A few weeks ago I hit the wall. Not literally. But I had to go down that well trodden path which starts with feeling unable to do the things I want to do, feeling like a crappy Mum and wife, just so tired and so frustrated that I start thinking that I am the problem. So I lost it one night. And poor hubby just said he really didn't have it in him to go through having a depressed wife again. And that was terrifying, but also good.
So I went to my GP and asked for a referral to the maternal mental health service again. Because when I am on that horrible slippery slope I feel like I need someone to rescue me. BUT, and this is BIG, my GP looked at my blood tests and said that with B12 that low and anemia, everything I was feeling could all be because of that. So maybe I wasn't going nuts again? Maybe I was normal? Maybe I had a physical problem with a physical solution and it wasn't my silly mind again? Revolutionary! Extraordinary!
So the next day as I waited for my B12 bloods to come back I prayed that it would be low, really low, and I would be able to have an injection and it wouldn't be about me being a loon, or weak or faulty. It would be a physical problem. And with prayer answered, I was so happy to have that needle in my arm.
Then that weekend I saw my midwife who listened so empathetically and told me another wonderful thing... Every women she sees at this stage of pregnancy feels like they can't cope and are exhausted and cries. It is normal to reach this point. She encouraged me to ask for help and to be kind to myself. So that evening I phoned my parents and told them how tough we were finding things. I think the fear of your child falling apart is pretty powerful and so my parents knew that the practical support they could offer now might be the difference between being ok and or me sinking into depression again just before the baby is born.
So the last few weeks my parents have helped me to do housework and look after Ella so I can nap. And I have been accepting the season I am in and that I need to "nest and rest". I have experienced the most wonderful peace because I am not beating myself up and I know I have help to get things done. And it isn't personal, it is just the way it is when you are me and this pregnant.
I don't think you have to have experienced depression to know the awfulness of blaming yourself when you can't keep up with your own expectations. For me lowering my expectations of myself but asking for help has allowed me to be okay. I really feel for all those who don't have people they can call on for help. But I am so grateful that I do. And I don't care what anybody thinks about my lack of independence or what mothers "should" be able to manage. I am just me and taking care of myself is the best thing I can do right now as I continue to enjoy that I have a physical condition (normal pregnancy) and am not going nuts!
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Monday, 30 April 2012
The terror of exhaustion
I haven't been posting regularly. I have been and still am, exhausted. This is a normal side effect of pregnancy, plus toddler, plus working a couple of days a week. But I really struggle with exhaustion.
Firstly, I am a get things done kinda girl. I like to get up in the morning, have brekkie, check fb and emails and then get the housework done. Nothing major. Washing hung out, kitchen tidy, general tidy up and work out what we are having for dinner. But exhaustion makes that seem like an impossible task. I think about having a shower and know that I will need to lie down afterwards. I look at my daughter and seriously panic about how I am going to look after her all day. The washing and the kitchen are just insurmountable. And dinner? Who knows? So it really gets me down to feel unable to manage my home and my life. Just the little things but the things that make me feel like things are okay.
Secondly, exhaustion feels like depression. For anyone who knows the debilitating lethargy and lack of motivation of depression, then maybe you will understand the terror of exhaustion. It feels depressing. It looks like depression, well at least me and the house look depressed. But I'm not. I am just physically unable to do stuff. And hubby has to pick up the slack. And for him that looks and feels like I am depressed. I am no longer throwing up all day, so what is up with me? Why am I a lump in the corner of the lounge looking desperately in his direction when he walks in the door at the end of the day? Its exhaustion.
Exhaustion can be depressing, but for me it is terrifying because it reminds me constantly of the fragility of mental well being and it challenges me to accept my limitations. I don't want to have limitations. Not when it comes to the basics that I just expect to be able to do and that I actually generally enjoy being able to get done. But thankfully I have some wonderful people around me who remind me that it is what it is. I can get frustrated and stressed about feeling tired, but I will still be tired. So instead it is much wiser to got to bed early every night, do the bare minimum each day and just accept the season. Fear and terror certainly doesn't help and if anything it is good to know that I am actually tired. It is not all in my head, so to speak.
And today I had the energy to write. I have done no housework but there is not much to do. And I choose to write with the energy I have. Because I love doing it and life is to be enjoyed right now, not when I have energy again. I am going to have another baby in less than 3 months so waiting to have energy to burn would be a pretty silly strategy. Anyway, that is another post entirely.
