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The Childless Mother

Dealing with infertility and finding happiness

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Diary of a broken heart.

Those of you who have followed my blog, let me start with an apology. The content of the blog is changing.

I have been working on moving forward , adjusting to our decision to stop trying for children. Life’s been ok, there are moments where my heart aches, I don’t know that I will ever get over not having children, but for now I am content with our decision.

We have bought a new business. We are focused on the other things in our lives that bring joy. For the most part it was going well until October this year.

Actually, it started earlier than that but Octobers the specific date it all came crashing down. I find myself in need of finding the same strength I used for our fertility journey, but for a very different reason. Writing helped with that process and so here I am using it again. In the hopes it heals.

It may never be read.

It may only ever be for me, but that’s ok. if it helps that’s what matters. With that in mind I will start at the beginning.

I am an only child, my mum ironically tried for 9 years to get pregnant with me. She was lucky that in the end it worked. Well I say lucky, she ended up with me so maybe that’s the wrong sentiment!

My dad was around to start with, but my mum had a secret. She held on tight to it in the very small town in which we live. She knew what was expected of her, a woman born in the 1950s and it wasn’t to live the life she wanted. It was to get married and have children.

The secret she held started to seep into her marriage and she was miserable, added to the fact my dad in his own words was “too young to settle down” by the time I was 18 months things were pretty bad and he left. So you see, it has mostly been me and my mam (yes mam I’m from the north east, only posh people say mum!!)

She then had a choice, keep her secret or use the opportunity to throw caution to wind, and in the early 80s in that small town that Dominic Cummings would later make famous, come out. Tell the world that she was gay. I’m proud to say she did just that.

The town had mixed reactions, but on the hole was accepted. She was finally free to live the life she had dreamed of.

Mam has had a couple of long term relationships but mainly it’s been me and her. Our own little team. All my life she would tell me,

“Get out of this town baby girl, go see the world!”

At 18, that’s exactly what I did! Even with the distance between us as I travelled, I always knew she had my back 100%. I knew it broke her heart that I left home. But she always had my back.

I met my now husband and settled where he was from, Derby, so again I didn’t come home. My mam was sad I didn’t come home, but was there no matter what. After I suffered my first miscarriage with my husband she drove straight down to see us. She stayed for as long as I needed her. That’s just what she is like.

Eight years ago we moved back home, my mam has been ill for a while and her mobility was getting worse. To my surprise it was my city boy husband that suggested the move. He loved our little town and the people in it and thought it would be a slower pace of life. It’s not really worked out like that, I don’t think either of us knows how to slow down but we do love our little town.

Mam has lived independently even with the mobility issues. We had help from my family and it was working fine. Then earlier this year I noticed her memory was getting worse. She would repeat herself a lot and forget short term information regularly. It worried me so much I decided to get her doctor involved.

A series of tests confirmed that she had Alzheimer’s. We were devastated. I was panicked. I am so far away from being a carer, I’ve never worked in a job that cared for others. How was I going to look after her. I was terrified.

We were waiting for the next step in her diagnosis when in October this year she broke her arm. She was simply pushing herself up off the bed and the bone fractured. It was a middle of the night trip to the hospital. She was in agony, it was truly awful, but then also at the back of my mind was a niggle. A niggle that festered. That others would have called me dramatic for thinking.

Bones do not just break from leaning on them.

When we eventually got to see the doctor he didn’t do anything to sooth my fear. He questioned her about how she did it and then other general questions. He ordered an x Ray, not just on her arm, but her chest too.

He returned with the results to confirm the fracture, but also to say that there was a very small shadow on her lung, that they were giving her antibiotics as it may be an infection. I did not think it was an infection. I had heard that assessment of an X-ray before. For my Nan who we later found out had lung cancer. I could tell by his face he didn’t think it was that either, but I guess he wanted to investigate further before upsetting us.

The next few days were a blur. My mum had to stay in hospital as she had gone from being somewhat independent, to now completely being reliant on help. Again my fear and panic increased, how was I ever going to look after her as well as keep our business running. My husband dismissed my panic saying that she’s just broken her arm, it will all be ok. I knew he was wrong. I was frustrated at being made to feel dramatic when I KNEW he was wrong.

Her consultant kept me updated with all the planned tests and he told me. “I want you to know that I am doing this because bones don’t just break like that, I am looking for something more sinister.”

