If I could go back to myslef in those early days of pregnancy, when I was in the middle of the whirlwind. I don’t know what I would have said, or in all honesty what could have been done differently.
But I know exactly what I would say to muself as I sat on the floor of the shower numb and screaming silently as I watched my dreams quite literaly go down the drain.
I would tell her to go upstairs and just tell her mother, seek the comfort I denied myfelf because I was ashamed.
I would tell her to go to her mother, because the gap now seems so big that it is nearly impossible to breach.
I would tell her that she would not be alone, that her partner would not be relieved to not be having a baby before they were fully settled into adulthood but rather supportive, equally lost and heartbroken.
I would tell her she is strong, and that if she can just keep breathing then every day she will have survived the impossible, and that the impossible will one day feel possible again.
I would tell my younger self that her shattered world will stitch itself back together with love, time, cups of tea and lots of crying in bathrooms.
I would tell her that the anxiety and the panic attacks will pass in their own time, and that breathing is the only thing, really truely the only thing that you have to achieve in a day in order to consider it a success. Food is not optional and nor is water, but you can survive longer without those than with oxygen.
Just listen to Kerry Roberts and
“keep breathing, you’ll make it”