Just The Way I’m Feeling

So, today I am 15+4 wks pregnant, and I have to say, I have felt mighty smug up until recently. I’ve had no morning sickness, no nausea or indigestion, I haven’t craved anything I don’t already like, and I am loving the novelty of having huge boobs.

But lately I have noticed a bit of a shift in my moods, I think the pregnancy hormones have found me, and decided that I am a great venue for a huge chaotic call the police kind of party. I don’t know what the fuck is going on up there, but its proving a bumpy ride.

First incident happened a little while ago now, I was out for a walk at lunchtime, I work in London so it’s always super busy. I know this, and I am regularly cut across by someone transfixed by their phone, or nearly tripped over by tourists. On this particular day I was hot, and already felt a little ‘prickly’. So I’m going about my business, when I am shoulder barged from behind by a city boy, mid 20’s, expensive suit, perfect hair. He gave me a very half hearted “sorry” as he glanced ever so slightly back over his shoulder. “You’re not sorry, you’re a C” was my unrehearsed and mortifying reply. Now I’m not going to finish the word, but it’s not pretty. He looked back at me very sheepishly and scuttled off, while I walked along slightly dumbfounded at what had just popped out of my mouth. I have very little in the way of a filter anyway, and pregnancy has ensured whatever was remaining has well and truly been stripped away.

Moving on to incident two on the roll call of shame. It was a week or so ago. It had been a warm evening and we’d had the back door open, when I went to shut it I noticed something on the step of the door, in the darkness I assumed it was a leaf. However I rapidly realised my error when I shut the door and heard a crunch. It was a snail, now if you’ve read my ‘about’ page, you’ll know I’m quite fond of snails, I actively try to avoid stepping on them when out walking, I rescue and relocate them if there is any gardening going on, dare I say it I even think they’re a bit cute. So on hearing that crunch I panicked. Full of guilt I wandered into the front room with tear-filled eyes.

Husband “Oh my god what’s happened”

Me (all choked up)“I crushed a snail in the back door”

Husband “Seriously? I thought something was wrong with the baby; get some perspective for fuck sake”

Me (now on verge of meltdown) “but you know how much I love snails”

There was no sympathy there, none, and quite rightly so, it was a monumental overreaction.

Next up, an incident last Wednesday evening, hubby and I were chatting about this and that, and he mentioned that when he’d been to get petrol he had been properly “checked out” by a woman, apparently it was very obvious; there was no subtlety there at all. I am aware that my husband is very much your typical “Fittie” and that whenever this has happened before I’ve high-fived myself for being the girl he married – go me! Not so on this occasion. After he told me I went off to my ‘Mummy Fitness’ class and I knew it was playing on my mind, I just didn’t feel right. On the way home I felt like something was building, and I knew it was to do with the tramp at the garage…..see what I mean?

So I get in and start pretty much straight away, I wasn’t angry with him at all, but felt unbelievably vulnerable, now that I am bun baking, I have never needed him more in my life, and here’s some bloody harlot who doesn’t know I exist, doesn’t know he is married, having a good old perv at him and I felt so threatened.

None of that is normal behaviour, far, far from it. Those are the main ones so far, I’ve also shouted at a man who turned into a road as I was crossing it, told someone to “hurry up and sit down on the train” and cried at a whole host of adverts, programmes and films including, but not limited to……

Dogs Trust

Lloyds TSB (the one with the horses)

Anything with babies in it

Great British Bake Off (poor Val)

Dog Rescuers

24 Hours in A&E

Dear John

Tangled

Bridget Jones Baby – actually I might let myself have that one.

 

Now I have no idea how long this ‘phase’ will continue, or what will happen next. I also know that there’s nothing I can do about it. I am at the mercy of the little person growing in my tummy who is currently behind the wheel or my heart, mind and of course body. So for any ladies reading this that are pregnant and feeling some of this too, don’t sweat it, take comfort in the fact that there are millions of other pregnant gals out there feeling exactly the same way, ready to lose their rag or blub at the slightest thing. To all the husbands, boyfriends, and significant others, stick with it, speaking for myself I admit that I don’t really know my arse from my elbow at the moment, and I’m guessing that your OH’s are dealing with that too. Hopefully we’ll all be released from this temporary madness in the very near future, in the meantime – we thank you for your patience.

