Trigger warning: This post speaks of miscarriage and loss.
This past Sunday caught me by surprise. I didn’t expect to wake up with a heavy heart or feel as though getting out of bed would be too difficult a task. I didn’t anticipate the flood of tears expressing the world of sadness and hurt I felt. But I did. Mother’s Day brought with it floods of photos of baby bumps and of little ones with captions of never ending love. And it hurt.
Since I married my husband it’s as though our love opened this deep dark whole, the one where I kept all of my feelings about being a mother. Pre marriage I didn’t often allow myself to think about having babies let alone allow myself to feel or even acknowledge that I had feelings about the subject. So when our love shattered the barricade I’d built around the notion of conceiving, carrying a baby or raising a child together I began to feel everything I’ve ever felt. Truth is, I’ve always wanted to have a child. Always. I think I’d be really good at it. The one time I did fall pregnant I was young and the furthest thing from prepared so I chose not to go through with it. I’m still healing from that experience.
Last year, after a miscarriage I journeyed towards womb healing and explored the depths of my womb. I found the grief I’d never expressed, the anger that wasn’t given the opportunity to surface and the deep deep sorrow I’d been carrying with me for longer than I was ever aware. Gratefully I found incredible healing last year and have since let go of a lot of what was being carried in my centre but that doesn’t stop the moments, often random, when a sea of sadness washes over me. Moments of dreams and longing. Of anticipation and hopes. Thoughts of “maybe this time”.
Even with great support systems there are feelings of being alone. My husband, although loving and everything I could wish for, doesn’t feel the crushing disappointment or the frustration, sadness or twinge of envy when there’s yet another photo posted on Facebook. “It’ll be your time soon”, “Just be patient”, “It’ll happen when it’s meant to”, offers of love and support only beckon loneliness, longing and quite often annoyance.
As I lay in bed on Sunday morning, tears freely flowing with rose quartz on my chest I posted this on Facebook
The one thing I make a point to remember is that I am not alone in this – even though it may feel so at times. I know I am not. None of us are. And to remind us of this I decided to hold a Healing Circle. For the women that have lost, the women who tried and the women still trying. We need one another. We need to hold space for one another. We need space to be – whatever we are in that moment. We also need to share and connect. Sometimes in pain we receive the inspiration necessary to change the world.
As I bring this into reality, this necessary space for us. I send love and healing light to all of the women out there silently wiping away their tears and putting their longing aside.
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With so much love and light to all Mothers everywhere.