Friday Favourites: Things About Blogging

This week my Friday Favourites post is all about blogging!

Blogging is wonderful, in my humble opinion: what began as a hobby and an  outlet for my creativity has become a lifeline through living with grief, and provided me with a sense of purpose during the darkest days.

In no particular order of importance, here are my favourite points about blogging:

I can write my words, my way, and in my own time.

It’s my own little corner of the internet! No one is required to sign off what I write, which is refreshing! Provided I am happy that what I have written is for the right reasons, factual and accurate, and that I am not causing any offence (intentionally, at least) I have carte blanche to do as I like.

No one telling me what to do, no direction, no deadlines.

If I want to write, I write.

If I don’t want to write, I don’t.

Freedom!

Exploring different ways of writing

The majority of my posts in the last year have inevitably focused on Hugo, what happened around his birth, life, and his death, and dealing with what came after.

These posts have had a range of styles: some are stream of consciousness, some are commentary and opinion – I have even explored poetry as a way of articulating my emotions.

Over time, I have felt able to write about what makes ‘me, me’ with more frivolous posts including a bit of humour, contemplating life, the universe, and everything. Oh, and bags and dresses.

Just like with the point above, I am free to write what I want to write, according to my mood or feelings that day – and in the way I want to write it.

The freedom to explore different styles of writing has built my confidence as a writer – if you tend to stick to a particular style, why not experiment? You can always write drafts and not publish things until you’re happy with them.

The opportunities I have been given.

My blog is my platform for Hugo’s Legacy, to make a difference to other families in his memory. Through it, I have met the most incredible, inspirational people; been invited to speak at events; learned how Hugo is helping influence health care professionals’ practice.

It really is wonderful to behold.

Friendship and Support

While it may seem cheesy, the blogging community is wonderfully supportive to one another. We provide mutual support, and I have made wonderful friends. I’m fortunate to have met many of them in real life, too, such as at BritMumsLive a couple of weeks ago.

Bloggers – as well as others who visit my blog – have provided me with so much love and support, helping keep me going and giving me valuable reassurance that my Hugo will never be forgotten.

I feel privileged to be a part of the community.

Blogging also means I am able to provide support to those who are only just beginning their journey after birth trauma, neonatal care, or the death of their baby – the importance of knowing you are not alone cannot be underestimated.

Above and below: Some of my lovely blogging friends.

Without blogging, my life today, my outlook on life, and my view of the future are likely to look very different indeed.

Thank you all.

Who Am I?

Who am I?

It is not an obtuse question. Nor a trick one.

Yes, I am Leigh.

I am a woman.

I am Hugo’s Mummy.

I am a partner, daughter, sister, niece, cousin, friend.

I am a writer, blogger, communications professional.

But who am I?

We all of us evolve through the course of our lives. Our personalities change, as do our tastes, interests, goals, outlook on life.

For most of us, this evolution is gradual. There is rarely some great ‘ta-dah’ reveal moment for we mortals, unlike say, Madonna unveiling a new image to tie in with the release of her latest album.

Most of us won’t have a life-changing event. A date in the diary that they can pinpoint where everything changed so utterly, completely. No knuckle-dragging, slow evolution.

Instead, instantaneous metamorphosis.

Being admitted to hospital. Caring for a very premature baby. That baby dying in my arms.

These events transformed me.

But in to what?

I am still Leigh, a woman, Hugo’s Mummy, a partner, daughter, blah blah blah.

Perhaps the difference could be the addition of a word such as ‘fearless’ to each of those descriptions.

A new-found confidence, liberation as a result of a brush with death. The knowledge that the worst has already happened has revealed that inner strength. An ability to celebrate who I am and be proud of that, warts and all.

But this Leigh is a woman full of contradictions, too: you could also add the word ‘fearful’. The knowledge that things that can go wrong, badly wrong. Those things no longer happen to ‘other people’: they happen to you, as well.

And that often, there isn’t a single thing you can do about it.

I am positive, but cynical.