Firstly, I am a get things done kinda girl. I like to get up in the morning, have brekkie, check fb and emails and then get the housework done. Nothing major. Washing hung out, kitchen tidy, general tidy up and work out what we are having for dinner. But exhaustion makes that seem like an impossible task. I think about having a shower and know that I will need to lie down afterwards. I look at my daughter and seriously panic about how I am going to look after her all day. The washing and the kitchen are just insurmountable. And dinner? Who knows? So it really gets me down to feel unable to manage my home and my life. Just the little things but the things that make me feel like things are okay.
Secondly, exhaustion feels like depression. For anyone who knows the debilitating lethargy and lack of motivation of depression, then maybe you will understand the terror of exhaustion. It feels depressing. It looks like depression, well at least me and the house look depressed. But I'm not. I am just physically unable to do stuff. And hubby has to pick up the slack. And for him that looks and feels like I am depressed. I am no longer throwing up all day, so what is up with me? Why am I a lump in the corner of the lounge looking desperately in his direction when he walks in the door at the end of the day? Its exhaustion.
Exhaustion can be depressing, but for me it is terrifying because it reminds me constantly of the fragility of mental well being and it challenges me to accept my limitations. I don't want to have limitations. Not when it comes to the basics that I just expect to be able to do and that I actually generally enjoy being able to get done. But thankfully I have some wonderful people around me who remind me that it is what it is. I can get frustrated and stressed about feeling tired, but I will still be tired. So instead it is much wiser to got to bed early every night, do the bare minimum each day and just accept the season. Fear and terror certainly doesn't help and if anything it is good to know that I am actually tired. It is not all in my head, so to speak.
And today I had the energy to write. I have done no housework but there is not much to do. And I choose to write with the energy I have. Because I love doing it and life is to be enjoyed right now, not when I have energy again. I am going to have another baby in less than 3 months so waiting to have energy to burn would be a pretty silly strategy. Anyway, that is another post entirely.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Planting my feet
Today I had one of those days where I felt buffeted around and like I was scrambling to get a foot hold. It wasn't one major thing but the combination that seemed to have me feeling so at sea, as it were.
First, daylight savings. Gosh that extra hour which just means up an hour earlier with a little girl full of energy, has completely undone me. Add that even going to bed by 7pm wasn't quite cutting it for my busy, baby-growing body and I am a wreck. When I woke this morning I was reminded again that daylight savings takes a week to recover from. So first add tiredness.
Then some lovely news about a friend that triggered a surprising sadness which had me all in a tizzy about why I felt that way and what it meant. I don't like not understanding why I feel the way I do and also know the importance of not letting feelings freak me out. So was busy attending to some "issues" that were being raised.
Then I had a little run in with the corner of the osteopath building and our car. Not nice to hear the screech down the side of the car or to see the look of terror on my daughter's face. Thankfully only mildly cosmetic and definitely not something we will need to spend money on. But as I sat in the car and caught my breath I thought "Having a good cry would actually really help right now". But since Mummy losing it in the front seat was not going to reassure daughter, I took a deep breath and off we went to the osteopath.
By the end of the appointment I was feeling better physically but a bit of a wreck mentally. Apparently my hip was very twisted, and though it has been corrected it looks like something which I will need to keep on top of. I suspect part of the reason I had a difficult labour and c-section with Ella is due to this. I really don't want that again and just felt my confidence drop as I faced what is a big fear for me. Instead of hearing the fact that it can be managed, all I could feel was the sinking feeling that history was repeating. I have been really trying to promote this baby to be a in a good position and the hip issue is something which may get in the way of this. Since I am planning a homebirth (this is an informed decision that hubby and I have made which I may discuss in an upcoming post but is not the point of this one), I want to make sure I do all I can to take responsibility for that decision. But some things are not in my control.
I then met up with a Homebirth Support group I go to rather infrequently. You would think this would have been a great idea since I was feeling a bit discouraged. But though I loved being there and visiting the cohousing development it was held at, I came away still feeling very lost and at sea.
As I lay in bed while Ella fell asleep beside me and I pondered all of this, trying to find some firm footing, I remembered something my midwife said to me last time I saw her. We were discussing the fact that birth is more about the mental than just the physical. She shared that during the birth of one of her children she reached a point where she thought "Sh@#$, I am actually the only one who can do this". She had been looking around the people who were there to support her and none of them could offer a rescue package which would save her from actually having to birth her child. She was going to have to do it herself and despite everyone's empathy and sympathy, she was on her own.
