Sayin’ Somethin’ Stupid

The next couple months passed in a blur of anxiety and unfinished business and I really struggled to cope.

I saw a couple of counsellors and I didn’t like either of them. I felt judged and I didn’t find they helped me on the slightest.

I didn’t find I could bare my heart and soul to them and I didn’t find they helped at all. They truly did not understand what it felt like to lose a baby and I felt like just another statistic rather than a person who was valued for their feelings. One sat with her arms folded and judged me about the fact I had used the names of Arlo’s neonatal friends in the story I’d written, rather than asking my why I’d chosen those names and if I’d spoken to Alfie about it- which I had and I’d explained to him that in the story George bear was him, but that we hadn’t used his name because I wanted it to be in memory of George and Lily so their names would be spoken. I had also left it open in case we decided to have another baby in time. Alfie was okay with this. I was okay with this. The judgemental counsellor wasn’t. I didn’t return.

I still felt so alone and although support groups helped, I still felt like I was the only one feeling like I did. I felt like there was a giant ball of tangled string inside my head and I couldn’t straighten it out to make sense of anything. I felt like anything else just added to that and I didn’t know how to cope.

And then I saw her.

The most amazing counsellor, who probably doesn’t even know what a positive influence she has had on my life. When I saw her I just cried and cried and cried. I cried because of Arlo, I cried because I wasn’t being the parent I wanted to be to Alfie, I cried because I couldn’t keep on top of stuff around the house, I cried because I didn’t have Arlo’s ashes, I cried because I didn’t have his hand print jewellery, I cried because we didn’t have his post mortem results, and I cried because I had to go and get his post mortem results. I just poured my heart and soul onto her couch, like I coughed up a big hair-ball of grief and sat there like a surprised cat who couldn’t believe what had just happened, waiting for her to sort it out. And over the weeks, she did. She sat there and unpicked all of my worries, she ironed out my worries about my ironing! I cried because I felt like I wasn’t keeping on top of everything and Alfie had gone to school in an un-ironed polo shirt. I felt like I should have been on top of this because I wasn’t in work, but grief wasn’t allowing me. Time seemed immeasurable, after Christmas I felt I was in a completely different time zone, time either dragged or went by so quickly my feet barely touched the floor.

Then she asked me:

“Do you feed him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wash him?”

“Yes.”

“Are his clothes clean?”

“Yes, but not always ironed.”

“That’s not what I asked, I asked if his clothes were clean. Does he go to school in clean clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re meeting his needs, does it matter that his polo shirt wasn’t ironed for one day? Or even a week? No, because he’s clean and fed and well looked after. It matters more that you’re telling him you love him and that you’re reading him bedtime stories and bringing him to his clubs so he can have some normality in his life and just be a kid. Stop beating yourself up about all the small things that don’t matter. If you’re struggling, rein it in and bring it back to basics. Go into survival mode. If you need to just survive for now, then just survive. You’ve been through a lot and that takes a lot of head space. Stop beating yourself up.”

And she was right. I didn’t have to be perfect, no one was expecting that of me, except myself. I didn’t need to beat myself up, what I needed was to allow myself time to recover.

We all allow ourselves to recover from physical ailments, but we don’t treat mental health the same. There is nothing physically wrong with us so we expect ourselves to just get up and on with life. We can walk and talk without physical pain, so what’s stopping us from carrying on as normal? But, it’s not that simple. I’d recovered physically from Arlo’s birth, there was a scar that had healed, it had sewn together, it had turned from red to pink, the pain had slowly ebbed away, the scar was now beginning to fade towards white, but the truth was inside my head was still very raw and open and had by no means sewn together. The trouble was I didn’t know how to heal mental injuries, I knew that no matter what people said time wouldn’t heal me completely, there was a missing piece of my jigsaw that would never be replaced, the Arlo-shaped hole would always be there.

From my experience it’s very important to start dealing with grief early on, if it’s left and buried it can fester and become toxic. The difficult part is that people deal with their grief in different ways. Mine has been my creativity and my writing. I honestly don’t know where I would be if I hadn’t written my blogs and if I hadn’t seen that counsellor. After I published one of my early blogs I received a message from someone saying I may want to read my blog back as there were a few errors/ autocorrect mishaps in there, it was a lovely a message and not meant to cause offence, just a message to say I might want to amend a couple of things. The truth was, I hadn’t read it back! I’d spilled my heart and soul into my blog, I couldn’t read it as I wrote because of my blurry, tear-filled eyes, and I was unable to read it back for fear it would break me again, but I’d written it. Those feelings that had been buried from the middle of Arlo’s pregnancy, had now come to light, and because I had to think about them to write about them, I was dealing with them.

I scrutinised every part of my pregnancy and thought about it in-depth before I put fingers to keyboard. I didn’t realise I had so much locked away until I started to spill it all over my phone screen. I then shared my blogs with others to raise awareness and the hope that they would bring comfort to someone who needed it.

