I’m not here to tell you that everything works out and there’s only sunshine and light coming in your life. Although I wish I could, I simply can’t because that’s not how life works.
I know how hard things are right now. I know it seems inconceivable that things might improve, even just a bit. I know you don’t know where to go or what to do. I know you don’t really know who you are right now, I know you don’t recognise the woman in the mirror.
You’re going through so much. The last couple of years have been a lot. At times you’ve joked it’s like living in an episode of Eastenders. Only it was real life, your life, and you felt crushed by the weight of it. I know the thing you’re finding hardest is the way the miscarriages have made you feel. I know that right now you feel broken, useless, worthless. Like this is the one thing you’re ‘supposed’ to be able to do, but you can’t. As if your own body is working against you, betraying you.
I know that you feel guilty for feeling devastated by the losses – I mean, people lose people they know; that’s devastating. How can losing a ball of cells be so devastating?!
Oh, but it is my dear girl, and it’s okay that it is. They were not just balls of cells they were your babies, and it is very possible to miss people you never met. From the moment the lines appeared on those tests you imagined who they’d be and how they’d fit in with our crazy life. A child in mind, is a child full stop. I can tell you now, that grieving them is just as complex as grieving any of the other people you’ve lost. Some days it will hit you like a tonne of bricks and sometimes you’ll be able to go on and carry those bricks with some form of ease. The longer you walk the lighter the load will feel, but we’ve not been able to put the bricks down yet. I don’t know when or if we will.
So, I’m not here to tell you that you now have your rainbow, you don’t. Not yet. We’re within touching distance. There’s a rainbow growing right now. And we’re scared and anxious, obviously. I hope that our rainbow will arrive safe and sound, but as you know, we don’t count our chickens before they hatch… Nothing is guaranteed, but it’s looking hopeful.
So, if I’m not here to tell you that all is rosy, then why am I here?
I need to tell you how proud I am of you.
Read it again. And again. And again. Do you believe it yet? Well try. Because I am.
You have been through some awful things, and I’ve been with you for every single one of them. I was with you when you flushed each of those babies down the toilet. I was with you when you visited A&E bleeding to be told it was most likely a miscarriage & to go home and wait, both times. I was with you when you were shown scans of your empty uterus and empty pregnancy sacs. I was with you when you cried while singing nursery rhymes to your little boy as he fell asleep, wondering how you were going to go on, feeling like you’re failing him because you can’t “pull yourself together”. I was with you as you considered if you could even try again, if the month in month out waiting and disappointment was worth it. I was with you as you feel a failure for not providing your son a sibling. I was with you. I am always with you.
You did all of that, and yes you cried and screamed and wanted the world to stop so you could get off. But you never gave up.
I am so proud because you let yourself feel all the emotions you needed to feel. You sought help from your counsellor, from friends, family and went looking for support from wonderful people on the internet who’ve been through this too. You found a place in the worlds shittest club with some of the worlds’ kindest people. You spoke up about it in the hope’s others might find help if they needed it. You made time for you to heal, you made your healing important and in turn you were better able to support everyone around you.
You’re carrying on too, despite how ill you’ve been with this current pregnancy.
You will be told by a friend soon that being grateful and being happy are not mutually exclusive and this will be your lightbulb moment.
Yes, the twice daily vomiting, constant nausea, Pelvic Girdle Pain, exhaustion, anxiety about losing the baby and heartburn are miserable, and you’re allowed to feel miserable about it. It doesn’t make you any less grateful for the baby you’re growing.
This hasn’t been easy, it’s been a tough road, with deaths in the family and global pandemics throwing everything for six, but you’ve done it and you’ll carry on doing it. All with a level of grace you never knew you had. You will stumble, there will be bad days ahead, but you will never give up.
If you learn nothing else from this experience, let it be that you are so much stronger than you ever give yourself credit for. That you are a force to be reckoned with. You are emotional, yes. But with that emotion comes a wealth of strength. Embrace yourself. You deserve love.
You are worthy. You are brave. You are strong. You are enough.
I am so proud of you.
All my love, always,