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1 year ago

Not to be sneezed at

If you'd known me at primary school, you'd have seen me rifling through the Lost Property sundries fairly regularly. Every day, whatever the season, and whether I had a cold or not, I required at least two mansize handkerchiefs to cope with the amount of sneezing I did. And I would lose at least one a week. They were too big to fit in my pocket and were constantly in use. By secondary school, I had to dry them out on radiators during lessons. That was hygienic, wasn't it? Even now, thirty years later, I never leave the house without a hankie.

House dust mites, cats, pollen and feathers are among my identified irritants  - these allergies run in the family, so were accepted as normal by my parents -  but I also helpfully have a condition called perennial allergic rhinitis, which means I react as if I have an allergy, all year-round, even if I'm not actually allergic to something. I would probably sneeze in a vacuum.

Over the summer holidays this year, I noticed that I tended to sneeze even more when stressed out. By Friday most weeks I would feel like I was coming down with a cold, but it didn't usually develop into anything worthy of attention. So it was a revelation to me when I read Ann Gadd's work on what our habits reveal about us (The Girl Who Bites Her Nails and The Man Who Is Always Late, £9.99, Findhorn Press) and discovered that "allergies are expressions of subconscious, repressed aggression". The body regards whatever is breathed in as hostile, and so expels it with force; in "fighting the irritant, we hope to expel our subconscious fears."

Gadd encouraged me to look at the actual substances causing the reaction, which would in turn give me clues to the areas of life in which my irritants may lie. I was fascinated to see that cat fur may relate to a more primal, instinctive aspect of self - such as independence, femininity and intuition (or our reaction to them), and with dust mites, it may be a reaction to the dark side of our personality or of life.

Another eye-opener was the idea that being allergic to something paradoxically gives the sufferer an element of control, as "loved pets have to be got rid of, rooms must be cleaned to absurd degrees, smoking is banned". Others are forced to comply for the sake of the sufferer. The sneezer's approach is one of passive aggression "I can't help it". Gadd says this aggression often comes from a deep insecurity coupled with a desire for attention or recognition; this makes a lot of sense to me.

It was only when I left home that I successfully found medical treatment for my nose, and my condition is more manageable these days. Interestingly, since I got married a decade ago, my nose has ruled my life less and less. And I never dust.

Readers can buy The Girl Who Bites Her Nails And The Man Who Is Always Late direct from the publisher at the special price of £7.99, saving 20%.Buy now.

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