‘Now is the time for collective kindness; to offer people forums to feel held’
For their final Attitude column, Amrou Al-Kadhi reflects on the healing power of writing and the "incredibly freeing" escape of drag
This is my final piece as a columnist for Attitude. To everyone who has read my pieces, thank you. It’s been really fulfilling sharing my experiences with you, and I’ve been very appreciative to Attitude for the platform.
As many of you will know, mental health is a huge part of my life. I suffer from both complex PTSD and severe OCD, as well as anxiety and depression. Religious trauma from my youth has produced a brain addicted to self-punishment, and growing up queer in a family and world that pathologised it has left its scars. I’m sure many of you will be able to relate.
A good way to get out of my head has been to write about my experiences — something about self-expression sublimates what is an internal and isolating feeling into something out in the open, which makes the experience that much less lonely. When in the depths of a spiral, you can feel completely isolated from the world, as if no one could possibly see you or understand you. Putting those terrifying moments of self-doubt and shame on paper has not only lessened their impact but has made me feel less ashamed and lonely. It’s like reaching a hand out to an invisible crowd and feeling some kind of silent connection. So, to all of those who have read and got in touch to share their own experiences with me, thank you — it has helped me a great deal.
“I get to escape Amrou and become Glamrou – it’s incredibly freeing”
Being in drag is another experience that helps me to escape my own brain. The sheer embodiment that comes from drag allows me to feel present and in communion with a room of people. The makeup and costume, which may look on the outside like a form of self-possession, is actually for me a kind of ego-death — I get to escape Amrou and become Glamrou. It’s incredibly freeing, and I don’t know where I’d be without it. Writing has provided a different kind of catharsis. It not only helps me to make sense of my own experiences, but it also helps me process and move on from them.
Sometimes I use my art to create a version of the world I wish existed. Part of releasing my feature film directorial debut Layla in 2024 was about showcasing a queer version of London that is increasingly being erased due to gentrification and the rightward shift of contemporary politics. Presenting a queer version of the world without violence was my gift to myself, and hopefully viewers around the world. Sometimes art is about sharing pain; and sometimes art is about releasing joy and allowing yourself to dream and hope.
I leave my position as a columnist at a time when the world feels far scarier and more unstable than when I first started. The world feels insurmountably unfair and cruel right now. I think a great number of people are carrying hidden shames and fears. So now is the time for collective kindness, for offering people spaces and forums into which they can feel held, into which they can cry and scream without apology. That’s why I do the work that I do, to help other queer people feel less alone.
In the next stage of my career, I am fighting to create work that bridges divides, that allows “enemies” to see truth in one another, to find a way to embrace a collective humanity in a system that thrives and capitalises on our polarisation. The greatest threat to our resistance is isolation and fatalism. Empathy is our most precious weapon.
Making queer work in today’s conservative world is getting ever harder, and the TV/film industry is currently in free fall. But there are forces all over the globe trying to erase our voices, and I will continue to fight as hard as I can to tell the stories that would otherwise remain hidden. And I thank Attitude for helping me to do so all these years. With love, Glamrou.