So if anyone reading this is in a similar situation, or feels grief as gutteral as I do, is hopeless and can't see the way forward, here are some things that I would tell myself if I could do this again:
- look at the real situation, Is it what it seems to you? I was idealising my partner because I didn't want to believe he was the bad and selfish person that everyone was saying he was - but I needed to realise this in order to let go
- Hope can be good but create hope around your own future and not around decisions that someone else is going to make. At several points in this journey to date I have placed all my hope in decisions that were ultimately not mine. I should have placed hope in my own decisions. There is far greater control.
- Seek help. Friends, family, and this army of counselling style people that have popped up from all around the community. Just one week ago I was driving alone to the emergency unit at hospital because I was in such despair I didn't know what to do. I turned around and came home because I was scared I had nothing wrong with me, but I was later told by my very helpful 'shrink' that I should have gone in - and should feel no shame asking for help. Call the numbers, tell as many people as you can. Because at the end of the day, strange as it may seem, the strangers care more for me than my own partner.
- Keep believing that it will get better. Remember a time when things seemed bad - maybe a previous break you didn't think you would survive - and think about how you feel today about that event. Time has healed most of the wounds no doubt. And many more new and exciting things have happened as a result of that event happening back then. It just keeps moving and evolving. Try to stay with the flow and not let it swamp you in the process. I guess thats what they mean when they say 'keep your head above water'.
- There has to be something to be said for creating a positive mindset to attract positive things into your life. At least I think thats what they say. Im going to try that, I'm going to believe that tomorrow will be a good day. Well just not a desperately bad one.
Sunday, 7 July 2013
I am already alone
Sitting here, counting down the hours until bedtime, it dawns on me that I am already alone. I have been alone for a long time. My partner doesn't text me anymore, unless he needs me to get milk. He is often not home - hiding at work or seeing family. I have spent literally half my time alone for over 6 weeks. And when he is home, he sometimes sleeps next to me and sometimes in the spare room with the kids. but if it is with me, there is barely contact, his back to me, and his head under a pillow. There is no love, no warmth, no hug unless I make one. I am actually pretty much alone. He has withdrawn from me - and spends all his time texting other people - including his ex. I am being treated like a worthless human - not a woman carrying his child.
And so I am already alone. And I am dealing with it fairly. And maybe thats is what is hurting so much, That the rejection is omnipresent. I am being rejected in my own bed as I sleep at night. I am living the life I used to have, but my partner is choosing to be physically and or emotionally absent. Maybe if I relocate, this feeling of loss and rejection will not be so great? Or maybe they will be worse. I don't know. But it looks like I have no choice but to find out!
And so I am already alone. And I am dealing with it fairly. And maybe thats is what is hurting so much, That the rejection is omnipresent. I am being rejected in my own bed as I sleep at night. I am living the life I used to have, but my partner is choosing to be physically and or emotionally absent. Maybe if I relocate, this feeling of loss and rejection will not be so great? Or maybe they will be worse. I don't know. But it looks like I have no choice but to find out!
Turnaround Sunday
So he plans to leave for 2 days with the kids. And I do what I wasn't going to do. I force his hand and ask whether he will be signing. He says he will. His words were actually 'I have to'. Have to? what has he been telling people about me? Some stuff about needing to get the kids away from me no doubt. Lies, all lies, to feather his story about why our relationship didn't work. To distract from what he is actually doing.
I try to talk but he motions to the kids and says he can't. I start to get emotional and then he points out thats why we can't talk. Oh - sorry. You can't just step outside and talk about this monumental decision with me for 5 minutes? I seriously mean nothing to this guy. What am I doing? Just leave, Anna. Just run as far as you can. but I keep standing there. For my son, trying to hold on to his father for him.