But, that’s just my way, it might not be your way. You may choose to write your feeling down and share them, or you may scribble angry words all over a page and keep it locked away forever, but at least it’s out of you. It’s dealing with those feelings, it’s thinking about the little things and the feelings you associate with them the things that you would otherwise keep locked away. This is probably something you will need to do repeatedly when anger or upset builds. Some choose painting, some make ornaments, some may support other families in a way which they feel they were neglected. The last one is great, but remember that you’re number one. You need a support network around you in order to support others. It’s a great undertaking, when you’ve felt those feelings- it hits close to home and those old wounds can open up. I supported a lady who messaged my page, but I messaged a local charity for support myself- Victoria from Tabitha’s trust was just amazing!

Don’t suffer alone and don’t stuff all of those feelings down because you feel it’s easier. It’s not, and I’ve heard that from many mothers, who years later have really struggled because they haven’t dealt with the loss of their most-precious baby. It’s easier said than done and I can’t promise there won’t be times when grief completely overwhelms you (because I’ve been there very recently), but at that point, take the advice my counsellor gave to me. Go back to basics, return to survival mode, batten down the hatches and ride out the storm, because it will pass, it will. It will pass, especially if you reach out and speak to someone, do not suffer alone. Storms are bigger and scarier when you try to tackle them alone. Remember being a child, tucked in bed as the storm raged round you, rattling windows as it whistled through the trees? What did you do, did you sit it out alone? Or did you run to your parents room, climb into their bed and instantly feel 100 times safer? It’s exactly the same when you’re vulnerable, don’t be afraid to ask for help.

It doesn’t show weakness. I know it may feel like it, but it’s rest and repair time, it’s an aid to recovery, it’s someone who can help you to do that when you may have lost your way and it’s okay.

I am so glad I saw this lady, I can’t thank her enough.

Through Arlo’s journey I have realised that people say THE stupidest of things when you’ve lost a baby. Some people are ignorant, but others fall over themselves because they don’t know what to say and the wrong thing comes out. When you have experienced loss you can react in many different ways. Mostly I let people’s comments go over my head, because I knew they didn’t mean harm, they just didn’t know what to say. Some say these things because they truly believe them, others say these things because they fall over their own words and things sometimes things that are inappropriate just slip out. It happens, but don’t try and cover it up, simply apologise. An apology means the world, believe me.

I returned to work about 3 months after Arlo died. I had to have a meeting with HR about this. During my meeting, the representative, who really should have known better, said (and I still cannot believe what she said) ‘It’s just like going back to work after you’ve had a baby, you’re never quite sure when’s the right time to leave them…’

She trailed off after she realised what she had said…

I’d like to tell you I stood up and gave her what for, I’d like to tell you that I screamed at her because she’d said something unbelievably stupid, but I didn’t.

I just stared at her in disbelief as she desperately tried to back-track.

I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have the energy, I let her fall over her own words and I let her face flush. I think I felt this way because it was her job, she was my go to person, yet her mindless talking had really upset me, I just didn’t have the energy to tell her. I just told her to let me know my start date, and I left. I left politely, but I left. I know she didn’t mean it, and I know she probably went home and cringed as she thought of it, but her words really had hurt me and the one thing she hadn’t said was, ‘sorry.’ Instead she back-pedalled furiously and tried to justify herself. If you do say something stupid to a grieving person, simply say you’re sorry as you realise that may have hurt their feelings- it’s okay- people make mistakes, just apologise it for it, it saves a lot of embarrassment and hurt on both sides. How I wished I’d been wondering when was the right time to leave my baby in the care of someone else and return to work. How I wished life was that simple again! And that was the reason it stung like it did. I envied all those people who’s hardest decision was what changing bag to buy or what pram to choose, and when to go back to work after having their healthy baby, when the decisions I had been making were to remove life support so we could have one last cuddle wire free, what flowers I wanted to my baby’s funeral so as not to overwhelm his tiny coffin and now, was I really strong enough to return to work? Would I ever be?

[As I just mentioned, I’ve experienced this very recently, I’ve had a lot on and things have got on top of me. It wasn’t an overwhelming tidal wave, but it was a torrential downpour that filled up drip after drop. I’m writing this in hindsight, and time has elapsed so these moments should no longer overwhelm me, but they do and they will and I need to remember that. It has recently been Arlo’s anniversary, and I was very busy around that time, so instead of giving myself the time I needed, I tried to power through. It didn’t work, and I flopped in a spectacular fashion. A combination of things happened, but I didn’t give myself any of the time I needed, I ‘powered through’ full throttle… right into a brick wall. I woke on the morning after Arlo’s anniversary, I was so tired I could barely open my eyes, let alone verbalise my feelings, and when I tried to speak the flood-gates opened and I could not close them. This resulted in a car-crash phone call to my boss asking if I could take some of my hours in lieu that day, only I got halfway through that sentence before I completely dissolved and could not longer speak. But luckily I have some incredible people around me and my boss is one of them. She told me I didn’t need to speak and she would see me when I felt better. I only needed that day, Day and I spent the day together, I cried and I slept and I picked myself up (with support) and I text my boss thanking her and telling her I would return the next day. The incredible people I work with must have put 2 and 2 together and I returned the next day to a few meaningful hugs and very tight squeezes. It was an important lesson to me, and next year, and every year for the rest of my life, I will make sure I give grief respect and take that to remember Arlo. W time just to fall apart and build myself up again, because powering through did not work for me!]