Sinister. That was his exact words I will never forget them. That confirmation that I wasn’t being overly dramatic did two things, one made me what to punch my husband for making me feel silly and two gave me the urge to scream out loud to stop time. I was done. I didn’t want to go any further. I wanted to take her home and everything would stay the same But that’s not how stories like this go is it? No. No they do not.

It took a few days for the different scans and tests to come back, then for the doctors to look at the results. I kept reminding the ward that my mum has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but as they were in the very early stages of confirming this, they kept forgetting about it. I wasn’t allowed to go visit her which meant I didn’t always get the information from the doctors meetings as mam would forget or give me a version that wasn’t quite right.

I called several times over the days leading up to the results to remind them please, let me know if it’s bad and I can come in to tell her with you. It didn’t happen.

On the day my husband was over the moon that Newcastle United had been sold, I took a call from the consultant.

“Mrs Phillips, I have your mams results which I’ve been to speak with her about”

Insert eye roll!!!!!!

“She wanted me to talk to you, can you come in or I can talk to you now over the phone?”

Well obviously it’s bad news. No one ever wants to see you to tell you all is clear, especially not post Covid!! so I tell him now please.

“I’m very sorry but we have found cancer in her kidney, and it has spread to her bones and her lung!”

I’ve heard it said that when you receive some monumental bad news that the world can drop away. I can confirm that’s true, there was a brief pause while my brain processed the information followed by a feeling of being punched in the stomach.

I was right. My mam, the one person who has always been there for me without question, she had cancer. For the first time I think ever in my life I hysterically cried. He asked me to come to the hospital to be with my mam. He would talk to us more there. I don’t really remember much for a while.

I just remember thinking I had to get there to her asap. My husband drove. We both cried. We talked about how do we even deal with it. How do we comfort her. How, please after everything we have already been through, how is it fair that she has cancer.

I wanted to scream at the world.

I am not ready to loose my mam. I’m not ready!!!

How did a baby picture make me feel so much?

It’s been a little while since I shared. I think it’s a good thing for me as I finally am at the other side.

Am I still hurting, yes! I pray for a day when it doesn’t, though I feel it is unlikely. That’s the cross we have to bare, the hand we have been dealt. Whatever other cheesy lines you can say. But the moments where I feel like I can’t breath, those gut wrenching moments of hopelessness are getting less and less.

I have some great kids in my life, I don’t get to see all of them as much as we would like but they give me so much joy. I’m happy to have them in my life.

I did have a rather strange moment this last week and I wondered if I am alone in it?

My mum and dad split when I was young and my mum had some photos and my dad had others. I really hadn’t seen so many of me as a baby.

So when I asked for some from my dad recently, he kindly sent them. I absolutely love them but I experienced a twinge of sadness.

At first I thought, is this because I know what’s to come for that gorgeous little girl ( conceited I know but come on, look at me 😂😂) to know that that smile, over the years to come would be jaded, did I feel I wanted to protect her from what was to come? But that’s not it, because even if I had to relive my life I would choose the exact same path. I would take no chances that it would change who I married. I’d go through any pain to make sure I still met my husband.

No, what I believe it is, it’s quite simple really. I wondered, looking into that chubby little face, that beaming smile, “is this what our daughter would have looked like?”

Is she the face of what we couldn’t have. Imagine joining that cuteness with my husband adorable face. What would they look like?

I love these photos, I love looking at where I have come from. I don’t regret asking for them at all because they are so cute. it was a completely random moment but really isn’t that what this journey has been about?

Random moments strung together with hope.

I know we all wonder what our children will look like. But I wonder do you look at your own baby photos and think “I’m looking what could have been?”

It made me a little sad, but that’s ok. I’m ok. Really more than I’ve ever been.

I will continue to share because I know so few of us can find the “what if it doesn’t happen” stories among the thousands of successes. I hope that you all end up with a success story, but for those who don’t. It’s been a long road for us, but there is light to be found. You just have to look around you.

Stay strong. As always I walk with you. You aren’t alone ❤️❤️

It’s official I am 40. I’m still childless.

I’ve been a little MIA the last few months, I can’t remember the last time I put pen to paper to share properly but it feels like I want to today.

Yesterday was my 40th birthday. The already apocalyptic feel to 2020 coupled with my monthly showing her ugly face on the same day made it interesting to say the least. The irony of my monthly showing on this day was not lost on me.

It’s true to say that if in my 20s that fresh faced Sharron had been told that she would reach 40 and still not have had children, she would have been horrified. What would really have shocked her would have been the knowledge that 40 year old Sharron’s OK with it too.