They leave on their trip - down to family in woollongong - I don't get invited anymore - I used to be - and I am left alone in the house again. but this time I have lost hope it might stay our house. I know that in a few days time I will have a date for when it is no longer our home. It was my dream home when we moved in. I was over the moon. I had my man, my lover, our beautiful house. Just one year ago we spent our first night sleeping in the living room on a big mattress. i was so excited and happy. Now, exactly 1 year and 3 days later, I am pregnant, lost, alone, my family have gone and my home is to be no longer. If only I had known - if me now could whisper in the ear of me back then - how tragic things would turn out. I could have changed so much. Done things so differently. but I didn't. And here I am.
I go to the shopping centre. Before I go I delete all his numbers. I know myself and there no need to be crazy. Then I want to send a message. To tell him. I don't know what. To do anything to try and change his mind. The shopping centre is closed - doesn't open for another half and hour. I sit inside anyway, amongst the shut shops, and type out an email to him, since I don't have his number. Something about saving us for his kids, I don't know. I didn't send it. I realised by now that he doesn't care.
I ambled around the shops once they opened. Didn't need anything, just trying to keep busy. My mind off the impending disaster. And I find a baby clothes shop having a massive sale. I go in - not to buy - but to see what boys wear. I have no idea. Its is all kinda cute. I end up buying some stuff, including a little outfit for Christmas day. Red and white stripes with a little reindeer on the front. Baby should be 2 weeks old of I get that far. I can't imagine Christmas without my partner there. But at least baby will have an outfit.
I get home and realise it is still early. There is a whole day to get through, then a night. Then they come home tomorrow night and I guess I hear more about what I did wrong and how he is moving. Things are looking a little bleak when I get a call from an unknown number. Its is Claudia, the counsellor I first saw when I got the mental health plan from the doctor. She hasn't heard from me in a while and was worried. Thats nice. So I told her how I was feeling. How id been to see a lot of people. How I wanted to die. How id been holding out for Tuesday, but that I found out early. Was I home alone? Yes, What was I doing? Nothing. Claudia spoke to me for 20 minutes. More stuff about how he didn't love me, he would have done this to any woman he was seeing, he was showing no empathy and did I want to be with him anyway? How I was strong and I deserved better than what this man was doing. And that I might as well get through it and see if it gets better.
Something she said that resonated clearly was whether my life plus the life of my child was worth taking for this man who had no empathy. What would throwing our lives at this man causing so much pain help to do? wasn't that a waste? Were there better people, people capable of love, people who would be supportive and not judge and reject me, who deserved to know me?
I was grateful for her call. It made me think that if all these qualified people are agreeing that what is happening to me is unjust and not how a normal balanced person would treat another, then perhaps it wasn't me that was the problem here, perhaps I had just barked up the wrong tree.
I try to talk but he motions to the kids and says he can't. I start to get emotional and then he points out thats why we can't talk. Oh - sorry. You can't just step outside and talk about this monumental decision with me for 5 minutes? I seriously mean nothing to this guy. What am I doing? Just leave, Anna. Just run as far as you can. but I keep standing there. For my son, trying to hold on to his father for him.
They leave on their trip - down to family in woollongong - I don't get invited anymore - I used to be - and I am left alone in the house again. but this time I have lost hope it might stay our house. I know that in a few days time I will have a date for when it is no longer our home. It was my dream home when we moved in. I was over the moon. I had my man, my lover, our beautiful house. Just one year ago we spent our first night sleeping in the living room on a big mattress. i was so excited and happy. Now, exactly 1 year and 3 days later, I am pregnant, lost, alone, my family have gone and my home is to be no longer. If only I had known - if me now could whisper in the ear of me back then - how tragic things would turn out. I could have changed so much. Done things so differently. but I didn't. And here I am.
I go to the shopping centre. Before I go I delete all his numbers. I know myself and there no need to be crazy. Then I want to send a message. To tell him. I don't know what. To do anything to try and change his mind. The shopping centre is closed - doesn't open for another half and hour. I sit inside anyway, amongst the shut shops, and type out an email to him, since I don't have his number. Something about saving us for his kids, I don't know. I didn't send it. I realised by now that he doesn't care.
