One Foot in Front of the Other

I'm sitting, alone, in a coffee shop in a food shop, just watching the world go by and processing things.  Once upon a time my anxiety would have prevented me from doing this,  so the fact I drove here - alone - am sitting - alone - is a huge achievement.  I know all things are a journey.

Between you and I I've been somewhat of a crazy obsessed lady lately, it's all been internalised but I've been...target fixated for want of a better phrase.  I lost a baby a few months ago and as you would expect it's been a defining moment for me.  It was a planned pregnancy but neither L and I expected to fall so quickly, so it wasn't really a surprise when I handed him the test and burst into tears.  I could say a dozen things about timings, fears and muted joy but none of that matters, not really, not now.

I can be really good at hiding from the truth and despite learning that this is never possible (Freud had to be right about something) I still do it.  I have this deep inner self-doubt, this childish thing of running away when things get too emotionally intense and I panic.  A voice in my head tells me 'I can't do this, I don't love you enough for this' and then I spiral out of control as panic, fear and self-doubt vie for dominance.  Three snakes twinning themselves about my heart, my head and my confidence.

The moment that test turned positive I told myself I didn't want the baby.  I was going to be a terrible mother, I already had a bad relationship with my body and body image, I was going to suffer with postnatal depression, I wasn't going to cope, I wasn't going to bond with it, and it was going to drastically change mine and L's relationship.  Between that and getting a new job, in which I was going to have to tell my boss more or less as soon as the ink was dry on my contract, that I was pregnant, I felt some sense of relief when I lost it.  At least I thought I did.

I don't know where I am on the losing the baby-getting pregnant again thing.  I just know that I've become obsessed with buying pregnancy tests, checking when I might be fertile, putting our sex life under the microscope, checking if I were to fall now when my due date would be, buying new clothes and checking that I can get some maternity wear out of them, and feeling frustrated that I have an irregular cycle (suspected PCOS).  This is the point in which I would usually inject a bit of humour, like telling myself I need a hobby, to defuse the situation and take some of the intense emotions out of it.  But I'm coming empty.

Taking my unhinged hormones out of the equation I really don't know where I am on... all of this.  I just know that I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and eventually, eventually, I will arrive at wherever I am meant to be.

Therapist

I'm a big fan of nature and exercise being a natural antidepressant.

This, this here is my therapist....

The road of 2017 has been tough so far, so very tough.  I've been on my knees sobbing more times than I can bear to think about.

I've had days when anger and frustration have taken over me, days when I'm consumed by grief and bitterness, days when I just don't want to 'people' and days when the voice in my head Just. Won't. Shut. Up.

It's a lot to carry even for my broad shoulders.

I do my best to be a functioning adult, but there are moments so dark I can feel myself sinking further, so I lock myself away with my therapist until I can face the world again.  Sometimes it's 20 minutes, sometimes it's an hour and other times I'm coming back day-after-day-after-day, muscles sore and cramping, knuckles and elbows skinned but I am there.  Each punch is an inarticulate emotion, a thought, a fear, a release.  Each kick is a wordless shout to be understood.

I will keep being there.

What If....

Just when I think I'm over losing our baby something comes along that is like being sucker punched in the stomach.
Whoosh that friend has the same due date as you.
I can't breathe.
I can't regain my balance.
I can't process all the emotions.

The strangest thing is I knew before the Drs confirmed it that I was losing baby.
On the fifth day of spotting I cried all day.
I made all kinds of promises to be the best, most loving mother ever, if only I didn't lose it.

The week I waited for another scan to confirm I'd had a missed miscarriage was torture in ways it's hard to talk about.
I didn't need a scan. I knew.
I felt such guilt at the thought it was probably for the best because I was about to start a new job and dreaded telling my boss, L and I rowed about things I can't even remember and Gramps had just been diagnosed with cancer.
I wondered if I had even wanted it in the first place.

Now L wants to try again and I don't know if I do.
What if I'm not mentally fit to be a mum?
What if can't love it?
What if I lose another?

An open letter to that friend who flirts with my husband....

Dear friend who flirts with my husband,

I thought long and hard about writing you this letter, my first instinct was to make it very clear – verbally – that you were in danger of having two black eyes and a broken nose, but I reigned in my primal need to assert my superiority and thought this means of communicating would be less dramatic.

Here’s the thing, as a woman approaching her 40^th birthday I understand all too well how life and societal pressure has this endearing way of striping you of your self-esteem and confidence, and replacing it with a sense of your decaying beauty, of your rapidly diminishing worth.  Obviously the feminist in me wishes to declare from the top of my soap box that my sense of worth isn’t measured in how youthful I still look, if I can pass the pencil test and if I can still be ID for alcohol.  However, that feminist still wears a push up bra, can still pass the pencil test, will glow heavenly from being asked for ID and loves a turned head, so good luck convincing her she’s an confident, intelligent and sophisticated woman who has nothing to prove.  That said, I get it, I truly do. 