Fearless, frightened.

Liberated, anxious.

Happy, sad.

Passionate, relaxed.

Angry, calm.

Hard, soft.

A dreamer, yet realistic.

An abundance of conflicting,  juxtaposed emotions existing within me all at the same time.

Today, I stood at the top of a hill. Basking in the sunshine. Relishing the breeze. Enjoying the moment.

I closed my eyes, sensing Hugo around me in the breeze, in the sunshine, in the butterflies, in the flowers.

Sadness seeping in to happiness, joy, beauty. Every day.

Who am I?

I am Leigh, a woman, partner, sister, daughter, friend.

Mother.

Someone who is trying to come to terms with the life thrust upon me. Knowing that this is forever,  there is no getting off this train.

Looking ahead to the future, but taking it day by day.

Today, sanguine. Tomorrow, who knows?

Complex, conflicted.

Complete yet incomplete.

That is who I am.

Life After…Learning To Be A Mother Without My Mum

This week’s Life After…guest post comes from Suzanne, who blogs at Crumbs on the Carpet. Suzanne’s beautiful post talks about life after the sad death of her mum from cancer, and learning to be a mother herself without her own mum. It is an emotional read. Thank you Suzanne for sharing your story and talking so openly about living with grief.

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November 2014 marked the two year anniversary of the day I lost my brave, wonderful mum to cancer. A day you never really think will happen. But it did. And she was gone. It was a very strange kind of anniversary, if you can call it that – I wasn’t sure whether to do something to acknowledge it, or to shut myself away and wallow in my own grief…instead I chose to just go to work and get on with the day, because I really didn’t know what else to do.

Back in October 2012, when we found out that mum’s cancer had returned and this time it was terminal, the overriding question I had was ‘how long?’.  Of course, no one can ever tell you exactly long but that’s the one thing that was burning in my brain. How long have you got left? How long before you leave me? They said she had an aggressive tumour in the psoas muscle (bottom of the back/hip), which in turn had blocked the function of the kidneys. She had an operation to have stents inserted to support the her kidneys, and they thought they had caught them in time, but just six short weeks later, she was gone.

Suzanne, aged about 7 or 8, with her Mum.

I think I started grieving for mum weeks before she passed – I don’t know why, perhaps it was my way of preparing to lose her. We never really spoke about what was coming in detail; she always told us that she had to deal with it in her own way and she was so strong and brave during those last weeks. What she did tell me was that although she didn’t like what was happening, she had made her peace with it and she wasn’t scared. But then that was mum all over; strong, practical and a fighter – when life dealt her a bad hand (and she’d had her fair share of struggles in the past), she dug deep, picked herself up and carried on. I guess in her eyes this was no different.

The weeks after she died were very strange – it was like living a semi-dream state, where your heart feels the awful reality of what’s just happened, but your head carries you on. I had an 18-month-old to think of, I had work to go back to and in a very surreal way, life just goes on. Christmas came and went, and we all went through the motions as a family, not really sure what else to do.

Just eight weeks after she passed, I found out I was pregnant with my youngest son. I have no doubt in my mind that he was a gift from her, the circle of life, one-in-one-out. So the first year of life without her went by in a haze of pregnancy and I gave birth to my beautiful angel baby just 11 months after losing my mum. It was such a bittersweet day and I wish with all my heart that she could have been there.

I thought I’d be a bit of a mess in the weeks after giving birth, hormones flying all over the place and grief rearing its ugly head with a vengeance, but to my surprise, I just got through it. I think I just battened down the hatches and got on with it (sound familiar?), because, quite frankly, what else can you do? Falling apart wasn’t an option.

So here I am, two-and-a-half years later and I think the magnitude of losing mum, having a baby and all of the milestones in-between are starting to sink in. My sense of loss and missing is more acute now than it was in those early days. My heart aches when I think of how much I want to tell her, to share with her and how desperately I wish she could meet her new grandson. I hate the fact that I can’t just pick up the phone and talk to her and ask for advice. I hate the fact that my sons won’t know how wonderful their nana was. And I hate the fact that I can never fully enjoy my own Mother’s Day with the boys, because it’s always tinged with sadness.