I ambled around the shops once they opened. Didn't need anything, just trying to keep busy. My mind off the impending disaster. And I find a baby clothes shop having a massive sale. I go in - not to buy - but to see what boys wear. I have no idea. Its is all kinda cute. I end up buying some stuff, including a little outfit for Christmas day. Red and white stripes with a little reindeer on the front. Baby should be 2 weeks old of I get that far. I can't imagine Christmas without my partner there. But at least baby will have an outfit.
I get home and realise it is still early. There is a whole day to get through, then a night. Then they come home tomorrow night and I guess I hear more about what I did wrong and how he is moving. Things are looking a little bleak when I get a call from an unknown number. Its is Claudia, the counsellor I first saw when I got the mental health plan from the doctor. She hasn't heard from me in a while and was worried. Thats nice. So I told her how I was feeling. How id been to see a lot of people. How I wanted to die. How id been holding out for Tuesday, but that I found out early. Was I home alone? Yes, What was I doing? Nothing. Claudia spoke to me for 20 minutes. More stuff about how he didn't love me, he would have done this to any woman he was seeing, he was showing no empathy and did I want to be with him anyway? How I was strong and I deserved better than what this man was doing. And that I might as well get through it and see if it gets better.
Something she said that resonated clearly was whether my life plus the life of my child was worth taking for this man who had no empathy. What would throwing our lives at this man causing so much pain help to do? wasn't that a waste? Were there better people, people capable of love, people who would be supportive and not judge and reject me, who deserved to know me?
I was grateful for her call. It made me think that if all these qualified people are agreeing that what is happening to me is unjust and not how a normal balanced person would treat another, then perhaps it wasn't me that was the problem here, perhaps I had just barked up the wrong tree.
The worst news
So he has found an apartment and put a deposit on it. He signs the contract in a week and is actually excited. Its really happening. My worst fear. He would actually move out of our home, take his kids, and be gone from my life.
I was gutted once again. Crashing down, begging, pleading. Embarrassing myself as I tried to grasp on to what hope was left to get back on track. My support walls crumbing, my life plummeting with gut wrenching fortitude. Then he was away for work for days. I was left in our home - what was to be no more - empty house, empty heart, longing to talk to someone and especially him. not knowing. It wasn't signed. There was hope he wouldn't surely. But not knowing whether he would.
I consult my trusty psychic. She would know... she delivers the news I don't want to hear. He is moving out. There will be regrets but he is on a mission. He is damaged he is not good for me blah blah. I will be OK, my child will be fine. Blah blah. Don't do anything I will regret. He just needs space. He might well come back. But she also said I will get the apartment that I applied for. Which, the next day, I find out I didn't. So I was left confused and bewildered.
He returns home and I try not to talk about it. I hope so much with all my heart that he choses not to sign the contract. Like a child waiting for Christmas, I feel that eager, yet, I am aware that the impact of him actually signing was going to be unfathomable. I start to talk to people in terms of - 'what happens next tuesday'. Im going to be OK until next tuesday. When I find out. Whether it is true that he doesn't love me, can't bear to be with me and won't know our child. People look a bit odd. Of course he will move, both my close friend and my mother say, almost instantly. But I am clinging to hope and I don't want to hear that. So I don't.
I was gutted once again. Crashing down, begging, pleading. Embarrassing myself as I tried to grasp on to what hope was left to get back on track. My support walls crumbing, my life plummeting with gut wrenching fortitude. Then he was away for work for days. I was left in our home - what was to be no more - empty house, empty heart, longing to talk to someone and especially him. not knowing. It wasn't signed. There was hope he wouldn't surely. But not knowing whether he would.
I consult my trusty psychic. She would know... she delivers the news I don't want to hear. He is moving out. There will be regrets but he is on a mission. He is damaged he is not good for me blah blah. I will be OK, my child will be fine. Blah blah. Don't do anything I will regret. He just needs space. He might well come back. But she also said I will get the apartment that I applied for. Which, the next day, I find out I didn't. So I was left confused and bewildered.