I still remember the very depths of my grief and need for a family. I still feel it, even now but something has happened this last year.

I have healed. Perfectly? Not at all.

Are there still moments that the pain claws my insides to pieces? Yes. Of cause I do I’m not sure anyone’s heart ever recovers completely from loosing your babies or the desperate ache for a child. What has happened however, is a sort of peace.

I made a decision that enough was enough. That I couldn’t spend the remainder of my days lost in this grief. Ironically it was the strength gained from loosing my little brother that helped. I know no pain could ever rival watching him leave us, and we owe it to him to live while we are here. I could almost here him saying;

“for god sake Sharron, you are still living, Im the one gone so why are you crying about it!!??”

It is of cause a process we all must go through, I know for those of you in the thick of trying will read this and never imagine a time that you would feel ok about it. Some of it has to come from us, but time as clique as it is to say, as frustrating and infuriating as it is to hear, time really is the only healer.

So the big 4-0. I made it where many don’t. I appreciate that. It’s a privilege to get older even if your story isn’t going as planned.

I was surrounded by people that love and care for me. My husband made sure my birthday was a special one. My best friends really are the very best friends a girl could ask for. Even with social distancing they found a way to show me love. I appreciate that so much.

I may not have my own children but my nieces and nephew, my friends children let me know just how loved I am. My goodness how much I love them back.

I remember turning 30 and being consumed with grief at the thought of my fertility going down, here I am 10 years later and that acceptance of time passing has just provided me with a different life. One I probably would never have imagined for myself, but one in which I am happy.

On those days where the wave of grief crashes over me, I will tense my muscles and fight against being pulled under. I will fight like I feel like I have been doing for a very long time. Grief won’t take me. I’m changed of cause, but then aren’t we all?

Life has a way of taking little pieces and knocking you around a little, it toughens you somewhat and moulds you into someone slightly different. What I didn’t expect for me, is that I’m actually starting to really like the person I’ve become. She’s a little hard sometimes, but honestly she’s a warrior.

The new me has clawed her way back up. Has fought as hard as she could. She’s still standing and for that I’m so very proud of myself. If you take one thing from my blogs it’s this. You are strong enough, you are enough full stop. You are a warrior. Just look at you. Amazing. ❤️

It’s over. I’m throwing in the towel.

As you all know since 2004-5 my husband and I have been trying for children. It was a huge focus when we got married in 2009, we have continued to try until this year.

How do you find out there’s a problem then continue to live normally and not loose the plot? Honestly, I don’t know that I did. I’ve been hugely effected by the journey so far. Adding to the fact that I lost my cousin who was more like my little bro four years ago to cancer. The cracks in my heart are pretty bad. I’m not the same person I was.

I was the optimist. I always had a good angle to put on any situation. That’s slowly drained from me. I’m not that optimistic anymore. That’s definitely one thing that’s changed, I’m trying to get that back.

I’ve been in a pretty low place. A lot of my time has been spent pretending I’m ok when really I just wanted to stay home in bed. I’m sure it’s a familiar feeling for many of you struggling with mental health issues and infertility. I don’t believe I’m depressed because my moods reflecting the things we have been through. I’m processing.

This last year in particular has been a time to reflect on what next. I keep saying it but my heart has been wallowing in the same self pitying stew and it’s not as easy as “just snap out of it” ” be thank you you don’t have kids, you want mine!” “It’s gods plan” ” all in good time” etc etc.

The facts are I desperately wanted a family of my own from a very young age, to carry a child that’s a little of me and a little of the man I love and for us to feel complete. I’m lucky that my husband has always been ok if we didn’t have children.

So now plan B.

It’s been a long process of trying to accept the hand we have and to find out what life now looks like after so many years of working up to having kids.

I know there are parents out there thinking – are you nuts?? Enjoy your freedom and sleep! To them I say- imagine your kids aren’t in your life, how would you really feel ….. well once you got a couple of lay ins!! Lol. I’m sure most wouldn’t part with them. Other parents pour empathy for us, I get so many messages saying they wish more than anything they could change our outcome. I appreciate those words so much.

This blog page was born out of raging pain that I just needed to be let out. I know it’s helped people, I’m so proud of that! I appreciate the support more than you can ever know.

I’m going to continue to blog about our life as a childless couple. So content may change slightly but I will still reflect on those days when I’m feeling the hurt. I just feel for me to move forward I need to start to look at the positives in my life, I do have so many.

