It’s only two weeks since my BFN but it feels like longer already. The horrible anger has waned. I’m starting to feel more myself again. There are moments when the deep deep sadness seeps through, sometimes in my waking life, sometimes in my dreams when I sob my heart out. I’ve been remembering the baby we lost last September and all the grief I felt at the time has been resurging. Shocking me with its power to reduce me to tears in unexpected moments.
I’ve been reading ‘In Praise of Messy Lives’ by American author and professor Katie Roiphe. It’s a great collection of essays dissecting modern life and what it means to be an adult in the 21st century. In her essay ‘The Great Escape’ she writes about her marriage break-up.
While she’s writing about her life being turned upside down by the divorce, I could relate to the trauma she’s writing about. I liked the following excerpt and thought I’d share it:
” There is something that happens when you burn your entire life down, which is the release of a strange jittery energy. The feeling is raw, close to the bone, jangly, nervous, productive. I have never, for instance, focused more on my writing or thought more clearly than in this particular time. Would I give up the book I wrote for a couple of years of happiness? Of course. But there are consolations to this kind of unhappiness; there are strange felicitous side effects. This is one of the very few times in adult life when you get a chance to invent yourself. There is in the furious nihilism of losing someone, in the depths of how destroyed you are, a sense of terrifying openness, of absolute possibility.”
Good isn’t she? ‘Destroyed’ pretty much sums up how I feel after getting the latest disappointment. My hopes and dreams wiped out. But not me as a person. I’m thinking again of the things I used to love to do, rowing at college, dancing, getting dressed up, meeting loved friends and just shooting the breeze, getting fit, exploring the world again. Just Me. I’m slowly coming back to me. And the possibilities are endless.