Admittedly I have never been a social butterfly. I have friends who I adore and have all the time in the world for. I love them like family and will drop almost anything to catch some rare time with them. None of us are geographically close anymore so our time is precious. These days, however, I am even less inclined to want to people, no matter who they are.
Being around people, any people, is absolutely exhausting for me at the moment. It doesn’t mean I like anyone any less, it’s just exhausting being a functional adult around other humans right now.
It’s exhausting trying to keep a conversation going. My train of thought is muddled and easily lost. Baby brain is still very real even when I didn’t bring my baby home and once you add in the brain fog caused by grief, you can kiss intellectual conversation goodbye.
If we go out somewhere I will no doubt see babies and mother’s. This is unavoidable and to most people, not an issue. To someone who’s experienced babyloss it can be a huge trigger. I still see a baby and realise that I never got to take Stephen out anywhere. He never felt daylight on his skin or grass between his toes. He’s never felt the sand beneath his feet or waves tickling his chubby ankles. He never will. I’ll never be able to sit in a cafe with him watching the world go by, or feed him in a park listening to birdsong. I’ll never be able to walk with him around a supermarket and moan about how awful shopping with a child is. Seeing other people do these normal things makes my heart ache for all the “what ifs” and missed experiences.
If I am in public sometimes all I want to do is hide away and cry.
If you come to my home, I want to spend time with you. I want to have a coffee, chat and laugh. Equally, home is my safe place, the place I can take the time to wallow and cry. If I have people there, I can’t do that, there’s nowhere to run. I am trapped.
Sometimes I don’t want to people. I want to crawl under a duvet and scream until my throat is sore and my eyes ache from crying. I want to go days without getting dressed, doing the chores or acknowledging life goes on. I want to curl into a ball and waste away to nothing, mark time until I can be reunited with my son.
I cannot predict those days. I may make plans and when it comes around, be in such a deep black pit of despair that I cannot climb out enough to function. So please, don’t be offended if I cancel last minute, turn down offers of socialising or going somewhere.
I don’t love you any less. I just don’t love the world enough to be part of it.
Our HRHS Journey 