Now, that I’ve got that nicety out of the way and reminded you that we’re not so different and definitely not in competition with each, let me remind you of something else; we’re friends and have been for a very long time,.  Sheesh, we’ve got each other through more rough patches than I can remember and more than that we have shared far more happy memories than trying ones.  That’s an achievement in itself.  In light of that, it is not okay for you to flirt with my husband and it’s definitely not okay for you to insist with pride that you are a part of our marriage.  You aren’t and won’t ever be.  I’ll explain why, because it is wrong.  We are married and that is sacrosanct, what I share with my husband is separate to what I share with you just as it should be.  We make decisions and go through things that only we can get each other through, that isn’t a criticism of you – just the natural order of the way things are.  No more and no less.  Some things are private and are meant to be kept within the sanctity of marriage. 

It is wrong for you to use him as a boost to your flagging confidence and self-esteem, it is disrespectful of our long standing friendship, and it is entirely unnecessary.  You are a beautiful, courageous, ambitious and immensely talented strong woman, any man would be lucky to have you on his arm and many women want to be you.  Why don’t you believe that?  What has happened that you feel the need to flirt with your friends’ husbands to make you feel needed and wanted?  Why haven’t you talked to me about it?

I guess ultimately we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t in some way feel threatened by you, if I didn't feel like I was in danger of losing my marriage.  History has shown both of us how the laws of attraction work, how intense situations induce intense emotions and by default, connections.  This is how it starts, first, it is harmless banter, then the exchange of wit and retorts give rise to enjoyment in the attention, it is thrilling.  It is so thrilling that it becomes actively sought and because that initial thrill can't be replicated the exchanges become more risqué, this leads to attraction and finally, the attraction becomes so intense it is harder and harder to ignore.  I know how it works.

So now I pose the question – is this what you had in mind when you started the flirting?  Is this what you predicted would happen?  There’s that line in Love Actually where Emma Thompson asks Alan, “Would you wait around to find out if it's just a necklace, or if it's sex and a necklace, or if worst of all it's a necklace and love? Would you stay, knowing life would always be a little bit worse? Or would you cut and run?”  Obviously we’re not talking necklaces here but still, would you sit on the fence while I flirted with your husband, be him your ex, waiting to see how far it could go or would you nip it in the bud?  Would you have this conversation with me were our places reversed?  Would you?

The truth is I need you in my life, I want you in my life and I have done for a long time but you’re in danger of crossing a line that isn’t negotiable.  So, where do we go from here?  You tell me.

Love you, love me x

2017 is all Heart

I can't sleep.
L is away for work and I'm home alone.
I've eaten my body weight in junk, not because he's away but because my mind won't settle.
I'm being investigated for a hereditary heart condition and during the start my Dr found I have a heart murmur.
Last week the surgery called to request I book an appointment with my Dr as he wants to discuss blood test results with me.  I've done that for two weeks time.
Today I went for a scan because of the heart murmur the Dr found and to investigate the heredity part, the cardiologist told me I've a leak in one of my heart valves.

I can't process it.
I know I need to wait to discuss the results with my Dr but I just can't process it other than to think 2017 you're all heart.

What Next?

I'm on automatic, sleep has gone out of the window and I'm largely living for those quiet moments in which I can be unguarded and just stop.

It is only May and while 2016 saw the celebrity world decimated with loss it seems 2017 is being personal.  A year for growth?  I don't know, I can't tell, I'm .....numb, just mechanically getting through the days whilst unconsciously bracing for the next event.

2 heart attacks
3 heart surgeries
A house move
Numerous job interviews
A new job
A miscarriage
Investigations into a hereditary heart condition
Suspected stress induced stomach compliant
Stage 4 stomach cancer

Always a internaliser, always able to find the right word to describe a feeling, a situation....I am suddenly without words, without the desire and vocabulary to recognise this.... Period? Situation? Experience?  No words, no labels, no impetuous...just numb in what next?

Two Air Masses

Sometimes it's like I was never pregnant.  My body has long since returned to its pre-pregnancy state and as shocking as this may sound there are even days when I forget I was an expectant mother.  Then there are days when knowing I was and am no longer expecting are my only reality.

Yesterday was Mother's Day in the UK.  Oh.

I didn't expect it to be a hard day to get through.
I didn't expect to want to go to bed on Saturday and get up again Monday.
I didn't expect my moods to be such a tumultuous affair.

I was only 9 weeks and 4 days pregnant when we learnt I'd lost it and it was only measuring 0.4m, what it should be around 5 weeks.  Technically it was a cluster of cells, not yet a foetus and not a baby.  I guess knowing this made me believe or convince myself that I hadn't had time to get excited, that not being able to wait until we could buy a few baby outfits wasn't a thing for me.  It was.

I didn't tell L but I checked the baby app to see how it was developing and what stage it was at more or less every day, and I certainly didn't mention I waited eagerly for our 12 week scan to see it for the first time.

*sigh*

All I can do is, once again as I have before during difficult times, remind myself these feelings aren't going to last forever. This is a period of transition and I should think of it like turbulence on a plane: travelling through the collision of two air masses.