Little Miss Doubtful (LMD)

Her skills are outstanding, if I had a hat (don’t wear them, they really don’t suit me) then I would take it off to her. She is like my mind ninja, stealthily sneaking in unawares and routing around in my head until she finds something to pick a fight with me on. We’ve had many many fights, and she usually wins, but not this time lady, this time I am coming out on top.

I feel like up until fairly recently, as in 3-4 months ago, my life was fairly small. Small is not meant to mean bad, I have a wonderful life, but in terms of who I was, I had pretty much packaged myself up in a nice little box with a very self-explanatory label on the front of it.

That label went something like this…….

37, very happily married, doesn’t like coriander, works in Finance.

I know, I know – great label right? Or perhaps not. All those things are true, and that felt like that’s all I had to say for myself, that’s all I was. Whenever I met new people I knew it was coming, we’d exchange the basic pleasantries and I would feel the tight knot in my stomach, sure enough at some point in those first couple of minutes they would say “so what do you do”……panic stations, I’d know that the conversation was going to end any second and then they’d walk away and find someone else more interesting to talk to. I could always sense the old familiar grimace spread across my face and then IT would be out there. “I work in Finance”. I’d see it straight away; the off sign had come on in the face of the person I was talking to. “Oh that’s nice” they’d say, and then they’d be gone.

I never blamed them of course, and I’m also not saying that everything Finance related is dull. Some people love their careers in the world of money, but not me. However, I seemed to have got to a point where Little Miss Doubtful had made me believe that’s all I was capable of. I couldn’t see beyond the boundaries of the box I had put myself in.

Over the past few months however, work has been done to try and change all of that. Trying to break through an iron clad mind-set that is years old is a tricky business, but it is possible, if you just open yourself up to it.

For instance, I have known for a long time that there must be ‘something else’ it’s just that little voice couldn’t or wouldn’t speak up and be brave about it. I’d sit on the train thinking how lovely it would be to do something creative, to do something that meant something, that might even help someone. I’d think this and then like always my friend LMD would waltz in, laugh in my face, and send me hurtling back to furious FB scrolling to distract myself from my own misery. This happened for a long time. But then, I started doing the work, started to really explore my mind and where it wanted to take me, and slowly but surely, I starting to ignore my little doubting ninja, she started to lose her grip on me.

You are reading this because I finally started my blog, the desire to write was greater than the need to hide away. Everyone has a tipping point, and I had well and truly reached mine. I’m also retraining to become a Life Coach, because I know I want to do something that makes a difference. I don’t believe that I was made to sit at a desk and toe the line, I was made for more than that, maybe I’ve been made for greater things than I can imagine, who knows. When my first post went out I received some really great feedback. The standout comment to me was from a lady I have never met, and probably never will meet. She was a pair of eyes on that page and she was moved by what she read. I had helped her, for five years she had struggled with a similar issue, and my honest, unedited post had helped her, and it felt wonderful. I had no agenda, I just wrote from the heart and that was her reaction. I felt like I had made a contribution.

I’ll continue to blog, I love it so much. I know it takes time to get traction on these things but I will keep going, who knows what a few ‘likes’ and ‘shares’ on social media will do? I believe in what I’m writing and I believe there is an audience for it. So now my label has an add-on ‘Blog Writer, and Star Changer’ because that’s who I am, and that’s what I am going to do. LMD isn’t going to stop me ever again, although I shall continue to respect her. Little Miss Braveheart is here now instead, and she is mighty.

The Parent Trap

We always think our parents know it all don’t we? When we are small we look at them in awe and wonder about the way they are handling the world, assuming that because they are adults, never mind parents, they will have their shit well and truly together.

That’s what children really want, not endless toys and sweets, but love, encouragement and guidance from the two people that created them. Parents aren’t gifted a manual to be parents, and children don’t get one to help them find their feet either. Instead they look up, look up at the faces of their protectors, their providers, to give them all the answers.

But what happens when those parents don’t have the answers? What then? My parents divorced when I was 6 years old. They were both 36 when that happened. That’s a whole year younger than I am now, and confession time…..I definitely don’t have my shit together. I’ve talked a lot about my parents with my coach. About how they let me down, how those fundamental things I needed were sorely lacking, and I have felt angry, with both of them. Angry with my Dad for being absent for so much of my life, and in my eyes being inconceivably selfish, and angry at my Mum for not being stronger with her future choice of partner and for not standing up for herself, or for me whenever he decided I had done something wrong.