This "truth" really resonates with me today. I often wish and hope for someone to save me from the things I find hard and challenging in life. I am not a self reliant and independent person naturally. When I need to make a decision my instinct is to ask everyone I know what they think. If I am struggling I desperately look around for an escape route rather than accepting the situation and dealing with it. And so today as outside influences seemed about to blow me over I kept looking outside myself for strength and reassurance. But it didn't come. And it wasn't ever going to - at least not definitely.
Now you may think this is heading for the moral of self-reliance and hardening up. But actually I am not one for that either. I think my faith in God leads me to a third option. I am actually not alone. I am designed and meant to be the way I am. I have failings and weaknesses and I also have strengths. And I don't have to face life or each day or moment alone. But my feet need to be planted on something more steadfast and reliable than the daily ups and downs that inevitably come. Then I can have the courage to be vulnerable and real about my struggles and confusion but also to know that I don't carry it alone and that the solutions are not just up to me, or the wonderful people around me.
Just like the miracle of the little boy growing inside me, so much is beyond my control and happening despite myself. And there is goodness and hope. And I am small in the big scheme of things. So when I have a day like today I find that comforting and my feet come down to earth and I feel planted again. No big answers, no total clarity, but not lost and not alone. And I do need to embrace a bit more of "Sh@#$, I am actually the only one who can do this", but also in the knowledge that I have what I need to face my fears and the feelings and events that are bound to blindside us in life. I used to be terrified of the hard stuff cause I was so dependent on everything around me to get me through. I am slowly learning that I have the resources to deal with life and even though it will be painful, I can face the pain and be okay, with feet planted.
First, daylight savings. Gosh that extra hour which just means up an hour earlier with a little girl full of energy, has completely undone me. Add that even going to bed by 7pm wasn't quite cutting it for my busy, baby-growing body and I am a wreck. When I woke this morning I was reminded again that daylight savings takes a week to recover from. So first add tiredness.
Then some lovely news about a friend that triggered a surprising sadness which had me all in a tizzy about why I felt that way and what it meant. I don't like not understanding why I feel the way I do and also know the importance of not letting feelings freak me out. So was busy attending to some "issues" that were being raised.
Then I had a little run in with the corner of the osteopath building and our car. Not nice to hear the screech down the side of the car or to see the look of terror on my daughter's face. Thankfully only mildly cosmetic and definitely not something we will need to spend money on. But as I sat in the car and caught my breath I thought "Having a good cry would actually really help right now". But since Mummy losing it in the front seat was not going to reassure daughter, I took a deep breath and off we went to the osteopath.
By the end of the appointment I was feeling better physically but a bit of a wreck mentally. Apparently my hip was very twisted, and though it has been corrected it looks like something which I will need to keep on top of. I suspect part of the reason I had a difficult labour and c-section with Ella is due to this. I really don't want that again and just felt my confidence drop as I faced what is a big fear for me. Instead of hearing the fact that it can be managed, all I could feel was the sinking feeling that history was repeating. I have been really trying to promote this baby to be a in a good position and the hip issue is something which may get in the way of this. Since I am planning a homebirth (this is an informed decision that hubby and I have made which I may discuss in an upcoming post but is not the point of this one), I want to make sure I do all I can to take responsibility for that decision. But some things are not in my control.
I then met up with a Homebirth Support group I go to rather infrequently. You would think this would have been a great idea since I was feeling a bit discouraged. But though I loved being there and visiting the cohousing development it was held at, I came away still feeling very lost and at sea.
As I lay in bed while Ella fell asleep beside me and I pondered all of this, trying to find some firm footing, I remembered something my midwife said to me last time I saw her. We were discussing the fact that birth is more about the mental than just the physical. She shared that during the birth of one of her children she reached a point where she thought "Sh@#$, I am actually the only one who can do this". She had been looking around the people who were there to support her and none of them could offer a rescue package which would save her from actually having to birth her child. She was going to have to do it herself and despite everyone's empathy and sympathy, she was on her own.
This "truth" really resonates with me today. I often wish and hope for someone to save me from the things I find hard and challenging in life. I am not a self reliant and independent person naturally. When I need to make a decision my instinct is to ask everyone I know what they think. If I am struggling I desperately look around for an escape route rather than accepting the situation and dealing with it. And so today as outside influences seemed about to blow me over I kept looking outside myself for strength and reassurance. But it didn't come. And it wasn't ever going to - at least not definitely.