I hope you guys can still support us. Continue to interact with the pages. Coming up we have a trip to Las Vegas and NEW YORK which we will share with you.

I want to try to show being childless not by choice in a positive light with still brutal honesty for anyone that pisses me off 🤷🏻‍♀️😂.

It takes strength to pull yourself up everyday from the depths of this journey. I just hope some light hearted pieces mixed in with the very real shitty bits and hope that it won’t always be this gut wrenching pain. Hopefully you get your Miracle, I hope that so much for all of you, but if not that we can show you that although that pain doesn’t go (or hasn’t so far) there is a life and a happy one to be found.

Here’s to plan B 🥂 and more adventures for Sharron and Ben ❤️❤️

New Year, New beginnings.

I love NYE it brings with it a potential to wash the previous months away. A fresh start.

Every year as we desperately tried for our family, a new year would provide a new hope. An opportunity to say, “This is our year, next year we will stand here holding our baby or bump”

As more time passed, that New Years wish made on the stroke of midnight became more of a plea – Please let this be the last year I am childless.

As we move into almost the 16th year of trying there will be no wish this year. As the hope has now gone. I move forward with only the wish that my heart can heal. I no longer want to feel this hurt.

2019 has been a successful one in so many ways. There is so much to be thankful for in my life but yet this still eats away at me. It’s something I have no control over. It is what it is.

I hope that 2020, the start of this new decade, I hope that it can bring with it peace. A moment of happiness that is no longer tainted by the longing that can never be. An ache that won’t ever leave. If I could feel that peace I would be content.

My empty arms may always mourn the children I never got to hold, but I’m trying to not let this define the rest of my life. Finding a way forward is hard. But with a brand new year just around the corner. I’m going to do my best to try!

Birthday Blues – Infertility miles stones.

As the outside world starts to turn cold again, if it ever really was warm in the first place. The leaves start to turn their various beautiful shades of orange. Autumn is here and I reflect on how this used to be my favourite time of year.

These few months before Christmas always felt so magical to me. I loved them!

My birthday is this month. On the 19th. This year I will be 39.

I mean…. really!!? 39!!! How did this happen!?

I remember turning 30 and feeling like the world was ending because I didn’t have a child by then 30 was the big bad age! I look back on those times which were filled with the hope I still felt with a mixture of sadness and happiness.

On the one hand I am lucky to have an amazing husband and we have had so many wonderful adventures together. On the other hand, as I now nearly turn 40, all hope seems lost and I long to have it back. When Hope is gone, in its place is just emptiness.

I try to remind myself of all of the good things to be thankful for but it’s hard to do this when inside I feel like I failed. At being wife. At being a woman. At doing one of the things that should come naturally. I even feel like I failed our imaginary baby.

The passing of time often brings with it melancholy. Be it for the loss of youth and freedom, the loss of beauty as its perceived, for me a loss of a dream of being a mother.

Every day I work on being OK with this. I try to keep focused on the positives and there are many around me. It’s just hard to see through the grief sometimes.

So, Happy Birthday to me. There will be no children bouncing on my bed singing happy birthday with hand made cards. There will be love however, my husband, mum and friends and their children will see to that. I will try to be grateful for that. I will try to let go of the future not being lived.

I will keep trying to make the smile I wear everyday a real one.

Infertile and more honest than ever!

As we set out on our journey to become parents. Fresh faced and still having sex just for fun ….. imagine!! Ahh those were the days. I was ever the optimist.

I believed that the world had something to teach me out of every mistake or struggle….. like for example, when I was 16 and drank cans of special brew before a party and wore stupidly high heels, I promptly fell flat on my face trying to dance and injured my best mate (sorry Manda!) still the scratch can be seen today 😬😬, I knew the world was teaching me that I was not a drinker. That and the huge hang over contributed to me being almost T total ever since. I was the sensible one. No more drunken falls for me……. ummm well almost none 😬😬. See positive from the negative!

While I had the niggle for years that something may be wrong. I don’t know why. I just always thought I might struggle to have children, despite my monthly showing up aged 10 and being regular as clockwork AND a doctor telling me not to share even a tooth brush if I didn’t want to get pregnant. Yeah that was an accurate diagnosis 🙄🙄.

As time progressed and it was becoming obviously there really was a problem I was showered with the usual, well meaning words of comfort. I would nod and smile and thank them or accept the suggestions of treatments and anecdotes of friends or family members that tried x and y and finally bamb. Pregnant!! Miracle.

