at some point, they simply become a part of you, a piece in your mosaic.

I’m sure there’s more to say. When it comes to grief, there always is. But I think I’ll leave it there. I hope you leave this post knowing that whoever or whatever you grieve for, your grief is valid and I hope that, if you’re going through any kind of grief, that you’ve found some way to manage it and/or that you have people to support you. I’m not sure if it ever goes away but it does change. Life goes on, even if it feels unbearably unfair. So carry with you the gifts they gave you and try to do some of the good that they would be doing were they still here.

2018 in Review

This year has been a struggle. Almost eighteen months ago, I made the decision to change my medication and that has basically been my life ever since. Lots of pills and doctors appointments but mostly dealing with the side effects, everything from nausea to shaking to a complete inability to think clearly. I don’t think I realised what a huge undertaking it was going to be but it’s not exactly surprising: you’re throwing all the chemicals in your brain and body out of whack. I tried Venlafaxine, Lithium, and Lamotrigine; I weaned myself off Venlafaxine, tried Amitriptyline, and now I’m taking Pregabalin and Clomipramine. This is the most promising combination so far and I’ve actually had a few really good days so I’m cautiously optimistic. But it’s been a long, hard road, sometimes so difficult that I wasn’t sure I’d survive it. And I don’t really feel able to acknowledge the good bits without paying tribute to the really tough things I had to go through and so got through.

The first of The Big Difficult Things was moving house. God, that was a struggle. Having thought that I’d found some sort of peace around it, when it came to the day, I was absolutely devastated. There were a lot of tears – from all of us. That house was my home for fifteen years – home to the greatest triumphs and tragedies of my life – and so, to some extent, it will always be my home. I think I could probably walk into my old bedroom twenty years from now and fall right back into that old rhythm.

I’m still learning the rhythms of the new house. There are days where it feels normal and then others where I hate it so much I could scream. Most of the time, it still feels like someone else’s house. Someone else’s house with all our stuff in. But every day is a step in the right direction. We’re filling all the empty space with memories, slowly but surely.

I’ve been writing a lot about Claire Wineland of late but I couldn’t write about this year and not mention her. Her death was another of The Big Difficult Things of this year. I stumbled across her YouTube channel late last year and have been following her on social media ever since. She was – and still is – a big inspiration for me and her death hit me really hard. It just makes no sense to me and never will and I’m still struggling to cope with that.

And through all of this, depression has been my constant, oppressive companion. While I had experienced depression before, this was a whole new kind of prison. The lows were lower than I’d ever experienced and there were several pretty scary moments. And as well as affecting my mood, my depression made it almost impossible to write songs. I’ve had many discussions about writer’s block over the years and I’ve always thought that there are things that can make writing difficult and so you have to figure out what’s causing the block and address it. In my case, it feels like depression suppresses the creative part of my brain: I don’t get random sparks of inspiration, I can’t solve problems creatively, and any active creativity – like songwriting – is like pulling teeth. It feels like writing songs requires a certain level of functioning that I’m just not capable of reaching while depressed. I want to write more about this – about depression and writer’s block – but that’s for another post.

Having said all of that, there have been good days, as well as good experiences on bad days.

By far the best part of this year has been the time spent with my friends and family, whether that be online or in the physical world, in Nashville, London, or Brighton. Or anywhere in between. These people have kept me going through the hardest period of my life so far and I’m so ridiculously grateful to them for that.

I got to travel a little bit this year, which was amazing. I managed to get back to Nashville where I had the most intense ten days possibly of my life. I got to see some lovely people, write songs (or try to), listen to some of the best songwriters in the world, and play a Song Suffragettes show. Even though I was incredibly anxious about it, that may very well have been the best day of my year.

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I also travelled to Iceland for the first time and saw so many beautiful things, including a 60m waterfall, the Diamond Beach, and the Northern Lights. The natural scenery in Iceland took my breath away time and again. It felt like the first breath you take after being underwater. Of course, there was a lot of anxiety during the trip but it helped me in a way that only the magnificence of nature is able to.

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There have been more wonderful live music events than I can count: Paramore, Kelsea Ballerini, Sugarland, Kacey Musgraves, Natalie Hemby (and all of Tin Pan South in Nashville), Frank Turner, Betsy Lane, The Shires, Sinead Burgess, The Brummies, Halsey, Kina Grannis, Aislin Evans, Maren Morris, and of course, Taylor Swift. Despite the anxieties around concerts, these are the places where I feel most alive and so, throughout this difficult period, I’ve always tried to ensure that there was another concert to look forward to.

And despite my musical struggles this year, I’ve actually played a few gigs and played shows that I am so proud to have been a part of. I got to play with WRTW again and it was even more fun than the first time (if that’s possible). I played Autism’s Got Talent in London, which was such a great opportunity. I played for Brighton Soup and Disability Pride in Brighton, two amazing organisations that I can’t praise enough. I also played Summer Fest in Worthing, my first show with my awesome friend, Richard Sanderson. And of course, I got to play a Song Suffragettes show when I was in Nashville.

I’ve also managed to do a handful to Autism research studies, as well as giving blood. I’ve been feeling so useless so I tried to contribute as best I could during this time where I’ve felt incapable of contributing anything at all.

Another big part of this year was getting used to the kittens: my cat had two kittens in February and me and my Mum just fell in love with them so we ended up keeping them. I love them dearly but it has been a major adjustment and a real struggle, especially with the daily battle that is depression. So this has been both a good and a bad thing. I want to write more about this whole experience because there were – and still are – a lot of complicated emotions involved. But above it all, we have Lucky and Lucy and the kittens and I love them more than life itself.

So, that’s it: 2018. It has been a hard, hard year, and one I’m very happy to leave behind but I’m cautiously optimistic about the next few months and the next year. I’ve felt better in the last couple of weeks than I have all year and I’m hopeful that this is characteristic of what’s to come.

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“2018, the year of living, fighting, but ultimately, surviving depression. There was a lot of gold in the grey but I’m so ready to move on to 2019.” (x)