Over my coaching sessions I have explored these feelings of anger, and had the sad realisation that this particular emotion, this particular feeling had made me as an individual bitter and toxic. By looking back into the past and having those difficult conversations with my coach I have moved forward to a place where I view the situation in a different light.

My Dad was my hero, I’m sure the same can be said of most little girls. When the spilt happened the bottom dropped out of my world, but I still had him in my life. However, as the years rolled past and he went from one relationship to another, the bonds between us weakened, in fact I would say they snapped completely. I didn’t know him anymore, I still don’t. I couldn’t understand why, in my eyes, he didn’t want me around. My Dad has openly admitted he has ‘been pretty shit’ at Dadding (totally a word) and yet, that’s never been good enough for me. For years I wanted a grand gesture, a moment of revelation from him where he would realise that I was the most important thing in his life, get down on his knees and beg forgiveness for the pain and damage caused.

My Mum was my motivator, she stayed at home with me until I was 3 years old, but prior to that time and forever after, she always worked, always made me aware that you can’t rely on anyone else to look after you financially. That is something that has stayed with me ever since I can remember; the thought of being ‘looked after’ by a man was abhorrent to me. I am getting better though; the passing of enough time and the love of a good husband can do wonders for a girl. I was always cross with her though, cross that she had no voice, cross that she went on to marry a bully, and stayed married to him for 20 years. Why was she weak?

The questions that I have for them will remain unanswered, not because I am afraid to sit them in the glaring spotlight and demand to know WHY, but because I don’t need to know anymore. I’m done with it, done with holding on to the pain and disappointment, and I’m done with punishing them for not being perfect. I don’t want to walk round with the weight of something that happened 30 years ago on my shoulders. There is one truth in all of this, my parents are just human, they are real people who fuck up, make mistakes, say or do the wrong thing……just like I do, just like we all do, on a regular basis. When I was young and their marriage was breaking down I didn’t feel loved by them, even though I was loved. Because they were busy desperately trying to figure out what the fuck to do, they didn’t have the answers.

I sent my Dad a card today, that one action from me has started us on the path to reconnection. I haven’t seen him since I got married over 2 years ago, and honestly, I’ve liked the distance. It makes it easier not to deal with something when it’s not staring you in the face. I was scared of sending that card, partly because he could ignore it, but mainly because he might not. He might pick up the phone, we might have a conversation and where could that lead? I could have kept waiting, I could have waited until the possibility for me to wait any longer had been taken from me, and I guess that’s what frightened me the most. There was never going to be a right time, but with the work I’ve done with my coach has come a level of maturity I didn’t know I had, and I now see him through eyes that aren’t angry anymore.

This post isn’t about slating my rents, far from it, but it is about me finally finding the ability to open up my narrow childlike view of them, and see them for who they are, warts and all.

We generally don’t know our parents as anything other than parents, we are unaware of the anxieties that may have crippled them before we came along, and of the heartache they may have endured over the years. We weren’t there to see the way they looked up to their parents, and what they saw. We don’t necessarily know the dreams they had for themselves, and the sacrifices they had to make along the way. We see them in their role and that’s it, almost like they aren’t mere mortals at all. They should be above all that normal stuff, they’re super heroes right? Except they’re not, they’re not even close. They are simply just Mum & Dad.

 

Not That Special

During my life coaching session a couple of weeks ago, I was referred to as a special Snowflake. Now we know that all snowflakes are unique, just the other  week Prof Brian Cox was telling us that on the Beeb. We too are all unique, but are we all that special?

I’m not taking about “look at me I’m the dogs danglies” kind of special, but the “I need to make everything right” kind of special.

Of course I need to put this into context. The subject we were talking about was ‘how to cheer people up when they are feeling down’ Now I am obsessed with this. I am what’s known as a ‘fixer’ I don’t want people to be down/sad/miserable *delete as applicable* I don’t think anyone does really. But what drives people like me to try and fix others? Is it to help our loved one(s), or to help ourselves?

The title of ‘Fixer’ however, isn’t valid. As nobody needs fixing, nobody is broken…..I have literally stolen that sentence of out my lovely coaches mouth. But its true, it might well be my favourite Coldplay song, but “Fix You” is a fallacy. I had never realised this before, perhaps because I have used the term ‘broken’ to describe myself in years gone by, and nobody has called me out on it.