He returns home and I try not to talk about it. I hope so much with all my heart that he choses not to sign the contract. Like a child waiting for Christmas, I feel that eager, yet, I am aware that the impact of him actually signing was going to be unfathomable. I start to talk to people in terms of - 'what happens next tuesday'. Im going to be OK until next tuesday. When I find out. Whether it is true that he doesn't love me, can't bear to be with me and won't know our child. People look a bit odd. Of course he will move, both my close friend and my mother say, almost instantly. But I am clinging to hope and I don't want to hear that. So I don't.
A Psychiatrist
So the appointment was with the peri natal psychiatrist. Which sounded very intense and I wasn't sure what it would involve. All I knew was that they were also called 'shrinks' and mostly you needed one if you were crazy. Maybe I was crazy. I sure wasn't feeling normal.
Lachlan was a very unassuming psychiatrist. In fact I wouldn't have been surprised if moonlighted as a barista in a trendy coffee shop. Which I guess was part of his appeal. He was very friendly, very thorough and asked me pretty much about my whole life. For over an hour, after the lights went out in the usually bustling corridors of the baby unit in the hospital, Lachlan methodically went over my history, my feelings, my conerms and my thoughts of suicide. Lets be honest, I knew thats what I was doing there. I think its odd that people - complete strangers - should freak out if you mention that you would rather be dead. Why would they care if I was or not? but I guess Im glad there are people out there like that. Or I might not be here.
After sucking it all up and jotting notes from time to time, he finally stopped and put his pencil down and looked thoughtful. With a quizzical look he ventured to ask why I was holding a candle to this man. Why did I think this man was so great, when clearly, to all those around me - and now evidently Lachlan, he was not great and did not love me. Lachlan suggested that my partner might never have actually loved me the way I loved him. He said it certainly wasn't how a person would respond to this situation normally. For months and actually years my friends had been saying the same thing. Noone could see what I saw in my partner. He was always nasty, always putting me down and always making me feel like it was my fault. Quick to react, quick to hurt and then easy to wound irreparably.
My partner might never have loved me truly. It sunk in. Had I be duped? And then came the next insight. It would get better, I just had to hang in there. This bit I wasn't sure of - this was the greatest concern - that I was on a downwards spiral where things would just get worse and worse as I got more pregnant and was suddenly forced to be alone. Then I would have a lonely birth and then it would be worse - alone with a screaming baby. All the time hurting over and grieving the man I thought I would be with forever.
But Lachlan was pretty sure it would get better. Have I felt bad before and recovered? Well yes, but never to this extent. Has my heart been broken? Yes. but never with a baby in my womb. But his questions got me thinking. Perhaps it would. A glimmer of hope. Maybe.
I left thinking the world was a better place for this psychiatrist and believing that maybe there was hope after all.
Lachlan was a very unassuming psychiatrist. In fact I wouldn't have been surprised if moonlighted as a barista in a trendy coffee shop. Which I guess was part of his appeal. He was very friendly, very thorough and asked me pretty much about my whole life. For over an hour, after the lights went out in the usually bustling corridors of the baby unit in the hospital, Lachlan methodically went over my history, my feelings, my conerms and my thoughts of suicide. Lets be honest, I knew thats what I was doing there. I think its odd that people - complete strangers - should freak out if you mention that you would rather be dead. Why would they care if I was or not? but I guess Im glad there are people out there like that. Or I might not be here.
After sucking it all up and jotting notes from time to time, he finally stopped and put his pencil down and looked thoughtful. With a quizzical look he ventured to ask why I was holding a candle to this man. Why did I think this man was so great, when clearly, to all those around me - and now evidently Lachlan, he was not great and did not love me. Lachlan suggested that my partner might never have actually loved me the way I loved him. He said it certainly wasn't how a person would respond to this situation normally. For months and actually years my friends had been saying the same thing. Noone could see what I saw in my partner. He was always nasty, always putting me down and always making me feel like it was my fault. Quick to react, quick to hurt and then easy to wound irreparably.
