Kate Middleton's Brother James Opens Up About the Hardest Part of Writing His Memoir
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James Middleton is perhaps best known to the world as Kate Middleton's younger brother. But his memoir, Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life, shows a new side to the youngest Middleton. He's not only the brother of a future Queen, but also a man who has struggled with deep depression and is now an ardent advocate for therapy, and talking about mental health.
As readers will quickly learn in Meet Ella, James's beloved cocker spaniel Ella, who died in January 2023, was instrumental in helping him through some of his worst days and nights—and he credits her with saving his life. "Ella's legacy is still bigger than that story," he tells Town & Country over Zoom the day after publication day. "I don't feel I've even scratched the surface on my love for her, but I'm trying my best to keep her legacy alive."
In a wide-ranging conversation, Middleton opened up about what it's like to have his vulnerable work finally out in the world, being a new dad (he and his wife Alizee welcomed a son, Inigo, last fall), and how to support family members who are struggling.
How has publication week been so far for you?
Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life
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It's been exciting. This is my first time doing anything like this, and as a schoolboy, I never thought I'd be in a position where I'd say the words, 'I've written a book' or 'publication week.' It is a very proud moment because I've put a lot of my heart, soul, and energy into it. [Meet Ella] was written at a time when emotions were very raw with having lost Ella, then looking back and reflecting on her life and our life together while excited about the future with my son, Inigo. There was a lot of emotion that went into it, so I'm excited and a bit nervous for it to be out, because when you open yourself up, there is vulnerability.
As you were working on the memoir, what was the most challenging part for you to write about?
The most challenging part was definitely my darkest days in depression, because it is so difficult to explain, to find the right words. I wrote a lot when I was in depression because I found it helped. So I had a lot of notes—they weren't necessarily always sentences, they weren't necessarily always coherent. They were various things, like there was lots of letters to myself in the third person trying to tell myself how I was feeling. I had a lot of that, which made it easier in some ways because it wasn't just a memory, there was snippets of a time, but it was hard to revisit... just trying to give the story of how it feels to be in depression, because I think it goes beyond words. Words can't even sometimes get there. So that was a challenge. The most emotional part for me was without doubt losing Ella. That was one of the first parts I wrote; her dog bed was still almost still warm. That was a very emotional moment to write and even sort of reading it back, I struggle on that.
What was your family's reaction when you told them you were going to be writing a memoir?
They were delighted for me to be at a point where I felt I could conclude a chapter of my life—it is not just about a dog that died, or a dog that saved my life, it's about the bigger picture of that closure, of understanding that journey I'd been on. There was recognition on how far I'd come and the support, they know how much Ella meant to me and understood that it was something I needed to do as much as anything. Throughout it all, they have been really supportive, which is fantastic. I actually didn't let anyone read it at the in-between stages. It was pretty much up to the point when the first manuscript was completed, and that was when [I shared], because I felt like it needed to be read in context.
The love and support I've had from my family has been more than I can ever wish for with writing of it; it's something that they know I needed to do. I think my family would've highlighted if they were really concerned [about anything]—I know I'd have had a message or two, there would've been some edits if they really felt there was something that they were uncomfortable with.
What is it about dogs that make them such great emotional support animals and such key companions in life?
Dogs don't judge. We, as humans—even just through the tone of our voice, our facial expressions—we've got lots of things going on in our minds. We're not always present; the wonderful quality about a dog is that they are present with you a hundred percent. If they're in the room with you, they are with you. They might be sleeping, which my lot are doing now, but they give every single ounce of their waking day to be with you and spend time with you. That is so unique that we, as humans, can't even replicate.
We tend to take—and dogs don't take. They might take something off the kitchen table or they might take something naughty in that format, but they don't take from you. They only give. They'll give you as much as you allow them to give. If you really open your heart to them, there is an unlimited amount of love and joy [from dogs], which unlocks the serotonin in your brain that then floods your body and makes you feel okay.
The companionship, you don't actually have to say anything. You can have a great conversation with a dog. I have plenty all the time, but there's no judgment. They don't care about anything really other than you. They're not in the bigger picture of world. They just want to be with you. They're not thinking about yesterday. They're not thinking about tomorrow. They're in the moment with you now.
What did you learn about parenthood from raising dogs before you had your son?
Inigo's now one, he's just learning to walk. He's nearly there. He's been crawling and associating himself and identifying, I think, as a dog, because he is on all fours—he's not as hairy as them, but he goes and cuddles them and sleeps on their bed, and he absolutely loves their water bowl, which is the most challenging thing. Parenthood has been fantastic, no matter how much someone prepares you for it or tells you how great it is. It's one of those things that words can't fully explain what it unlocks in you. My dogs are my children, in one format, so I feel like Inigo is really just an addition to an existing family—as opposed to our first child.
Our routines have adjusted slightly and or have changed, but the dogs have loved it, and I was really careful to make sure that I didn't thrust Inigo into their life, that it was this adjustment—they got used to him. Like I would if I was introducing a new dog into the pack, you do it slowly and you do it over time and you let them find their place. Inigo certainly has found his place and they've accepted him.