Now you may think this is heading for the moral of self-reliance and hardening up. But actually I am not one for that either. I think my faith in God leads me to a third option. I am actually not alone. I am designed and meant to be the way I am. I have failings and weaknesses and I also have strengths. And I don't have to face life or each day or moment alone. But my feet need to be planted on something more steadfast and reliable than the daily ups and downs that inevitably come. Then I can have the courage to be vulnerable and real about my struggles and confusion but also to know that I don't carry it alone and that the solutions are not just up to me, or the wonderful people around me.
Just like the miracle of the little boy growing inside me, so much is beyond my control and happening despite myself. And there is goodness and hope. And I am small in the big scheme of things. So when I have a day like today I find that comforting and my feet come down to earth and I feel planted again. No big answers, no total clarity, but not lost and not alone. And I do need to embrace a bit more of "Sh@#$, I am actually the only one who can do this", but also in the knowledge that I have what I need to face my fears and the feelings and events that are bound to blindside us in life. I used to be terrified of the hard stuff cause I was so dependent on everything around me to get me through. I am slowly learning that I have the resources to deal with life and even though it will be painful, I can face the pain and be okay, with feet planted.
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Quality women and quality talk
One of the things I was determined to do before number two arrived was to go away on a girly weekend with some of my close friends. This is something I got into the habit of organising in the years BC (before children) but due to the changing seasons of life, it has been something I thought was in the past. But while I am pregnant, not breastfeeding or needed every hour or so, there is this window of opportunity. I always loved the fun of hanging out with a group of girlfriends where we could talk, and talk, and eat, and talk some more, without a deadline to stop in an hour or so. And now that we all have kids, it is amazing to even be able to have a conversation that isn't just a series of comments interrupted by nappies to change, arguments to referee and all the other normal kid supervision tasks.
So this last weekend it happened. I organised to stay at a bach with a gorgeous view, bought some yummy food and we all congregated at times during the weekend that worked for our families. I was very happy for babies to come along, as long as I had no responsibility for my own.
And it was so lovely. I think we all had years of unfinished conversations pent up within us and hours of adult conversation to be had to make up for the hours of preschool conversation we all have each week. Topics were wide ranging, honest and intimate. If it was on someone's mind, we talked about it. I am sure some of the hubbies would have loved to be a fly on the wall, but others may have needed therapy to recover.
During the weekend I was so grateful for the honesty and reality of my friends. Sharing the struggles, vulnerabilites and journeys we are all on is so refreshing and helpful. It reminds me that none of us have it sorted and that we are all wrestling. Life on earth is not perfect but there are also some many things to laugh about and celebrate. Most of all the fact that friendships and can grow and thrive through the changing seasons of life.
I am thinking about when to have the next one. Maybe when squirt is about 4 months old...
So this last weekend it happened. I organised to stay at a bach with a gorgeous view, bought some yummy food and we all congregated at times during the weekend that worked for our families. I was very happy for babies to come along, as long as I had no responsibility for my own.
And it was so lovely. I think we all had years of unfinished conversations pent up within us and hours of adult conversation to be had to make up for the hours of preschool conversation we all have each week. Topics were wide ranging, honest and intimate. If it was on someone's mind, we talked about it. I am sure some of the hubbies would have loved to be a fly on the wall, but others may have needed therapy to recover.
During the weekend I was so grateful for the honesty and reality of my friends. Sharing the struggles, vulnerabilites and journeys we are all on is so refreshing and helpful. It reminds me that none of us have it sorted and that we are all wrestling. Life on earth is not perfect but there are also some many things to laugh about and celebrate. Most of all the fact that friendships and can grow and thrive through the changing seasons of life.
I am thinking about when to have the next one. Maybe when squirt is about 4 months old...
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Why so long?
I have thought about writing this post. I have had a lot of things to write. But there has been so much going on that sleeping and breathing has been further up the list of possibilities in my day. But I have really missed writing.
So where have I been? And why the silence?
Well here is the short version...
September 2011 - move house and consequent chaos. Begin studying Childbirth Education Diploma which is supposed to require 20 hours a week. I was never good at Maths. Hence not really realistic and even though I loved it and totally recommend the course it meant no family time and all evenings studying. Not really sustainable.