My partner might never have loved me truly. It sunk in. Had I be duped? And then came the next insight. It would get better, I just had to hang in there. This bit I wasn't sure of - this was the greatest concern - that I was on a downwards spiral where things would just get worse and worse as I got more pregnant and was suddenly forced to be alone. Then I would have a lonely birth and then it would be worse - alone with a screaming baby. All the time hurting over and grieving the man I thought I would be with forever.
But Lachlan was pretty sure it would get better. Have I felt bad before and recovered? Well yes, but never to this extent. Has my heart been broken? Yes. but never with a baby in my womb. But his questions got me thinking. Perhaps it would. A glimmer of hope. Maybe.
I left thinking the world was a better place for this psychiatrist and believing that maybe there was hope after all.
The 4 D Scan
I took myself to this scan in the hope I would find out I was having a girl and I would be able to break the news to my partner that it wouldn't be a 'terrible boy'. As I lay on the bench waiting for it to start, heaps of empty lounges all over the room - presumably for loving friends and family - I wondered what it would be like to meet him/her again. I had seen the grainy black and white routine ultrasound images to date and wondered how he would look now. How had he grown? I hadn't seen him for 5 weeks.
"Its a boy" she says, as if she was reading the weather report. So there you go. A boy. I had felt very strongly that he was a boy, but wasn't 100% sure. And now I was - well 98% accuracy is what they claim. Personally I didn't mind if he was a boy or girl - well I would have preferred a girl but only because I have heard they are easier, but I was disappointed in the news as I knew my partner would use that as another weapon against the child. Poor kid, nothing about him is wanted by this man who fathered him. I felt sorry for him in that instant, knowing that the father figure he will so desperately yearn for will need to be provided by someone else. God knows who. But it won't be his real father. And there will only be so much that I can do for him.
But this feeling was fleeting as the distorted images of a goblin baby started appearing - a hand, top of the head, then the eyes and chin. It was amazing - I was seeing inside my womb to see what lay there - a dormant baby child with perfect features and limbs. He yawned as if say 'hurry up' and then stuck up his thumb. I wanted to believe he was telling me that it was going to be OK. I think he was.
I left that scan feeling a closer connection to my little boy. I knew what he looked like now. And I felt more than ever that I needed to protect him. I rushed in to the hospital to make my appointment that Debbie had set up earlier that morning. Not quite sure who he was but happy to give anything a try.
"Its a boy" she says, as if she was reading the weather report. So there you go. A boy. I had felt very strongly that he was a boy, but wasn't 100% sure. And now I was - well 98% accuracy is what they claim. Personally I didn't mind if he was a boy or girl - well I would have preferred a girl but only because I have heard they are easier, but I was disappointed in the news as I knew my partner would use that as another weapon against the child. Poor kid, nothing about him is wanted by this man who fathered him. I felt sorry for him in that instant, knowing that the father figure he will so desperately yearn for will need to be provided by someone else. God knows who. But it won't be his real father. And there will only be so much that I can do for him.
But this feeling was fleeting as the distorted images of a goblin baby started appearing - a hand, top of the head, then the eyes and chin. It was amazing - I was seeing inside my womb to see what lay there - a dormant baby child with perfect features and limbs. He yawned as if say 'hurry up' and then stuck up his thumb. I wanted to believe he was telling me that it was going to be OK. I think he was.
I left that scan feeling a closer connection to my little boy. I knew what he looked like now. And I felt more than ever that I needed to protect him. I rushed in to the hospital to make my appointment that Debbie had set up earlier that morning. Not quite sure who he was but happy to give anything a try.
Not quite right
And then I had my first midwives appointment. I cried in the waiting room, burst into tears when they grilled me about some paperwork I was missing. Didn't want to be there. My partner was going to come but he pulled out. And I sat there, amongst all the other couples, and just cried. I was so alone. The midwife asked a lot of questions and probably had never met a pregnant woman with such disdain for what was inside her. And such a lack of concern for her own self. She made me do a depression test and I must have scored high because I was taken straight away to meet with Debbie, the peri natal counsellor. Debbie was called in from some other place and sat down to chat with me. And I am so grateful because Debbie started to help me.