To see people struggling makes me hugely uncomfortable, and in that sentence lies a truth I had never realised about myself in my 37 years. I’m making other people’s problems my own. I don’t like them being in any form of ‘negative’ mood because it makes ME feel bad.

But so what, this is their stuff, not mine. I have zero rights to try and get anyone to ‘cheer up’ it’s not my place, and by making it my business, I just make the whole situation worse.

This all stems from a somewhat dysfunctional childhood, where many of the fundamental things that I needed, were not supplied. That’s a blog for another day, actually that’s probably about 17 blogs worth………..

When I was little my parents didn’t argue EVER…..nor, now that I think of it, did they ever seem happy either, but I digress. They never rowed, and when they did finally fight (so that I was aware of it) they ended up divorcing, and everything turned to shit for me, for a very long time. Ergo arguing = fucking bad times. So ever since then I have been hugely anxious in any kind of negative situation. This has led me to make many a poor life choice along the way (Oooh more material)

My husband is a wonderful man, he is my best friend and we laugh every day, he’s the coolest person to spend time with, but man alive, he can be a moody shit too. We have been together nearly 5 years now, and I am only just, and I mean literally in the last week or so, learning how to deal with that without making it about me.

Invariably the conversation between us will go something like this

Me: Are you okay babe?

Him: Not really, don’t know what’s up though

Me: Is it work/money? Are you tired/ill/hungry?

Now in my defence I should say at this point the man does get massively hangry and tired, and many a mood has been rectified by a nap followed by some peanut butter bagel, or a slice of fruitcake. What I’m saying is, he’s really a bear.

Anyway, back to our ‘discussion……

Him: No, it’s none of those, I just, dunno

Now I start to change, as this lack of explanation is unacceptable, I’ve listed all the obvious reasons, which leads me to one shining conclusion….IT MUST BE ME!! After that I can no longer communicate verbally, instead I take on the persona of a Labrador puppy. I cock my head to one side, and give him the biggest saddest puppy dog eyes you can imagine, whilst also making odd whimpering noises (so attractive) I do refrain from sniffing his crotch, or weeing in his shoes, but we may only be one ‘mood’ away from that.

This is textbook Special Snowflake behaviour, I don’t actually have that particular text book, or know if it exists, but I am pretty sure that’s a damn fine example of acting like one.

Now, isn’t that a totally ridiculous way to behave? My husband is in a bad mood, so I should just let him be in a bad mood, and the fact that I can’t, or previously haven’t been able to says a lot more about me than it does about him. I consider myself to be a fairly level-headed, rational person. But in those moments, all that disappears, in my head there are sirens going off, flashing warning lights and a tannoy shouting “Danger, danger, you must fix this or shit is going down”

In case you are wondering, yes I do realise as I am typing this how pathetic I sound. The problem is this, this behaviour is almost as old as me, my parents parted ways acrimoniously when I was 6, and that seed of “It must be me” has been in my head ever since. I shudder to think how many occasions in my life I have acted this way, and not just with my husband, its friends, family, work colleagues etc.

What’s wonderful is the realisation that I now acknowledge this, my thought patterns surrounding this are changing. I’m not saying I’ll never go all Andrex on him again, but something is definitely shifting. Who else out there reading this exhibits the same behaviour? I know I’m not alone.

He has, as we all do, every right to have a ‘down’ day, to want to come home and kick the cat, put on our fat pants and sulk…and we don’t even need a reason, its just one of those things. The people around us, can’t make it better. Only the person going through it can do that.

It’s a hugely liberating thing for me, embracing my flaws, of which there are many. I love it, I’ve been in coaching for two months, and so much has changed already. It’s a cliché to say it but I feel so different to the person I was at the start of June. Its also made me aware that I want to do it too, I want to coach, to help people shift their shit. If I could help to get someone feeling as awesome as I do right now, that would be amazing. Feeling like you are a record on repeat is a horrible thing, a waste of time. However, it turns out you can teach an old dog, or in this case a Labrador puppy, new tricks.

 

Ode to Squash

So, I wasn’t best pleased with my first blog post. I rushed it, I didn’t think it through, but I needed to get something out there. I could erase it, but I’ve decided to leave it be. It’ll sit there as the reminder of me taking that first step.

It’s got me thinking though, about the sort of blog I want to cultivate and grow here. I’m not a fashion/beauty/food blogger……I don’t really care about the first two, and as for food, all I want to do is eat it, writing would simply slow that process down.