I would hide my hurt from people. I always knew they meant well however wrong they got it. I would make excuses telling them not to feel bad that I was ok. The overriding thought being , it’s not their fault I can’t have kids. Why should they watch what they say to me.

For years that continued. I would smile and then cry silent tears when I was alone or with my husband. Why us. Why do I have to put a brave face on it.

As time moved on the anger started to seep out. I realised something.

I blamed myself for this. I felt I deserved it. I felt bad for making them feel uncomfortable at having to tell their Barron friend or family member about their pregnancy. Poor them I would think, poor them for being made to feel so bad for something so wonderful.

With my last miscarriage came a rage, a moment of FUCK THIS SHIT. (Sorry mam). I wrote about it publicly, you all know this that’s how my blog was born. But I started to think about all those other women and men out there making excuses and glossing over their pain. And then the realisation hit me.

ITS NOT OUR FAULT EITHER!!!!!!

It’s not my fault that my body is rejecting our babies. It’s not my husbands fault he fell in love with a woman that can’t have children. For my own sanity I had to STOP making it ok for people to say things that hurt us. To be honest.

Some people will never understand, perhaps they got their family easy and they don’t remember the yearning or haven’t experienced it. Perhaps they see our lives and think wow you have so much to be thankful for don’t wallow in what you can’t have. Perhaps they are ok with not having kids themselves and haven’t felt the pure desperation, of the anticipation of that one pregnancy test that will change everything. That will make us feel complete. Perhaps they have never sat through a scan while a nurse desperately tries to find the heartbeat that will never come. Perhaps they haven’t seen their friend or family member crumpled on their bathroom floor, broken and sobbing as their baby leaves their body. Another baby lost to heaven. Another imagined life never lived.

So you see. Were many would read my posts and our comments and perhaps judge us as bitter, I would tell you to look deeper to imagine that pain. Damn right it’s made me bitter at times. I am not a bad person. I’m surviving this the best I can, we all are. And in the very small space where we can all meet and not be judged we can be honest. We can draw strength from each other to push back to tell people. I’m not ok. I don’t need to fake it anymore and I can be happy for you but sad for me.

No one has the right to tell us how we should be dealing with this. Sometimes I want to scream and break plates against the wall I’m so angry. Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed. Sometimes I feel so completely alone that the only Ray of light I can find is in my husbands arms and with you beautiful people on here. Some days I feel happy again. Some days my smile is real.

It’s ok to feel anger. It’s messy and ugly this journey. We can’t all feel the higher purpose and move on so easy. I’m incredibly proud and happy for anyone that’s there it gives me hope that one day I will feel the optimist I used to be.

Some people may never understand it and get angry in return when you can’t share their joy completely. We may get called selfish and unreasonable. Told that it’s not their fault. But remember it’s not yours either. I think some people forget this. They think we are in control of how we feel and can just “adopt” or “move on” these are the people that can’t understand and you will waste too much energy on trying to change their minds.

The best thing I can take from this journey is that I’m ok with people disliking me now. I no longer have the need to not upset people. If other people’s happiness comes at the expense of my sanity it’s not worth it. There has to be a happy medium.

The anger gets less and less as time goes on. Thankfully. I don’t feel the urge to hide away so much but I think part of this is because I do feel confident to say now,

“NO I don’t want to do that. I am in too much pain to pretend anymore. ”

You hope that people understand. Most people do. If they don’t then that’s ok too. As much as it’s my choice not to fake it any more. They have the right to be upset if they feel that way too. You can only be responsible for your own happiness. It’s a tough lesson to learn, but once I accepted this. Things have become a lot more simple for me. I’m a frickin’ infertile unicorn.

Does it ever get better?

I remember being in the “thick of it” trying to conceive. Every month was a scramble through the cycle days, scheduled sex or treatments and then the dreaded two week wait that ultimately always ended with me crumpled on a bathroom floor with my monthly bitch or a negative test.

Oh but if the tests negative we cling on to the fact that it’s maybe too early. Even though we know it isn’t and the fact is we just aren’t pregnant. Not even close.

Damn it!!

Looking back over the last 15 nearly 16 years of trying, 10 of them really really trying all I can think now is …. how much time I have wasted being sad and angry.

It’s a process we Childless mothers must go through. No short cuts. The fact is for some of us the healing never really completes, it’s like any grief you learn to live with it.

In some ways perhaps I will never feel totally at peace with it, but I am pleased to be coming to terms with the reality of not having the children we so desperately wanted. The desperation and utter devastation I felt all the time. Even when I was smiling for the cameras, my insides hurt.