She gave me the number for the mental health line. She gave me other numbers. Lots of information, I don't really remember it was all a blur, but the main part was that she was listening. She was agreeing this was a tragic situation. She understood how I felt and made me feel that what I was feeling was legitimate. I was being treated poorly and I had every reason to be upset.
Two weeks later, I was in the depths of despair - having cried for 4 hours, wringing nothing out of my hands, stood bleakly under the hot shower trying to wash away the sad. Something horrible had been said again, I don't remember what, it was probably all my fault (as usual), and I was so helpless. I sent an email to Debbie. It was a cry for help really. I didn't know if she was meant to get emails but I didn't care. I told her I didn't want to go on like this. I don't know what I expected her to do - but I went to sleep knowing that she knew how I felt.
The next morning Debbie called. She talked to me for 20 minutes. I cried and cried. She told me she needed to go and make an appointment with someone for me and that she would call back. I was free all day except for a 3pm appointment with a 4 D Scanning company to see the sex of my child. I had booked it in the hope I was having a girl as my partner had recently said 'he didn't do boys' and he 'certainly didn't want to deal with a boy'. We made an appointment for after the scan and I felt relived - even though I didn't know who it was with.
She gave me the number for the mental health line. She gave me other numbers. Lots of information, I don't really remember it was all a blur, but the main part was that she was listening. She was agreeing this was a tragic situation. She understood how I felt and made me feel that what I was feeling was legitimate. I was being treated poorly and I had every reason to be upset.
Two weeks later, I was in the depths of despair - having cried for 4 hours, wringing nothing out of my hands, stood bleakly under the hot shower trying to wash away the sad. Something horrible had been said again, I don't remember what, it was probably all my fault (as usual), and I was so helpless. I sent an email to Debbie. It was a cry for help really. I didn't know if she was meant to get emails but I didn't care. I told her I didn't want to go on like this. I don't know what I expected her to do - but I went to sleep knowing that she knew how I felt.
The next morning Debbie called. She talked to me for 20 minutes. I cried and cried. She told me she needed to go and make an appointment with someone for me and that she would call back. I was free all day except for a 3pm appointment with a 4 D Scanning company to see the sex of my child. I had booked it in the hope I was having a girl as my partner had recently said 'he didn't do boys' and he 'certainly didn't want to deal with a boy'. We made an appointment for after the scan and I felt relived - even though I didn't know who it was with.
Ending it all
I was hurting so much. Felt so incredibly rejected - so guilty for my child - so alone at a time when I needed support the most - that I wanted to end it. I fantasised constantly. A knife to the wrist in a hot shower was my plan. I had many of those showers. Sometimes at night, sometimes in the day. Whenever the crying got too much, the gut wrenching, painful empty feeling that made me cry until there were no tears. I took a knife with me one time. I stood in the shower, under the hot spray, and looked at my wrists to decide which would be better. And if I had felt like that and was not pregnant, I can honestly say I would have done it. Just to end the pain and loss and humiliation. But I had this image of my baby inside me, writhing around after I had collapsed on the floor, unable to get out and fend for himself. I felt a duty of care to this being. He has a right to live and I had no right to take that from him. I had created this and I would have to suffer in reality for him. So he would last another day.
I stared at the lifeline phone number a lot. Call this number if you need help. But did I? Noone could help me. Noone could stop the pain, except my partner. He could walk in and hug me and tell me everything was alright and that he loved me, like he did to his kids wen he made them cry. It didn't feel like a voice at the end of the phone could help me. I should have called them, because I had nothing to lose.
One Sunday morning, after another night of painful tears and uncontrollable moaning, whilst my partner slept soundly in the next room, drunk on scotch and not caring for my state, I dragged myself to the medical centre. I was the only one there it was so early but still had to wait half an hour and I sat in the waiting room wondering if this was enough to see a doctor. What would I say? There were no physical problems. I was just me on the outside, with a foreign body inside and a painful hurt that sounded a lot like a broken heart, only deeper. Would the doctor think I was pathetic, like my partner did? When i got to see the doctor I started to talk and then burst into tears. I couldn't stop. He was in disbelief at what was happening - and immediately gave me a 'mental health plan' and his private number if I ever needed help. I went to a cafe and ate pancakes. I felt slightly better. Someone had made me feel like I was doing the right thing.