What I want to write about is the real stuff, the mess that makes me who I am, and us who we are. Those things that whisper to us, and that we ignore until they slap us in the face. Those life moments that thrill us, and those that leave us crushed. The day to day grind that wears us down, and the unexpected Monday morning miracles the lift us up.

I am an emotional being, so all I can do is write from the heart. With that in mind, and now that I have waffled on, I’ll get cracking with the actual blog post.

Warning – to any male readers, this post is filled with lady jargon, but I hope you’ll stick with it.

Tuesday 22rd March, my period’s late (yep, there’s the one of the P word’s that nobody likes) My period is never late. It’s our second month of trying for a baby, surely I can’t be pregnant already, I’m 36 – this is supposed to take months. I do a test. That’s a big fat negative. Okay I’ll give it a day or two, still nothing. Eat, sleep, repeat for the next 10 days. Chuck in a call to my Doctor, who decides over the phone that I am not pregnant (moron)

Finally Saturday 2nd April arrives. I’m laid in bed awake at 6am because that’s the glorious life of a commuter’s body clock. Husband is snoring quietly beside me. “Fuck this shit, this is ridiculous” I grab my last pregnancy test and head for the loo. What seems like an eternity later, there it is. A positive result. Holy shit bags this is massive! By this time Chris has woken up, I’m trying to think of cool and clever ways to tell him. However, as I was sadly lacking in time to check Pinterest for fabulous ideas, I decided that jigging around on the spot naked with a massive grin on my face would have to suffice.

We are both staring in wonder at this wee covered stick, telling us that, yes indeed, there is a bun in our oven. Huzzah and hurrah, lots of crying (him), hugging and hysterical giggling ensues. We can’t quite believe it. We’ve made a person.

Both of us are hugely impatient people…..

Me: Should we tell anyone yet?

Chris: No, let’s leave it

Chris: (3 seconds later) perhaps we should tell our Mums

Me: Okay, and maybe our absolute closest friends too

Chris: Agreed, shall we go to Mum’s now.

Me: It’s still only 6:30am

So over the next few days we divulge our wonderful secret to those people we love most, one of our reasons for doing that was in case anything went wrong and we needed some support (not that it was going to of course) We read books about becoming parents, we start talking to my belly. I know a lot of couples give their ‘baking buns’ names at this point. We chose Squash, I have no idea why, it just popped into my head and I loved it.

A week after we found out, we went and climbed Snowdon with some dear friends of ours. Chris had gone on ahead of us on the way up (he’s massively long legged) and when my friend Louise and I stopped to rest I saw a text from him saying “We’re going to be parents, I love you” Climbing that mountain was amazing, and we both genuinely felt on top of the world up there. It was all still to come, we were both imagining this little person, praying that they weren’t going to get my forehead or his nose….I’m not kidding! But that they would be funny, quirky, determined, kind and brave whatever they looked like.

Wednesday 13th April, I’m at work, I’m feeling pretty good. A bit tired and I have a severe hankering for all things sugar, but that’s it. This was easy, what were all these other women moaning about?

10:50am, I went to the loo……pink, a lot of pink……that’s not right. I took a few deep breaths and tried to remind myself that this can be very normal in early pregnancy, it was probably nothing. I called the EPU (Early Pregnancy Unit) and told them what was happening. They don’t seem concerned but say they’ll book me in for a scan on the Thursday afternoon.

Okay, no worries, back to work I go, but I couldn’t think of anything else. I asked for five minutes with my boss, I spilt the beans, way earlier than I had intended to. She was fabulous, and instructed me to go home immediately and chill out until Friday morning. So, with much protest I headed home. I mooched about the house for the afternoon; busying myself with nothing, watching Sex And The City (please don’t judge) and of course, eating peanut butter from the jar with a spoon.

When Chris arrived home I was still bleeding, I needed to get out of the house, so we went out for a walk and ended up at Pizza Express for dinner, at this point we were still full of optimism, still talking openly about our little human. After a belly full of food we decided an early night was the best option, that way the scan would get there quicker.

