In the Interest of Self-Care

I’ve just sat down to write this blog post and I’ve realised how long it’s been since I’ve written anything. I could say that I have been feeling uninspired and lacking in anything significant to say but really, I just haven’t been able to sit down and write more than a few sentences at a time, (I will try to piece them together and post another something soon). In the last month or so I have been completely wiped out, so I do apologise for the radio silence and I hope this post can shine some light on what life without Posy has been like over the last few weeks.

Before February, I was completely foreign to the concept of grief; having never lost anyone overly close to me, I was unfamiliar with the complex pain and anguish that comes with the loss of a loved one. I’ve never had to come out of mourning to then live with grief in all its strength and wonder - not properly anyway. Of course, I have felt the sincere sadness that comes when someone leaves this world, but it has never been a loss that massively impacts my own life. So, for my first encounter with grief to be due to the loss of my own child, I can definitely say that we have had a harsh and brutal introduction and the reality of this is certainly taking its toll. This does mean that my journey is going to be different to a lot of other people’s, and this is solely my experience, not Michael’s, so please bear with me as I attempt to find my words again.

I had always thought that grief was just a bucket load of fluctuating emotions that were left behind when someone is taken away from you - I thought that I would just have to let the emotions run their course and then I could begin to heal - but what I didn’t account for was how much the loss of my sweet P was going to affect me physically as well as emotionally. I suppose the brunt of the physical blow has come from the fact that I am still recovering from my pregnancy and Posy’s birth, which is something that I all too often forget. My hormones are all over the place, my hair is falling out everywhere (totally normal for post pregnancy and you can’t really tell except for the uncontrollable regrowth frizz) and my body is still in the post-natal phase. It’s gradually getting back to normal but it’s fair to say that it’s been a struggle. Combined with being overwhelmed with grief, it’s felt like a neverending vertical climb. Not only that but, I am racked with all these new motherly instincts and neurological changes but without the natural outlet for them. The physical longing for my child is fighting it out with the knowledge that Posy has been taken to her new home away from me and it’s exhausting to say the least.

I am tired all the time, despite getting a decent amount of sleep each night - the irony of a new mum saying this isn't lost on me. I am emotionally and physically drained by the time it gets to 2pm every day. My sentences are jumbled, words mixed up and I’m stuttering and stammering, trying to put my speech in order. My energy levels have plummeted - so much so that even a small activity, like going out for a coffee (which if you know me at all, you know that coffee gives me life), can wipe me out for the rest of the day. I have been incapable of focusing on anything for any length of time and have found myself staring into space for hours on end. Everything that should be easy, from conversation to reading a book, watching TV to writing a blog post, has been unbelievably difficult. Decision making has never been a strong point of mine - my go-to phrase being ‘I don’t mind’ and I really never do - but my indecisiveness has reached a new level. And problem-solving. I have found myself stuck in a supermarket attempting to work out a substitute for a meal when the ingredient I need is out of stock and have literally been incapable of working it out, ultimately leaving the shop without any of the necessary items. It reaches specific dates of every month and my entire body reacts, even when my mind is unaware; whether I suffer a sleepless night or a ‘dark day’, my body remembers the trauma. I have quite honestly been wrecked and there was nothing I could do about it.

I know I was a walking example of ‘baby brain’ when I was pregnant, but now I’m wondering if there’s such a thing as ‘baby loss brain’ or ‘grief brain’. Anyway, lets just say that I am trying to take one day at a time, acknowledging the better days and attempting to make use of them when they come around. But more often than not in the last month I have simply been one hot mess. Where my emotions were the height of everything in the first few months after Posy was born, more recently they had to take a back seat as I was just too tired to feel. I didn’t have the energy to stand strong in the commotion taking hold of my brain so it simply switched off for a little while as my body took a well-deserved break.

I have had to prioritise self-care, (unintentionally jumping on the #selfcare bandwagon, face masks and all), which is something I’ve never been great at because I forget that there is a difference between feeling numb good and feeling healthy good. I have been living at a much slower pace, doing my best to feed the latter. I have been attempting to stick to basic routines, trying some manageable exercise, choosing safe people to spend time with, storing energy for specific events and outings and putting time aside for some guilt-free me time. A good day begins with coffee and a croissant and I have a new-found appreciation for podcasts. Walks and gardening have given me a bit of purpose but I also find the rain extremely therapeutic, (I know! I must be the only Brit who has thoroughly enjoyed this rainy weather). I am definitely not doing my bit for the environment with the amount of baths I am having - although I have switched to reusable wipes and bamboo toothbrushes - and I think I am personally keeping Lush in business with the number of bath bombs I have purchased. Yes, there are those days when all I can manage is to get out of bed and watch some TV - these are the times when I am simply distracting myself with something that requires little to no effort and let myself feel a good kind of numb - but it is the other stuff that is helping me to begin to heal.