November 2011 - find out we are pregnant with number two. I am very happy and have grand plans of continuing studying and finishing the first year before sprog arrives. Hubby has other ideas and after much talk I am thinking about quitting the course. By 6 weeks pregnant I become basically bedridden with the worst nausea and vomitting (hyperemesis). Family take over looking after Ella. By 9 weeks I am on anti-nausea meds and spend a couple of nights in hospital. Life is hell and I sincerely wonder what the heck I was thinking getting pregnant again. It took lots of courage to even consider having another child, with my continuing issues with depression, and feeling awful and unable to do anything or even look after Ella really took its toll on my mental health.
February 2012 - Work starts back and I am just starting to feel a bit better. Still on medication and have withdrawn from the course.
Now - I have been off the anti-nausea meds for 2 weeks and feeling much better. Even starting to have some energy and not just surviving each day. Enjoying our new home and feeling like I am actually settling in and celebrating being here. Feeling mentally well and strong and able to also give thanks for the fact that I am here. I don't regret this pregnancy and am so excited to meet our little one when he arrives (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).
I credit my wellness and confidence with the fact that I am still seeing a therapist once a fortnight, am still on antidepressants after much research and thought, have a supportive and understanding midwife who understands my situation and preferences and a doula (birth support person) who totally supports me and give amazing massages.
When I think back to my pregnancy with Ella, I was full of grief, fear, and not able to listen to myself and take care of my own needs. This time around I have the skills to get through stress, and the confidence and love for myself and self acceptance to ask for what I need and not feel bad about it. I am able to live with trust in God, something which was absent when I was in so much pain after the loss of our first child.
The credit for all this first goes to God. His faithfulness and continual support, even when I have been so lost and confused has seen miracles happen in my life and each day and especially in the last couple of weeks I am celebrating that I can see how I have changed. I also give myself credit for not accepting a life of survival and pain, for wanting and expecting more and being willing to lay myself pretty bare to get there. The fact that I am pretty honest about me and don't pretend that I am okay. That has helped me stay with my situation and not deny it, even if I have felt embarassed or labelled by it at times. I also credit my hubby, who takes my mental health seriously, who accepts that I am me and that taking care of me requires both of us. For his strength and generosity beyond what I think I would be able to give. For always saying yes to the things I need to do for me and saying no to the pain and twistedness that can come with the baggage and scars we all have. And of course to all my friends and family who have supported me and I am sure have wondered at times about what I would "snap out of it" or cope better but have loved and helped me anyway.
So here I am. Here. And writing again. I hope I am able able to write more often because it really is such a joy and I hope you find something here to bless you where you are at.
So where have I been? And why the silence?
Well here is the short version...
September 2011 - move house and consequent chaos. Begin studying Childbirth Education Diploma which is supposed to require 20 hours a week. I was never good at Maths. Hence not really realistic and even though I loved it and totally recommend the course it meant no family time and all evenings studying. Not really sustainable.
November 2011 - find out we are pregnant with number two. I am very happy and have grand plans of continuing studying and finishing the first year before sprog arrives. Hubby has other ideas and after much talk I am thinking about quitting the course. By 6 weeks pregnant I become basically bedridden with the worst nausea and vomitting (hyperemesis). Family take over looking after Ella. By 9 weeks I am on anti-nausea meds and spend a couple of nights in hospital. Life is hell and I sincerely wonder what the heck I was thinking getting pregnant again. It took lots of courage to even consider having another child, with my continuing issues with depression, and feeling awful and unable to do anything or even look after Ella really took its toll on my mental health.
February 2012 - Work starts back and I am just starting to feel a bit better. Still on medication and have withdrawn from the course.
Now - I have been off the anti-nausea meds for 2 weeks and feeling much better. Even starting to have some energy and not just surviving each day. Enjoying our new home and feeling like I am actually settling in and celebrating being here. Feeling mentally well and strong and able to also give thanks for the fact that I am here. I don't regret this pregnancy and am so excited to meet our little one when he arrives (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).
I credit my wellness and confidence with the fact that I am still seeing a therapist once a fortnight, am still on antidepressants after much research and thought, have a supportive and understanding midwife who understands my situation and preferences and a doula (birth support person) who totally supports me and give amazing massages.
When I think back to my pregnancy with Ella, I was full of grief, fear, and not able to listen to myself and take care of my own needs. This time around I have the skills to get through stress, and the confidence and love for myself and self acceptance to ask for what I need and not feel bad about it. I am able to live with trust in God, something which was absent when I was in so much pain after the loss of our first child.
