Fanny Eaton (1861) Fine Art Print by Joanna Boyce Wells
Exhibitions
As part of the exhibition Mapping an Uneven Path: Stories of Health and Disability at Verulamium, I was invited to explore the collection at the Verulamium Museum in St Albans – the site of an ancient Roman city – and create a personal response. My reflections were to be shared alongside those of others living with chronic illness, disability, and neurodiversity.
I was immediately drawn to a selection of lost items from the floor of the ancient bathhouse. As I studied them, I could hear the echoes of activity – the vibrancy of life that hub of community once held. My attention turned to the unknown stories of the people who once owned these objects. These were not relics left behind in death, but belongings misplaced in the flow of daily life.
That simple, relatable act of losing something instantly stuck a chord. It was a moment that connected the seemly disparate life of ancient Roman to my daily present.
And so, from this, my reflection was formed…
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Katherine Thomas-Ferdinand, Curator, The Thomas-Ferdinand Gallery ・ Mapping an Uneven Path - Private Viewing, Nov 2024 ・ Verulamium Museum, St Albans ・ Image © The Thomas-Ferdinand Gallery
Yesterday, I lost my washing-up gloves midway through a wash. They materialised minutes later in the hallway, dripping water onto my freshly ironed scarf. I couldn’t remember leaving the kitchen.
My relationship with memory loss began after experiencing total burnout at 28. Initially this was linked to Adrenal Insufficiency, where overworked adrenal glands – responsible for our fight-or-flight hormones – slow down or stop working due to stress. Although they have since recovered, memory loss remains, now accompanied by an uncovering of new conditions and symptoms that either serve or gain sustenance from it.
Each day memory loss and its companions consume the how’s, the what’s, the where’s, the why’s. Together they absorb words the moment they’re spoken.
This relentless foe feeds from every part of my life, hindering my ability to work, to plan, to laugh, to relax. It devourers my drive and capacity to fulfil my goals, passions and dreams.
And so I fight, clawing back scraps of nourishment for myself. My days – a carefully crafted smorgasbord of to-do apps, white board notes, schedules and alarms. My mind, a constant chatter – desperately grasping for morsels.
Grasping, grasping, grasping…gone.
It’s infuriating, embarrassing, but above all, exhausting.
Roman Mosaic Tiles・ Verulamium Museum, St Albans ・ Image © The Thomas-Ferdinand Gallery
Katherine Thomas-Ferdinand, Curator, The Thomas-Ferdinand Gallery ・ Mapping an Uneven Path - Private Viewing, Nov 2024 ・ Verulamium Museum, St Albans ・ Image © The Thomas-Ferdinand Gallery
And then comes the guilt.
The guilt of forgetting birthdays and key parts of conversations that matter to my loved ones. The guilt of knowing I can’t always rely on myself and by default, others can’t always rely on me.
I try hard, and often succeed, but equally often I do not.
And so I keep myself to myself. The effort to be reliable so draining that I just want to let go, surrender what’s left of me and float away, blissfully free from relationships and responsibility.
Yet amidst all of this – and as with much in life – there are moments of pure humour, celebration and connection.
Moments where I succeed in feeding myself or am patiently fed by others. Moments where I am reminded that everything is okay. I am not alone. And that, despite my exhaustion and frustration, I am loved, valued, and can indeed laugh and relax – if only for a moment.
Seeing the lost items from the Bathhouse at Verulamium was one such moment. These familiar belongings from almost 2,000 years ago – hairpins, rings, and other items left by past patrons – were a welcome reminder of how alike we all are. My subconscious glanced upon them, smiled to itself, and uttered the words, “Yep – that would’ve been me.”
For, whilst those items may not have been lost by people with a disability or chronic illness, they could have been. They could have belonged to anyone.
And that is much the point.
The truth is, this spectrum of forgetfulness and memory loss is something we all experience to varying degrees. They are humanity’s universal and immortal companions.
So the next time I lose my gloves, or anything else, I hope I’ll remember these lost items and again find peace, humour, and connection, as I reflect on the global and historical club I’ve unwittingly joined.
And if I don’t remember, well, that’s okay too.
Lost items from the bathhouse at Verulamium・ Featured in “My Involuntary Membership to the Memory Loss Club”, by Katherine Thomas-Ferdinand・ Verulamium Museum, St Albans ・ Image © The Thomas-Ferdinand Gallery
‘My Involuntary Membership to the Memory Loss Club’ was written by our curator Katherine Thomas-Ferdinand as part of the exhibition ‘Mapping an Uneven Path: Stories of Health and Disability in Verulamium’ – 15th November 2024 to 23rd February 2025.
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