I couldn’t sleep though, my anxiety went into overdrive, my heart was racing and my mind was playing that worst case scenario again and again, then about midnight, the pain started. Oh that pain, I have never known anything like it. I’ve been having periods a long time, but this was far worse than that. I tried to ignore it. While Chris dreamt (hopefully) peacefully beside me, I curled myself up into a ball and sobbed. I couldn’t admit to myself what was happening, but I knew……I just knew. I got up and went to the bathroom, blood everywhere. I did my best not to let my legs go from underneath me and crawled back to the bedroom.

That moment, that single moment of having to wake Chris up from his dream to our actual nightmare was one of the worst of my life. He was amazing though, while I crumpled, he got his shit together, held my hand and told me we’d be okay. I rang the hospital and they told me to come in. The cramps were excruciating, and I felt so weak. We got to the hospital in the early hours of the morning. I had an examination, at which point the Doctor told me she was optimistic, looking back I don’t see how that was possible. She very kindly, allowed me to stay there for the night, they gave me a bed and told me to get some sleep, but they didn’t give me any painkillers, so, while Chris slept in the car, I lay there in the darkness, quietly saying “I’m sorry” over and over knowing deep down that I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

At 8:30am I was scanned…….

Doctor: How far along are you?

Me: We think about 7 weeks

Doctor: Hmmm, well what I’m seeing on this scan isn’t 7 weeks.

Me: What does that mean?

Doctor: I’m not sure, but we would expect to see certain things by now and they aren’t there.

…….eternal silence

Doctor: I’m sorry

We go back to the ward, close the curtains and sob. A few minutes later some other Doctors arrive, they then raise our hopes by saying that at this stage in their development “babies can be very naughty” I tried to get my head around that complicated medical jargon, and let the message sink in…..there was still hope.

We were sent home, and I was told to go back on the Friday morning for a blood test, if my HCG levels had doubled then there was still a viable pregnancy. If they had dropped, then we had confirmation that Squash was gone.

Talk about watching paint dry, time slowed down to a crawl. The pain and bleeding continued, I felt like I’d been knocked for six, I didn’t sleep much, I ate lots, my mood swung from pits of despair to worryingly spritely. When Friday morning came around I drove to the hospital feeling frantic, I wanted to be first to get the blood test done, the quicker that sharp scratch came, the quicker we would know our fate. All day I waited, Chris was working, I didn’t blame him at all for wanting to keep busy, the best I could muster was watching a selection of the worlds worst movies (I don’t know why this acceptable when you’re not well)

When he arrived home at 4:30 I still hadn’t heard anything, but at some point during that day, I had squared it away with myself, I knew what was coming, I just needed someone to actually say it to me. Chris still seemed to be hanging onto hope by a thread. The phone rang about 5pm

Generic person on phone: Hello is that Rachel

Me: Yes it is, thank you for calling

GPOP: Sorry its taken so long, they were particularly busy in the lab today.

Me: Oh, its no problem at all *lying my arse off*

GPOP: I’m afraid your HCG levels have dropped, which means you have definitely had a miscarriage.

Me: Okay, thank you (wtf) I appreciate you letting me know.

GPOP: I’m really sorry

Me: Oh no really its fine, thanks anyway, bye

FFS – Talk about stiff upper lip!

And then it was time, it was time to tell my beautiful, wonderful husband that we were no longer going to be parents. He fell into my arms and sobbed, proper heaving, gasping sobs, like there just wasn’t enough air in the world for him. I have never felt so helpless, or so fucking useless. This had crushed him, and for a while the light in his eyes really did look different.

The both of us felt as though we had failed, which is ludicrous, but I guess by nature, we have to assign blame to something. I felt my body had let all three of us down, I must have done something wrong, either in the previous seven weeks, or somewhen in years gone by. Of course, in basic terms my body did exactly what it’s supposed to and there was no stopping it. But right there, when you know that the little life you both started has ground to a halt, there must be a reason. It can’t just be happening.

I try to look back at the days that followed but its all a blur, I was asked just yesterday how I felt about it, and I couldn’t say anything. I attach emotion to everything, I cry at adverts for crying out loud. But this, this deep cut that had torn at both of us and left us scarred, was something that I couldn’t attach anything to. In amongst the physical pain I had being going through for days, had all my emotional grief flowed out of me too? Have I locked it away for future reference, and at some really bloody inconvenient moment down the road will it pop up and say “Hey there, time for you to deal with me now”?

