When someone recently asked me how I was doing, and not in the casual sense, I fought hard to keep my tears in – ultimately failing and sharing a box of tissues with Little Man as he copied me dabbing my eyes. I realised how close to the edge I am, how I’m losing my temper over the silliest of things and worst of all feeling like I’m a rubbish mother to Little Man for it.
That same someone told me that I seem to have lost my spark, how they can just tell everything isn’t alright and that they could see my heart is broken. From one mother to another, she asked me to get help.
After a certain time frame people don’t ask you if you’re okay and while you think about your babies several times a day they don’t really ever get a mention again so the genuine concern was overwhelming but oh so wonderful at the same time. I wondered if I’ve been acting cray-cray to the point that it was actually a mini-intervention. I admitted I needed help and, more importantly, that I would follow through with my promise to contact a professional.
I think it’s a very English thing to not admit you need or are in any kind of therapy. I don’t think it’s as freely discussed as in the US for example. So, I’m breaking down the barrier today by sharing that I have booked my first appointment with an art therapist I know. I was so scared that I actually emailed her because I thought my voice might fault me during a call. But on confirmation of my appointment I felt this huge relief, I felt like crying and laughing at the same time. I’m nervous, I’m excited, I know it will be hard work but I need to do it because I can’t do this by myself.
I think there is more going on than just losing my babies. I can’t help but feel angry about it all, the unfairness, but then in turn the guilt in that I’m actually struggling to move on while I have Little Man here. Shouldn’t I be focusing all my energy on him and not just trying to keep it together? I need someone to help me come to terms with our decision to stop trying, to be grateful for what I do have and to help me keep my shit together. I know my therapist is only there to hold my hand while I do the hard work but it’ll be so worth it.
So yeah, that’s where I’m at.
Until next time,