Suzanne and her Mum, approx. 2008

Of course there are so many thing that I’m grateful for too; that I got to have her as my mother for 32 years, that she taught me to be the person I am today, that she loved me unconditionally and I grew up knowing I was truly cherished and that I belonged. Something that I will make sure my sons know as they grow up too.

I don’t know if these things get easier, all I do know is that you have to slowly come to terms with living a new kind of normal. Things will never be the same without her in my life, but I have to believe she’s still here, watching over me and making sure everything will be alright. Grief is a strange beast, and often it will creep up and overwhelm you in the blink of an eye. Allowing yourself time to feel the pain and process your loss is important – and I’m only fully realising the extent of this two-and-a-half years on.

I wasn’t even sure whether or not to write this post initially, but I’m glad I did. I guess the point of it is to mark the fact that she lived and died – to talk about her out loud and remember that I still have a mother, she’s just not here right now.

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If you would like to tell your Life After…story, please get in touch – headspace-perspective@outlook.com

 

Affirmation

You know, there are some weeks when I um and aah about the word to choose to sum up my week. There are also weeks when I know exactly what my word of the week is. This is one of the latter weeks – it has been a week of affirmation.

It is almost a year to the day since I wrote HELLP Raise Awareness. When I wrote that post, I was still numb after the trauma of that experience, and of Hugo’s death. I was all too aware I should still be pregnant, with a few weeks yet to go. Anger and guilt ruled my life. I was, and remain, committed to Hugo’s Legacy and making sure my beautiful little boy is never forgotten through making a difference to other people’s lives.

It is nearly a year ago now that I stood up in the packed hall at the Britmums Live conference after Life As A Widower’s keynote speech to thank him for helping make death less of a taboo, and to say how hurt I had been by another blogger’s insensitive comment.

So much has changed in that year.

I still baulk at the suggestion that ‘things happen for a reason’, or ‘ah well, you’ve turned your loss in to a positive’. Anyone who says that to me risks being thumped – you have been warned.

That said, blogging has given me a purpose. I blamed myself, hated myself so much for failing my son. My blog became a means of channelling all that pent up anger and energy into something positive – for me, and for other people.

As regular readers may know, the success of my blog since Hugo died has made me feel uncomfortable. I never wanted success this way, and would gladly trade it to have Hugo back in my arms.

I have had to acknowledge that wishing things were different does not make them different. Blogging does not bring Hugo back, but it keeps his spirit, his memory alive.

I have been learning that it is acceptable to be proud of what I have achieved in the past year. I have been learning that to be proud of my achievements, or to carve a career from it if the opportunity arises is not profiting from my son’s death. I have been learning that I am capable of so much more than I ever thought possible, and I can give to others so much more than I imagined.

Some of that learning has been part of the journey. Some of it came from last week’s BlogCamp. Some of it came from my shortlisting in the Brilliance in Blogging Awards.

The ultimate affirmation, though, came in the form of an email I received from a woman who is recovering in hospital several weeks after being diagnosed with HELLP syndrome, and suffering organ failure. Her baby boy sadly died. Like me, and so many other HELLP syndrome survivors she had never heard of the condition. A doctor at first misdiagnosed her condition as heartburn. This is an excerpt from her email:

I am plagued with a range of emotions, most of which I couldn’t put into words until I read your blog. It was like you had taken the words out of my mouth. Thank-you from the bottom of my broken heart for being a voice for those of us who can’t speak.

Award nominations and the like are wonderful, appreciated, the icing on the cake if you like. But THIS is why I blog. THIS is why I pour out my heart on a regular basis. To help others in a similar position, and to help others who have not shared these experiences learn how to support those who have.

 

Don’t Anticipate a Good Day, Or a Bad Day. Just Have A Day

Have you ever felt pressure to be happy?

