I’ll be completely honest, I haven’t survived losing my son. The Eleanor that walked into the theatre to have him delivered never left that room. A new person was wheeled out and spent the next 20 days at his bedside. The moment his ventilator was taken away and he left us forever, a new version of me was again born.
I still don’t know who that is.
I’m a mum, but I’m not. My hormones, my body, my soul, knows I have a child, but my arms are painfully empty. I have the natural instinct to mother, to protect and to love but no tiny human to focus them on.
Some days that excess love is too much to bare and all I can do is cuddle his urn and cry.
I used to be pretty ballsy. I took zero shit and had confidence in who I was and what I stood for. These days, even if the façade says otherwise, the crippling anxiety and self doubt is just below the surface.
Anxiety is something I’ve struggled with for years but it’s so much stronger now. My therapist says I catastropize. She’s right. If someone is late or doesn’t message when they say they will, my brain torments me with images of car accidents and horrific scenarios. If something good happens I am waiting for it to be ripped away. My subconscious doesn’t believe I deserve or will have happy things anymore. I truly believe that nothing will ever go right.
Catastropize : View or present a situation as considerably worse than it actually is.”traumatic experiences can predispose people to catastrophize”
Oxford Dictionary
She’s helping me work on that but it isn’t something the old me would ever have believed. I used to take a knock and get back up, fight my corner and truly believe that the only way was up.
I’ve never been overly social but the new me seems to avoid people like the plague. If I could see people for 10 minutes, once a month, I’d be happy with that. It exhausts me to have to adult around anyone. It doesn’t matter who they are or how much they tell me we can sit in silence if I want to. What they don’t understand is that the effort it takes to hold a conversation, maintain a train of thought and express emotions is draining. I hold back any sadness, if I’m triggered I gloss over it, but it will need to come out sooner or later. I don’t want to cry and be raw in front of people. It doesn’t matter if they’re comfortable with that, I’m not.
I don’t think the new me likes the world very much. She doesn’t see good in people, she doesn’t see good in herself. She certainly can’t plan ahead or look to the future because it’s a future without Stephen and thinking about that in any context breaks her heart all over again.
With help, I’m beginning to get to know the new me. I’m trying to be gentle with her and let her see that it’s ok to be a whole new person. I’m trying so hard to like her and embrace her.
While I’m doing that, I’m sorry if I appear distant. If I take space from you, you’re not alone, I’m doing it to the world. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to embrace who I’ve become and find some peace with that. Stephen created this new Eleanor and I’m determined that she will be someone he can be proud to call his mum.
Our HRHS Journey 