The credit for all this first goes to God. His faithfulness and continual support, even when I have been so lost and confused has seen miracles happen in my life and each day and especially in the last couple of weeks I am celebrating that I can see how I have changed. I also give myself credit for not accepting a life of survival and pain, for wanting and expecting more and being willing to lay myself pretty bare to get there. The fact that I am pretty honest about me and don't pretend that I am okay. That has helped me stay with my situation and not deny it, even if I have felt embarassed or labelled by it at times. I also credit my hubby, who takes my mental health seriously, who accepts that I am me and that taking care of me requires both of us. For his strength and generosity beyond what I think I would be able to give. For always saying yes to the things I need to do for me and saying no to the pain and twistedness that can come with the baggage and scars we all have. And of course to all my friends and family who have supported me and I am sure have wondered at times about what I would "snap out of it" or cope better but have loved and helped me anyway.
So here I am. Here. And writing again. I hope I am able able to write more often because it really is such a joy and I hope you find something here to bless you where you are at.
Saturday, 3 September 2011
No mother is an island
Gosh it is tough being on my own. If i were a mother machine i would be fine. Calmly getting through each day, life working smoothly. Balancinug work, home and my other commitments with grace and poise. If you are one of these mothers then you must be on stronger drugs or some kind of bionic sci fi experiment. I think if i could be cloned then i could just about manage it.
Instead i have found it overwhelming. When i remind myself that we move house in two weeks, and all the things i have had to sort out for that as well as beginning studying, it isn't surprising that the wheels have fallen off somewhat.
I have been so grateful to my support crew; friends and family. Being on duty 24/7 is tough and ella has needed lots of supporting hubby away. She has wanted lots of 'mama', and the more i resisted the more she wanted. Nights were tough and even though we had got to the point where she didn't need feeding to sleep, that has all regressed. Turning her down at night just meant long battles and less sleep. I was reminded of the fact that a need met reduces in intensity. So decided to go back to mama whenever requested. The pure joy on her face and quickly she got to sleep has been all the proof i needed that it is the right move. Yes she is waking more at night but she is much happier in the day and i am sure once hubby is back and we are settled in the new house, we will be able to improve things.
In the meantime we are just surviving. It is hard for me to accept that. But it is what it is. And i am just looking forward to making our new house our home and adapting to our new normal. In the meantime i am hanging on till Thursday 7:30pm when hubby is back and the world feels right again.
Saturday, 27 August 2011
Going it alone
I just finished watching shadowlands, the film about C.S lewis and the loss of his wife. The film deals with his struggle to make sense of love, loss and pain and how it can exist alongside faith in a loving God. One of my favourite lines is a"we live to know we are not alone".
Nick has been away for nearly a week. The first couple of days were physically painful as i faced the time he is away stretching out before me. But once i was able to see and talk to him via the wonders of skype, i felt so much better.
Talking to him reminded me that our love and commitment remains and that we are the same people, despite the separation. He is still my hubby, just enjoying the sights of Barcelona.
Now i miss him but i am getting on with it.
In the film, Joy, Lewis' wife, challenges him to face the fact that she is dying and not to remain in denial in an attempt to protect the love and happiness during her remission. Instead she says "the pain is part of the happiness. That's the deal". In the past i have run away from pain.
When we lost our first baby when we were 17 weeks pregnant, i could not face my pain. I was afraid of it, of it engulfing me and drowning in it. But facing it was what would have been the only act of mothering that i could have for that child. My fear of my pain robbed me of the validation of loss that pain and grief provide. Pain and grief at love unfulfilled. In a sense i lost the joy of being a mother, even in a small by running from it.
But who could blame me? Pain and grief are experiences that our society leaves us unprepared for.
We have very few rituals of loss which allow open expression of pain and the anger, confusion, raw pain and fear that is part of death. Funerals are well choreographed, it is not polite to lose poise, especially in pakeha culture. Add to this the taboo of children lost in pregnancy and we are all really unprepared for the reality that we all will die.
So what does this have to do with hubby enjoying flamenco and paella on the other side of the world?
Well, that i choose to acknowledge, experience and feel the pain of missing my hubby. I am not enjoying it and i have cried. But facing this small pain reminds me of the miracle of love, finding someone to share this life with, in all its technicolour triumph and tragedy. And as i learn to be in my pain in the small things i believe i will experience more of the joy and reality of this life. Who wants to live a censored existence, partially numb to all that life holds? I don't want pain but what a tragedy if the intensity of love and loss is only experienced variously through literature and film.
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