Is she your only one?

Writing a blog is something I have been wanting to do for some time now but the fear of judgement has stopped me. For me, writing is very much a therapy - a journal I can share. Since losing my daughter, Emily at 17 weeks of pregnancy (something I feel that, in time, I will be able to open up about in my blog), I have been thrown into world of 'life after loss'. For me what made this loss so hard to deal with is the 'taboo', which comes with miscarraige (and through reading and my own research I have discovered surrounds infertility issues, SIDS and Still birth). I can only share my experiences following my miscarriage. But, if this in anyway can help to #breakthesilence, challenge the taboo around miscarriage and give at least one other person support in knowing that they are not alone in what they are experiencing.

Is she your only one? A genuine question to ask, absolutely. And, I guess to most, it would also appear to be an easy question to answer - either she is (your only one) or is not. I agree, this is a natural question to be asked, however what many don't realise (through no fault of their own) is that this isn't always the easiest of questions to answer for so many women and men. I would like to try and give some explanation as to why this may be so... I was attending a social gathering with my daughter (my rainbow baby - then 2 years old) and as usual everyone was making a fuss of her, which was lovely. A proud mammy moment, seeing the people that surround her watching and enjoying her loving, playful and somewhat cheeky nature. Amongst the conversation and all of the other very genuine questions and declarations ('How old is she?' 'Oh, she's potty trained!'), one lady turned to me and asked: “Is she your only one?” In my head, that split second before I answered seemed like an age, processing every emotion. For me, my natural reaction would be to answer 'No, she’s one of two'. I promised myself when we lost Emily that I would always speak her name when asked questions like this. Often, I have the strength to do so, but often some social-etiquette alarm bells stop me from doing so. To me, there is a natural course for this conversation, the next question to being: 'How old is your other?' To which my reply would be (honestly): 'She died at 17 weeks'. My mind, then, completely diverts away from honesty, in consideration of the fact that this poor girl doesn’t know me, nor does she deserve to be stunned into silence by my raw and brutally honest response. At this point of my emotional roller-coaster, to my frustration, my mouth answers before my brain continues with processing the rest of my emotions: 'Yes, she is,' I replied. From that point on, for the rest of that day, I battled with these emotions. Those little voices in my head: 'Two children. You have two children.' I spent the rest of that day reminding myself that if I strive to #breakthesilence and challenge the taboo around miscarriage, then it doesn't matter if I make someone feel uncomfortable with my answer. The world needs to know that the answers to those seemingly genuine questions aren't always the response they expect to hear. They aren't always straight-forward, un-complicated and ideal. It frustrated me, this day, that I gave in to this. I didn't speak Emily's name and in my opinion, I didn't do my bit this day to #breakthesilence and challenge the taboo around miscarriage. It frustrates me that the world (or at least most of it) feel like they can ask such questions and are really not prepared for some of the brutally honest answers. I know it’s not my responsibility to prevent the world from my truth, quite the opposite in fact. It’s my responsibility to help chip away at that wall of taboo surrounding all of this... I am very lucky to have a support network - friends who have experienced loss in a similar way. They can empathise with my crazy pattern of emotions and the voice in my head. This day I was able to reach out to one of these lovely ladies. Through discussion with her I was able to rationalise and gain a little perspective. In this moment I wanted to be a mum to Emily and speak her name when the question was asked but the socially-stable side of me conflicted this and wanted to protect the innocence of the lady asking the question. "You have to do whatever feels right for you in that moment. And that will absolutely change depending on so many different things. This is ok. But it must be so hard. I think it has to be ok for you to not be able to deal with talking about it sometimes - almost like you have to give yourself permission to not have to explain yourself to anyone if you don't have the energy for it. Does that make sense? That's not a disservice to Emily. It's looking after yourself. I think from the second we realise we have created another life we change and become a mother." I am very lucky to have a support network and I appreciate that there are many much less fortunate than myself , in this respect. In that case, here I am. A support to you. You are not alone. I hope that sharing my experience, my roller-coaster of emotions and the process and journey of my thoughts, will help you to gain a little perspective, too.