I feel sad that we have to endure it. I feel angry at the injustice or having lost our babies and still having empty arms but I feel like the rawness is settling now.

I can see a life without children. It may not be the plan but then they say you want to hear God laugh tell her your plans.

When we were in the middle of trying, when there was still hope I couldn’t ever imagine this day, but then I never imagined looking back on those years feeling sad that I basically tortured myself for something I had no control over.

I know many of you reading this are at that point now, the thought of giving up or moving on may seem impossible. I want to tell you hang on it will get better. For many of you that may result in getting your dream. For those like me who may never, with time it does get better.

I used to hate people saying to me “Times a great healer” I hate to admit that it’s right to a certain extent. But it’s not just time. It’s resilience too. It’s raising your head like the warrior you are and pushing on. If there’s still hope keep pushing forward for that dream. If there’s none find something to cling to, to get you through.

For me it was my marriage. It’s reflecting on the life we have together even without children. It’s seeing the good in the spare time I may have. Do I still hurt? Of cause I do!! This journey leaves deep scars but there has to be a way to move forward with a new future. To not beat ourselves up for being failures. How can we be? We have taken this life and made the best we could.

I’m not perfect. Far from it. But I am determined to not let this take more years from me. The saddest thing for me is the taint that has left looking back on my twenties.

I’m sure there will be more bad days to come but for now I’m happy with just not feeling like I am silently screaming everyday. No one being able to hear me or reach me. There were so many success stories online when I was a couple of years in. No one really talked about what if it doesn’t happen. I had no hope of seeing a life without children or if I would ever get through it.

It’s hard. It’s brutal. But you will get through it. There is peace to be found again. There is a plan B. You just have to be ready to find it, that’s what takes time.

The loss of my fur baby.

It’s been a while since I wrote an actual blog, we have had a lot going on so it’s been hard to find something I could write about without spewing anger everywhere.

My goal for so long has been to get pregnant, to have our baby. It’s been intense for so long that I don’t know how I let it go. But I want to, very badly.

A month ago, just over. We sat with our fur baby as she took her last breaths.

I remember thinking when we lost my cousin a couple of years ago, as we stood around the room as he was taking his last breaths …. nothing can hurt as much as this. It felt like I couldn’t breath from the grief. I was wrong.

We had poured so much love into Tara, she had been there through all our losses. Sat with me as I cried and cried over them. Licked my tears, cuddled me, was there and loyal and beautiful all those 16 years. To make the decision to let her go was a awful one. Even though I knew it was the right one. To hold her beautiful perfect head in my hands as she went to sleep was crushing.

It feels like now I’m reliving all of the grief. All of it. My cousin. My miscarriages. Only this time I don’t have my beautiful old girl here to offer comfort. I do have my crazy collie, but even he’s suffering he misses his big sister. My husbands heart broken. We are struggling.

I know some people can’t understand the loss. I’m sure there have been many conversations of her being a dog and having a long life. It’s true she did. But I poured so much of my mothering instincts that I couldn’t use on children, I poured them into my old girl. She was the centre of our world for all that time. We loved her completely and she loved us more than that probably. And I feel my already broken hearts just smashed.

It’s made me release that I have to let go. I keep saying it. I keep saying that I want to move on, but really my heart just won’t let me. Even when I look at the good we have in our lives, so much good. Even when I know the financial nightmare it would be now having just started my own business. Knowing all of that it’s still hard.

I don’t want to still be feeling like this in another ten years, or worse that when my friends start having grand children that I relive this all again.

Enough already.

ENOUGH!!

I feel change coming, in small ways but I visualise almost waking from this nightmare anew, like a butterfly 🦋. Leaving all the hurt an negativity in that cocoon that’s held me so tight for all these years. Breaking free of the grief. Feeling content. I just don’t want to feel incomplete any more.

I know its strange to say having just wrote the above, but I do feel happiness. Even with this background of grief, it’s like you learn to live with it. It creeps out regularly but I can feel happy in between. My husband and I just celebrated 10 years married and 16 years together and we still happy. I’m grateful for that. That’s what I’m most proud of because I wouldn’t change that for the world. I don’t know what I would do with out him.

I know it takes time. Although hearing that doesn’t help. I can only get up each day and put my game face on like and old costume piece and get on with it and hope that one day I won’t have to act brave, one day I will actually just be OK.

How wonderful would that be?

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