Now, we are 3 months post miscarriage, Doctors aren’t bothered at this stage “You’ve only had one” they say. Oh, well that’s okay then, I look forward to going through that joyful experience again and again before you do anything! However, we are hopeful. Neither of us are religious, but we do both have faith that we will get there. We choose to believe that we are destined to be parents. The current NHS system for dealing with this maddens me, but more than that has been the reaction of people around around us.

First of all, a miscarriage happens to both of the parents, but people (generally) only think of the mother. But what about the father? The man who had had to watch his partner go through something horrendous without being able to intervene. The man who has to stay strong regardless of the fact that he too has suffered a bereavement.

It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s not an easy thing to talk about, but I guess we’ve both felt awkward trying to get across to others how we feel. I’m not moaning about a lack of support, our friends were really good to us, but the conversations still felt stilted, and with my family in particular it has been super weird (sorry for chucking ‘super’ in there, I’ve been listening to a lot of American podcasts) anyway, it’s been really strange. I guess the problem is this. When someone passes away, the people that knew that someone are sad because they miss the physical presence of that person. They laughed with them, argued with them, made personal memories with them, they shared history. They mourn that they could walk the earth and never find that person again, they have to come to terms with the fact that said “someone” has gone.

With a miscarriage nobody but the parents can relate to the loss. They just don’t get it, and they don’t want to. Nobody wants to think about it, it’s not nice, and therefore, it makes it such a taboo, which it really shouldn’t be. Also, nobody wants to say anything that might lead to a person breaking down and being vulnerable. But, its 2016, and couples are going through this alone every day.

The only group of people that have really checked in with us repeatedly over the months, are those people that have also gone through that particular shit show, and I do totally get that. I hope that nobody in my life has to go through this, but fucking hell I will be there with bells on if it does to help them, however and whenever they need it.

We lost a baby, that’s how we see it. We lost hopes, dreams, aspirations, future memories. We lost chances of that first Christmas, family holidays, blazing rows over potty training…whatever, we lost. We lost the amalgamation of us, of two people who love each other completely, and who wanted to make a person made of them….we lost someone that we never met, but that we loved totally from the moment that blue line appeared.

I guess I wanted to write this as a bit of therapy for myself, but also to put it out there, that this is something that the people who are going through need to talk about, and they need the people around them to try and put their uncomfortableness aside, and just fucking listen. In this day and age it is such a shame that we still ALL have these barriers up. We need to find a way to go to those really hard to reach places and speak our truth. Leave nothing unsaid that could help. They lost someone that can’t be replaced. They really might need to lean on you.

Rachel X

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll Look Back On This Later And Cringe

So, first ever blog post. That’s pretty scary, all of a sudden my head has emptied itself. All the noise and babbling of messed up, confused thoughts that keeps me awake at night, has fallen silent. My primary source of material has let me down.

Brilliant.

Why the fuck does that happen? I mean seriously, I have wanted to start a blog for so long. I’ve drafted a hundred awesome (in my opinion) posts in my mind, but can’t seem to tap into any of them now. Maybe its because I am actually taking a positive step forward for myself, and because I can’t see where I’m going, its all hugely terrifying, so by default, my noggin’s response is to shut down and go whimper in a corner.

Right, well I’ll just type without too much thinking and see what comes out.

Okay, so why do people blog? Why has blogging become such a huge thing in the fairly recent past? What has shifted in our lives so much that millions of us need, want, have to share our thoughts, our lives with the Internet masses?

This is something I am genuinely interested in, I mean, we all have a story to tell, we all have a voice, but it’s not always easy to get it out there in ‘real life’ For me personally, I have a mind that shouts at me in unordered frantic bursts, but lack the self confidence and focus to verbalise it.

Like right now, I’m convinced that anyone who reads this will hate it. Does that matter? I guess not. Does it matter to me? Hell yeah it does!

One of my possible names for my blog was Mind Racer, as that’s what constantly happening, all the time. So, I’m looking at ways to slow everything down, to get my thoughts into a nice orderly queue and stop with all the pushing and shoving.

How exactly I’m going to do this is yet to be discovered. I’ve just started on a journey (for want of a better phrase) to figure this out. For the first time in my life, I am going to be working on my personal development. It makes me feel vulnerable and exposed , but I’m going to try as much as possible, as I think the only way I can do this is to be really OPEN about it. X amount of time down the line, I hope to inspire other people to make a transition in this way, so it would be hypocritical of me not to practice what I preach. It’s an exciting time, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me…..did someone say workshop?