Trying to be greatful 

Anxiety is kicking my butt. Hard.

Exams and coursework deadlines are looming, and 5 anxiety attacks in under two weeks has not been fun. The Saturday before last I succeeded in having a mealt down choosing new glasses frames. I had to go for a walk and try again, so that was embarrassing. 

My Mother told me that when I’m anxious I should imagine everyone around me constipated on the toilet. Given, in hindsight the advice is hilarious, but at the time I did not appreciate her comments. 

As an older child I was very anxious, and very paranoid. My home life was not ideal, and despite her best efforts my mother was not always able to protect me from the chaos of my Father and his (thankfully) now Ex-wife. I was so intent onprotecting my brother from it, that I never realised I took the brunt. I have the scars both mental and physical to show for it. That period of my life, as a rule stays firmly behing me.

My anxiety however, it turns out, has followed me like an obedient dog. Sat waiting patiently for a time in my life where I was in enough turmoil that it could greet me again, and here it is.

My last exam is scheduled the morning of what would have been Emmet’s Due date. It is a reminder that I could never have had both, and of just how unprepared and blindsided I have felt since October. 

When I decided that no matter what,  I would care for and keep my baby,  I thought I had made my choice, and that every choice from then on would follow the path I mapped out in my head from that moment. Only life didn’t work out like that, and I find myself making another set of choices, choices that I had no idea I would be making. Yet unlike the unexpected choices before, they don’t hold the same promise. 

Where once I thought my choices would lead to a child they now lead me to University open days. I try to tell myself that people around the world would give anything for the opportunities in education that I have been granted, but like my mother’s advice on anxiety, the words seem hollow.

The truth is I resent it, every single time I log onto UCAS I am reminded that they are gone, because I could never have both. In the end I didn’t get to choose, life chose for me, and I resent that. 

I wanted them, more than I have wanted anything in my life. I didn’t want to be pregnant, with all it entailed, but I still wanted them. I can’t explain it, to myself, or anybody else. How you can want something more than air, and be so terrified of it. 

I wanted the chance, the chance at love, the chance for the family I never dreamed I would have. Instead a confirmation of what I knew to be true, but could not accept in my heart. The doctors were right, and my heart was wrong. 

Right now I feel ungreatful, and mostly I manage to be at least a little greatful for what life has given me, instead of what it has not, only on this matter I cannot. 

I am trying, I am trying so very hard to be greatful. To focus what I have, rather than what I have not. 

(Off topic for a moment, trying to be greatful reminds me of Sunday school teachings; and the memory of the ridiculous antics of the entire affair has made me smile. My brother and I once unwittingly got into trouble for saying ‘Dinosaurs!’ when asked what animals went on Noah’s Ark. Father Ted thought it was amusing, the Sunday school mothers not so much. Our mother, (now an Atheist) is altogether more proud of the affair than she used to be.)

I’m trying to think of 5 happy things every Sunday, but I realize that the last few weeks I have been lax in that. I will do 15 happy things later on, so look out for that.

Love and support always, 

Surviving Miscarriage Together x


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