I have.

Some of that pressure has come from me: my own brush with death, and the death of my son Hugo has left me with (amongst many other things) a sense that days of my life must not be wasted. That I must appreciate every day of life, and to the full.

Some of the pressure is external, from things like inspirational quotes that get shared on social media. Dependent on my mood, I can appreciate what some of them are saying but others can be what I like to call ‘unicorns farting rainbows’.

Rationally, I know even the more unrealistic quotes aren’t expecting people to go around hugging strangers, and dancing in fields full of flowers. They are trying to tell people to not sweat the small stuff, to appreciate the good in every day, to take a moment to think about the things that make them happy.

That near-death experience and Hugo’s death have given me a sense of perspective: I tend to not get stressed about trivial things like I used to. I don’t sweat the small stuff. Conversely, however, a legacy of what happened is anxiety. Anxiety can make feeling happy a challenge. That can be frustrating because anxiety very often defies any rational explanation.

As you might expect, I often feel sad. Sadness is the polar opposite to happiness. Sometimes turning the frown upside down just isn’t easy – or possible.

I know that I am fortunate to still be alive, which forms a fundamental appreciation of the good in every day. Every day I try to think of three good things that have happened to me (however small). It is a good habit to get into – but mostly I forget. Sometimes, the forgetting makes me feel bad – I’m not doing something I ‘should’ be doing.

There are many things that make me happy in life. The trouble is, my perspective on the things that make me happy has changed in the past year. That is bound to happen, really. The joy I felt for spring’s arrival has been tempered by thoughts of what happened last year. The pleasure I used to take in watching films and reading books isn’t quite there in the way it used to be, due to poor concentration and being vigilant for triggers (I am getting back in to them, though, which is something to be happy about). Perhaps I need to write a list of things that make me happy.

Or, at least things that make me smile, lift my mood a little.

I say that because I sometimes ask whether I can feel happy? Bereavement can make me think that I will never again feel happy, partly due to the sadness of grief and partly due to guilt that I ‘shouldn’t’ feel happy.

Of course I deserve to be happy, just like anyone does. Easier said than done, though.

So, happiness is something I want, and that I deserve. But this most humble of concepts can be hard to grasp because of changing perspectives, shifting moods, grief taking away happiness, guilt when feeling happy, guilt when not feeling happy, anxiety, being frustrated with the anxiety, pressure to feel happy (and pressure is rarely good).

Phew.

With all those complexities in mind, I was relieved to spot this quote on Twitter today.

I know, you’re sad, so I won’t tell you to have a good day. Instead I advise you to simply have a day. Stay alive, feed yourself well, wear comfortable clothes, and don’t give up on yourself just yet. It’ll get better. Until then, have a day.

For many people, for so many reasons simply getting through a day is an achievement. Sometimes you need a bit of time to just be.

It’s not that I don’t wish you a ‘good’ day. I hope you have a lovely day. But that isn’t always possible.

Expectations are tiring, as is guilt.

I am trying to tell myself that feelings are what they are (and don’t tell me it’s ok to not be ok).

Easier said than done, I know all too well.

Don’t give up. Step by step, things can change. Maybe not better, different perhaps. I have days I can call a ‘good’ day. I have days I call ‘bad’ days. I have days where I feel both joy and sorrow. And lots of other things besides. Most of us experience a range of emotions during a day, whatever we are doing.

If days are going to be labelled perhaps it is better to label them retrospectively, when the day is done.

So have a day.

No prefix, no expectations. No shoulds or shouldn’ts.

Sometimes you want a good day – and you can feel it. Being positive, if you genuinely feel positive, is great. Sometimes, though, you can feel it’s going to be a bad day. Can you make a day good or bad through positive and negative expectation? Maybe, maybe not. Some things are within our control, others are not. A discussion for another day.

You don’t have to anticipate a good day, or a bad day. Especially if getting through the day is a going to be a challenge.

Just have a day.

 

Do you feel pressure to be happy?