I feel really sad today.
I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m sad for the experiences I had and for the ones I never got to have. I love pregnancy and birth and breastfeeding. I think they should be revered and celebrated. But my experiences were riddled with depression, heartache and fear. It’s the cliched ‘why me?’ Why did I have such a shit time when other women pop babies out and latch them on and get on with things? Is this some kind of test of strength? If it is then I hold up my hands, I give up. Im broken. I’ve had enough.
I feel so alone with this. No amount of comforting from my husband or kind words from friends can ease the burden. ‘I know how you feel, I’ve been there’. I hear and read that all the time. But that’s even more shit. There are more women like me, suffering. It makes me feel less alien, but it doesn’t take away any of my stress or reduce my personal upset.
And then the guilt starts. I should be grateful that I didn’t die during childbirth. Thankful that I fell pregnant at all. Relieved that at least Moo still drinks breast milk. I’m so blessed in this life. I have a husband, a home, a daughter and food on the table. I’m incredibly selfish and self involved. There are women desperate for children. Mothers prostituting themselves to feed their families. Human beings that are ravaged by cancer and debt and crime. I’m here, I’m alive, I’m healthy in the grand scheme of things. I should spend less time wallowing in the past and focus on the here and now.
I can consciously force my mind to think these things and act this way, but its all pretend. There’s only so long a person can put on a show. I’m not sure if this blogging thing is cathartic or if its just more time spent on self pity. I need a slap.