I spent the next morning calling lots and lots of counsellors. I had a plan approved and now I needed to see one. I found a lady called Claudia and made time to see her in a few days. I felt the wheels were rolling. I was less alone than before.
I stared at the lifeline phone number a lot. Call this number if you need help. But did I? Noone could help me. Noone could stop the pain, except my partner. He could walk in and hug me and tell me everything was alright and that he loved me, like he did to his kids wen he made them cry. It didn't feel like a voice at the end of the phone could help me. I should have called them, because I had nothing to lose.
One Sunday morning, after another night of painful tears and uncontrollable moaning, whilst my partner slept soundly in the next room, drunk on scotch and not caring for my state, I dragged myself to the medical centre. I was the only one there it was so early but still had to wait half an hour and I sat in the waiting room wondering if this was enough to see a doctor. What would I say? There were no physical problems. I was just me on the outside, with a foreign body inside and a painful hurt that sounded a lot like a broken heart, only deeper. Would the doctor think I was pathetic, like my partner did? When i got to see the doctor I started to talk and then burst into tears. I couldn't stop. He was in disbelief at what was happening - and immediately gave me a 'mental health plan' and his private number if I ever needed help. I went to a cafe and ate pancakes. I felt slightly better. Someone had made me feel like I was doing the right thing.
I spent the next morning calling lots and lots of counsellors. I had a plan approved and now I needed to see one. I found a lady called Claudia and made time to see her in a few days. I felt the wheels were rolling. I was less alone than before.
The Bump of Shame
I wasn't allowed to tell anyone I was pregnant. Especially noone connected to him. It was a dirty secret, a shameful mistake. Something to hide. He was so concerned about what people would think - I mentioned it to 3 people at different stages of that period and I still hear about how disloyal that was to this day. When all the other mummies were so happy. That has been one of the hardest things. To not be able to enjoy this time - enjoy my pregnancy, but to be made to feel like it is something to be ashamed of. The constant sniping, negative comments. Even in front of my family and friends. My parents were horrified the day my brother said something about vacuuming and my partner jumped in that he wished the baby could be vacuumed out.
But I did not have enough self confidence to say that I had had enough. I believed his rubbish. That I should be ashamed. I believed I had done the wrong thing. That none would love this baby. That my journey alone would be hell. So I started to slip into depression. A dark and desperate depression where on many, many lonely nights, I wanted to end my life. I honestly wanted it to be over.
But I did not have enough self confidence to say that I had had enough. I believed his rubbish. That I should be ashamed. I believed I had done the wrong thing. That none would love this baby. That my journey alone would be hell. So I started to slip into depression. A dark and desperate depression where on many, many lonely nights, I wanted to end my life. I honestly wanted it to be over.
The Father of my Child doesn't want My Child
The immediate response of my loved one, the man who fathered this child, who I live with, have been with for 2 years and who I loved with all my heart, was to ask me to have an abortion. The first response. I was shocked. Especially because he has 2 children of his own, aged 4 and 6, we had them half the time living with us and he loved those children. They were beautiful girls - they called me step mum and I hugged them every night after school. I hugged those children so much. I could not have loved them more. Which is why this sudden request for termination floored me.
But it seems, as he explained, this new baby was not his child. Because he did not choose it. He did not want to know it. He did not want an emotional connection and that his children were never to know they had a sibling.
My world crumbled. What a choice to make. Terminate this child that was inside my womb, or lose my beloved step children and partner. And with no guarantee they would stick around anyway because he was now saying he no longer trusted me. My instincts told me that the minute I left the termination centre I would come home to packed boxes. I was stuffed regardless because this man had now shown his true colours. It was not love he felt for me, it was a relationship out of convenience. The gaps that had started appearing now began to make more sense. When the crunch came, he was not a support to me. Not a true friend. Didn't want a bar of it.
