They (the anonymous ‘they’ who are always quoted when deferential authority is required) say that Honesty Is The Best Policy.
Honesty is one of the things I’ve tried to nurture here (okay, not with the Making You Feel posts – they’re totally to pull the wool over your eyes, but that’s fiction for ya) and in particular, honesty about some pretty crunchy subjects.
Like two miscarriages.
Like two miscarriages and a subsequent dose of primary infertility (thanks so much for that)
Like the fall-out that happens. Or can happen. Or happened to me, at least.
One of the things I struggled most with (along with the desperation of not having been able to stop my children dying inside me, the guilt at letting Husby down, the gnawing terror that this might really be it – there might be no more chances to have a child together, the worthlessness of probably not deserving children anyway, ergo the losses and the prevention of having any more*) was the feeling of being alone.
SO, so alone.
Lost and floundering and trying-to-scream-but-no-sound-coming-out, middle of the night, in-the-dark-and-alone alone.
Even with Husby, whom you might naturally think would be the one person who was ‘in it with me’. And he absolutely was, but in a Man Way, which is a very different Way.
Distance happened. That horrible, emotional distance which becomes physical.
Fortunately it all got sorted out by virtue of having wonderful women around me who Knew, and who could sympathise and tell me all about it, making it slightly more bearable. And there was the internet, where there were more stories from Women Who Knew. And they were vulnerable, horrific, beautiful and full of Truth.
I needed them.
Because where I was, in my heart, was at the bottom of a deep, dark pit called ‘Can’t Have Kids’, with Husby, who didn’t *quite* understand, and two, tiny, tiny, heartbreaking graves. The rest of the world were up in the sunshine of ‘normal life’ and couldn’t reach me.
Except these women, with the stories and honesty they so generously shared.
Those women saved me from so much. At least from potential alcoholism and marriage breakdown. They will never know.
SO I’ve tried to ‘pass it forward’ by writing honestly here on the blog – hoping, in my way, to emulate the vulnerability, the horror, the Truth (and yes, perhaps the beauty) through my writing, with one hope – that it helps. Even one person.
Which makes this news particularly beautiful to share – I got head-hunted a while ago (I was very surprised at this!) to be a contributing author to a book on child loss, aimed at sharing our stories and helping others through it by showing them that there *is* a ‘beyond’ at some point. Not a forget, but an ‘after’ which is manageable.
A bunch of other women also got head-hunted – some of my favourite bloggers amongst them, which was awesome and intimidating all at once – and between us, we’ve provided the ‘filling’ for this book, which focuses on all aspects of child loss, with a view to providing some hope.
And today I got permission to tell everyone about it, and share it. So there’s a cute new button in my sidebar, and a gorgeous front cover to show you here, and a Facebook Page, which, if you’re so inclined, you could like and/or share (which would be awesome of you).
The Actual In Fact Book goes live/gets real/will be available in October this year.
Which is incredible!
Actual, real people will buy this, and it is my dearest hope they will find some shred of comfort.
Because, while it wouldn’t make my losses worthwhile (if I ever wrote a best-seller and could swap it for having my own child, I would. If I wrote 6 best-sellers, or 20, or 100, I’d swap – I promise), I do feel that in some way it honours them. It tells the world They Are Real. They Were My Children. They Matter.