I felt weirdly disconnected from my emotions for a long time after it happened. It's like my brain shut off all emotional responses. In the weeks that followed my operation I felt so normal. It felt wrong to feel so normal, to be able to carry on as if nothing had happened, to laugh, to work. But that's what I did.
But it didn't last. And I'm glad it didn't because it was just putting off the inevitable. Grief finds you, one way or another, sooner or later.
In those first weeks I read a lot about grief. I was relieved and comforted to discover that feeling removed from it was normal. I was most likely in shock, it was after all the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to me.
Depression is the 4th stage. 'I think I've skipped that stage' I thought to myself. But I just hadn't got there. And then I felt it - feeling low, tired, unenthusiastic. I have a creative job, and this suffered as a result, not only did I find it hard to summon up the enthusiasm to sit at my desk, I also found it hard to be creative, I hated everything I did, often deleting files in anger to start all over again.
It wasn't until I realised that the depression part of grief had arrived, that I allowed myself some time. I didn't put myself under any pressure, and slowly, I begun to feel better.
Remember how I didn't bother to take any photos for my Winter Capsule Round-up? It's so glaringly obvious to me now that that was part of the depression. The enjoyment I found in so many different everyday things had left me.
I was left feeling low, confused, tearful, and alone. I felt so alone.
A few months had passed since my operation by this time, and everyone had stopped asking if I was OK. It was old news, I should be moving on by now. But I wasn't. And that was something I read when I was Googling 'The Seven Stages of Grief' on a daily basis.
Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. Source
Well meaning friends told me to 'look to the future', to 'look at the positives'. But what I needed was to be allowed to not be OK for a while. Not being OK was part of the process, a shitty part, but a necessary one.
I didn't want to be told to 'try not to think about it', I wanted to explore it. I needed to explore it in order to move on, to heal.
The best piece of advice I received was to "stare your grief right in the face and stare that fucker down. Name your feelings, recognise and own them and you will start to feel in control of them a little". I remembered these words months later, when I was feeling at my lowest, and they helped so much. Everyone wanted me to feel better, to be happy, and that's absolutely understandable but it's not what I needed.
I wanted someone to say 'it's OK not to be OK'.
The kindest words I received were from a friend's Mum, she said "life is never quite the same again after something like that happens". And with that I knew she understood. I knew she wouldn't try to make me feel better, we just stood in silence, no words were necessary.
I think about the baby I lost everyday. Some days I linger with those thoughts for a while before moving on, sometimes it's a fleeting thought, gone in seconds. Some days the thoughts don't make me sad, and that's how I know I'm healing.
I used to go to see our Remembrance Tree almost everyday, I waited as the buds grew fatter and eventually burst open and bloomed. It looked beautiful. The blossoms coincided with a turning point, nothing I can put my finger on, but a general acceptance that I was feeling lighter, less scared and more positive.
I'm left with memories, hopes, and a feeling that I'll never be quite the same again. But it's OK, life makes us who we are. And what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger.