I said I needed to think about my decision, and he cancelled my birthday plans. He had booked a hotel, a restaurant and told me my birthday present was to be a holiday away together. All cancelled. I can honestly say that my 39th birthday was the worst one in my history. ** I should have walked away then. I should have seen what he was saying. He didn't love me, he had no support or empathy for me, he was a scared man and he did not want me.
But I didn't realise this. Thought he was just in shock. That his love for me would seep back. That we would be able to talk about this rationally. That he might begin to see that we could have a beautiful family - his kids and this one - blended and supportive for everyone.
The next 3 months are a blur. I remember being told lots of nasty things. That I was fat, looked 9 months pregnant, that my child would be damaged emotional forever because it wouldn't have a father, that I was a whore, that I was untrustworthy, that I would hate being a mother, that it would be the worst experience I ever had. At the time when other mothers were so joyous - so happy and proud, I had a bump of shame.
But it seems, as he explained, this new baby was not his child. Because he did not choose it. He did not want to know it. He did not want an emotional connection and that his children were never to know they had a sibling.
My world crumbled. What a choice to make. Terminate this child that was inside my womb, or lose my beloved step children and partner. And with no guarantee they would stick around anyway because he was now saying he no longer trusted me. My instincts told me that the minute I left the termination centre I would come home to packed boxes. I was stuffed regardless because this man had now shown his true colours. It was not love he felt for me, it was a relationship out of convenience. The gaps that had started appearing now began to make more sense. When the crunch came, he was not a support to me. Not a true friend. Didn't want a bar of it.
I said I needed to think about my decision, and he cancelled my birthday plans. He had booked a hotel, a restaurant and told me my birthday present was to be a holiday away together. All cancelled. I can honestly say that my 39th birthday was the worst one in my history. ** I should have walked away then. I should have seen what he was saying. He didn't love me, he had no support or empathy for me, he was a scared man and he did not want me.
But I didn't realise this. Thought he was just in shock. That his love for me would seep back. That we would be able to talk about this rationally. That he might begin to see that we could have a beautiful family - his kids and this one - blended and supportive for everyone.
The next 3 months are a blur. I remember being told lots of nasty things. That I was fat, looked 9 months pregnant, that my child would be damaged emotional forever because it wouldn't have a father, that I was a whore, that I was untrustworthy, that I would hate being a mother, that it would be the worst experience I ever had. At the time when other mothers were so joyous - so happy and proud, I had a bump of shame.
It begins
So I didn't realise for one minute that I would ever be in this situation. I didn't think I could fall pregnant, at 39 years old - I've got friends my age who have been on IVF for years - plus I was also 'careful'. Religiously careful to avoid the times of the month that should be avoided. The same technique had worked for years. I really don't quite understand, but on April 3, 4 days before my birthday, I peed on a stick and it came up positive.
I peed on another 6 sticks with the same result. It was at this point that my world, and my life as I knew it thus far would change. That was 13 weeks ago. I couldn't have guessed how much the next few months would hurt, and I have no idea what the future will be like, but I thought I would document this time in the event that I come out at the other end with the ability to look back and smile. Which doesn't seem possible right now, but it might. And if that happens, then hopefully I can be inspiration to other women who are going through exactly the same thing. This lonely journey that I face will no doubt be tough and things might even get worse before they get better - and things might not even get better - but I have to admit there is a tiny part of me that is curious.
What will this journey be like and can I be a Strong Mummy?
I peed on another 6 sticks with the same result. It was at this point that my world, and my life as I knew it thus far would change. That was 13 weeks ago. I couldn't have guessed how much the next few months would hurt, and I have no idea what the future will be like, but I thought I would document this time in the event that I come out at the other end with the ability to look back and smile. Which doesn't seem possible right now, but it might. And if that happens, then hopefully I can be inspiration to other women who are going through exactly the same thing. This lonely journey that I face will no doubt be tough and things might even get worse before they get better - and things might not even get better - but I have to admit there is a tiny part of me that is curious.
What will this journey be like and can I be a Strong Mummy?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)