This week, my energy levels have started to pick up again; it feels as though the fog is finally lifting after a good two months of pure funk. I am starting to feel more present and comfortable being out in the busy world, seeing more friends, and it feels good to be able to do a bit more with my days. It has, however, meant that the heavy emotions are starting to sneak in again and I have been caught off-guard a few times, only feeling better after a good cry.

The other day I went to the dentist; knowing that I had put off going in for my six month check up back in February, I thought I had better make the most of free dental care for the next eight months and book myself an appointment. I turned up thinking that I would be able to just sign in at reception, have the check-up (with my mouth wide open, it was never going to be conversational) and leave without any hassle. I even had a new dentist so I was all ready for some anonymity. I completely forgot that my exemption card has ‘maternity’ printed at the top in bold. So, instead of the easy trip I had hoped for, I was greeted at the desk by a lovely receptionist whose eyes lit up when I showed my card and she proceeded to ask all the questions. ‘Are you expecting or have they been born’, ‘when were they born’, ‘is it a boy or a girl’. At no point was there a natural moment for me to interject and explain that my daughter had died - a script which I have only had to use once before. I was feeling pretty fragile that morning anyway, but I managed to hold it together until she asked ‘what’s her name’, and that was it. I was shoved off the edge and, in front of a clueless receptionist in that tiny waiting room, where the only other patients were old men, I burst into tears. Like... full on, eyes streaming, snot nosed, makeup running, audible sobbing. The poor receptionist had no idea what to do. Luckily Michael was still at home and came to my rescue, but I must have looked like I had a dentophobia (google says that’s what it’s called) and was having a melt-down out of fear. Needless to say, it was incredibly embarrassing and it will be a little while until I can show my face there again. But, like I said, I was just caught off-guard and with a new wave of emotions seeping in I didn’t have the strength to keep it together.

I am still coping with the trauma that surrounds Posy’s death, and there are certain triggers which result in an emotional response, but I welcome the good days as much as I can. So even after intense, stressful moments, like the dentist visit, I pick myself up, find my smile again and make sure to do something that I can enjoy.

I have come to realise that before I even begin to think about ‘what’s next’, I definitely need to allow myself to heal a little first. It’s not as simple as just stepping back into life as it was before Posy, because the truth is that I am not that person anymore; a truth which is both unbearable and one which I am eternally grateful for. Posy made me a Mum, and although nothing of my exterior (at least the bits that other people see) has changed all that much, on the inside I am a completely new person. I’m the puzzle piece that no longer fits in the hole created for it. Every time I am in the presence of other people I am self-aware enough to have the ability to assess how it makes me feel. When I think about being around people who didn’t meet Posy and never really got to know me as her mama, it feels like I’m stepping into shoes which no longer fit. When I am with family and close friends and don’t get to talk about Posy in all her joy, but instead get pulled back into the sadness of our loss, I am only more conscious of the fact that she isn’t where she should be. When I am in the presence of other mums I am overcome by impostor-syndrome. When I am surrounded by strangers all I can think is that they have absolutely no idea of Posy’s existence. It all stings but I am so grateful for those who have sent messages, who have been easy to be around, who are standing with us in our heartbreak and who have helped me be a mama to our PosyBear.

---

I am very aware that this hasn’t been an overly cheerful post but I felt that I had to offer an explanation for why I have stepped away from writing. Among the rubble which has kept me down, there have been some good bits which I promise to share with you soon. A lot has happened over the last two months, things which have allowed us to be Posy’s parents and honour her memory, so I will do my best to put it into a blog post. I am determined that this blog will be a space where I can be authentic and give a real and honest account of my grief but I also don’t want this to be disheartening or depressing - I don’t feel that it would be a true reflection of life without Posy if it was. I will allow myself to write freely when I am having good days and not feel guilty for throwing a little humour in, because if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the last few months, it's that a little laughter really is the best medicine. I’m sure the good days will increase in frequency but I know they will also diminish at times to give me space to process and work through the rubbish as and when it resurfaces. I will do my very best to articulate what I’m thinking and feeling at the time of writing and I’m hoping that there will be a balance of emotions so don’t be afraid to smile or laugh - I know my husband will disagree but I am quite funny really. Anyway - it has been incredibly helpful to be able to explore and process everything on here, as I begin to heal and hope again, and I promise it won’t always be this raw and emotional.

---

Becca

x