The memoir ends with Ella's death and the birth of Inigo. Why did it feel right to end your story there?
It was that wonderfully fitting ending: with loss, you often gain something. Ella had a great life. She was 15, it was her time. Grief is a challenging thing. There is no defined way of grieving for someone or something. For me, I find it is more challenging to understand grief in the format of losing a dog than it is that of a human, because I think you can have a conversation with others about that individual and you can share different relationships with different people. Whereas with a dog, it is such a unique relationship that you have with them that nobody else can really have.
I gained a lot of comfort that I feel like I knew Ella knew that Alizee was pregnant—[dogs] can sniff out cancer, low blood sugar, all sorts. For sure, she knew Alizee was pregnant and lightheartedly, I think she was like, 'I can't deal with another baby. I can't deal with a baby.' So it was like 'I'm out!' But equally, it was that sort of timing of knowing that I would have that opportunity to grieve her loss, but have that excitement of a new chapter of my life. And Ella was with me for—dogs only walk with you for a certain part of your life, and the part that Ella walked with me was such a pivotal point in my life to shape me who I am today. I feel like she put me on that fantastic path and gave me the network and support that I need and tools and confidence to be able to take on this next chapter being a parent.
Was there anything from your childhood that sort of helped you weather that grief, like when you write about losing your grandparents?
I don't think it's comparable because the loss of my grandparents, I was still at school, I was only really just getting to know them. Children are inward facing and then suddenly you become to an adult, you start asking questions, you start learning. I was really just starting to learn how interesting, how wonderful they were.
Obviously having animals over the years and having lost them, I understood that gut wrench when they do move on. Dogs are different, in that sense. I lost Tilly [the Middleton family dog], and that was my first true experience of loss of something that I couldn't share that sense of grief with everyone because it was such a unique relationship that I had. Tilly was a family dog, so she had a relationship with my parents and us collectively, but all the moments that I'd had with Tilly just me and her were mine and hers, and I couldn't compare that. You couldn't chat to somebody else in the study about 'em. When I lost Tilly, I was suffering heavily with my mental health. I was on a fast downward spiral at that time, so perhaps I didn't fully understand it all.
Whereas with Ella, I was in such a place where I could understand it all and I was as present as I could possibly be. I wanted to be with her right up until that last breath—which I was. I feel like I was in a good place when Ella left, and she knew I was too. That was such a blessing because I could then properly understand the loss. I don't really feel like Ella has gone, she's still here [points to his heart], she's still in everything that I do. I think about her and I talk about her pretty much every day. That's not just because of the book, it's just because I will never have another dog like Ella. I wouldn't want one. My relationship with all my dogs is unique and different with each of them. I don't have the same relationship with all of them together.
One of my favorite chapters is when you write about practicing to read that Bible passage at your sister's royal wedding. Looking back 13 years later, what advice would you have given yourself back then?
Share the fact that you're feeling anxious. The more you hold it in, the more... It's like a bacteria. Bacteria doubles and doubles and doubles. It's not the prettiest of explanations, but [anxiety] is this mold [that] grows on your mind and it escalates. And actually, it might not be as bad as you thought. Ironically, the anxiety towards the reading was, in a way, less than my anxiety of just getting outside the front door.
I think if I'd maybe shared more with my family... we preempt too much what an answer might be. But it's a two-way street. We need to make sure that those that you talk to aren't just going to be saying unhelpful things. It's surrounding yourself with that open-mindedness.
I feel like I went on a downward spiral, I did cover too many things up. I didn't share enough. I had a close-knit family, but they were the hardest to actually chat to—perhaps because they did know me so well, but I was still trying to figure me out and understand myself. I thought I knew who I was, but I was jumping the hoops that other people have set out for you, rather than jumping hoops that led me on. So I sort of lost that sense of identity to myself.
How can families best support someone that is struggling with their mental health?
Openness, always. It is challenging because it needs to be interpreted correctly. Sometimes the words that you say don't necessarily represent exactly how you feel, but you're trying to find out how you do feel. Listening, from family members, is really important. For me sharing inside the family home or in close quarters with friends, is a challenge. So, it's finding a mutual place. It might be a bench in a park—there's no distractions, like the phone ringing or the postman coming, that sort of interruption that home environments have. But also you can start and stop. Whereas if you're at home, you're then going to go and sit down and have dinner together. So I think finding a mutual place to be able to have a conversation and having a start and a stop and setting the ground rules in a way of saying, 'look, I want to share something. I don't need you to say anything I want you to understand. You might not understand, but I didn't understand completely, but maybe we can understand together.'
For me, when I was trying to explain ADD well, I couldn't, but I found a book— well, my therapist found a book that did. And so I bought multiple copies and gave it to multiple people within the family and felt like that helped them understand me a little bit more.
What are you looking forward to about the rest of the year post publication?
I love this time of year, a huge fan of autumn, seeing summer closing up and the coziness that is on the horizon. By January, I'm done. I think January to March is always a struggle, but I enjoy this time of year. It is always very scary, and more so this year, how very quickly it's gone—with Inigo and the book being out.
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