8 thoughts on “Remembering”

1. Hello,

   You’re absolutely entitled to bad days. It’s only to be expected when you’re suffering with PTSD. When one comes along for me, I try to ride it out, telling myself that it’s just a day and tomorrow might be better. I know that won’t always work and it might not work at all for you – everyone has their own coping strategies.

   I had six weeks of counselling too and while it was a big help, I felt like I needed more. I really think an option for further help should be made available.

   I hope tomorrow is a better day for you X

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2. Hope you feel better soon, and of course you are entitled to bad days, we all are normally let alone when someone has gone through so much in such a short space of time like you have. I hope you find someone to talk to xx

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3. Sending a virtual hug to you. I saw this shared on FB by a friend today, it relates to all parents who have lost a baby…I know you have posted before that some of your friends/family do not talk about Matilda Mae – my friend specifically asked her friends to read this to help them help her: http://standardissuemagazine.com/voices/say-their-name/

   I think it might help your friends too realise that you need to talk and almost give them permission to talk about Matilda Mae without worrying it will upset you.

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4. Ps I know you are aware, but wanted to encourage you to consider that along with counselling sessions, maybe if you want to talk and if no one is around, you could call one of these helplines rather than not talking because friends are unavailable :

   http://www.lullabytrust.org.uk/bereavement-support

   http://childdeathhelpline.org.uk

   http://www.lifeafterloss.org.uk

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   • Thank you x

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5. Dear Jennie,
   I have followed your blog for a long time, quietly watching your huge journey and experiencing your losses and triumphs alongside you. I’ve never commented, because I always felt you had so many other amazing supporters you didn’t need another voice, but I feel compelled to write now…
   My daughter was also very premature, and I too, without realising, went through the motions in NICU; I was practical, loving, sensible, aware – but not once did i appreciate the emotional rollercoaster. I remember being giving leaflets for support groups for parents with prem babies, and thinking ‘ That’s so wonderful for parents who have prem babies’ but didn’t actually put myself in that group.
   Consequently (of course) I developed PND. Although I had treatment, and came out the other side, I don’t think the effects of that time ever really left me. The effects of experiencing a point in my life where one minute everything is fine, I’m pregnant, making breakfast, planning the next few months, and then the next minute everything is utterly changed is, in itself, life changing. (There have been other points in my life too when similarly life changing events have occured out of the blue – the death of a grandparent while I was walking alone with him, age 10, for example)

   For you, those life changing moments where your world is torn apart in a single moment have been extreme. At the deepest level, it shakes the very foundations of your belief that everything will be all right. That you are safe. That all is well. You end up living in a world where you are hyper-alert to things going wrong, on such a deep level that you may not even be aware of it. Living with the low level hum of anxiety is exhausting.

   I became an acute perfectionist, incredibly determined to be an amazingly creative mum, make incredible memories, make all the right decisions, make the most of every single minute. My idea of keeping everyone safe was to try, in what started out as a very gentle way, to control as much of our environment as possible, from our food, to our home, to days out, schooling… If I made mistakes I found it hard to forgive myself and move on – I gave myself a very very hard time. I was hyper critical of myself, to such an extent that eventually I found it hard to make decisions at all in case they were wrong. Eventually (of course!) and thankfully, I broke.

   I found the most amazing life coach/therapist who let me, after all these years, talk and talk and talk and talk. We employed some simple techniques that were pretty life changing for me and my family, and I so wished I’d done it sooner. It took me many months to unpick my feelings and thoughts, but just talking to someone who could never be affected by how I felt was incredible. To have honest words coming out of my mouth. To say the unthinkable and not be judged. It was huge. It was healing. I beg you to find that professional, and to take the time to talk. Just like when the twins were in NICU, you are living through stuff that most of us can’t imagine, and being practical and loving and awesome, but invisibly beneath the surface there are battles being silently fought.

   I too took to my bed regularly, feeling ill. It’s your body and brain making you stop before you break. If there is one little thing I would urge you to do, it would be to plan days where you are alone every few months. Plot your breaks when David can have the children for the day so that they don’t just happen when you feel ill. And whatever you do with that day, even if it is staying in bed in your pajamas for 8 hours, don’t feel guilty.

   One of the greatest analogies I was given was this: When you are on a plane with your children, you are told that in the event of an emergency, you must put on your oxygen mask before you put on your children’s, because for their wellbeing you must look after yourself first. And in life, sometimes putting on our own metaphorical oxygen mask first seems impossible and unthinkable.

   I think you are incredible. Your enormous and inspiring skills as a parent means you have everything within you to heal and mend. This book – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Inner-Bonding-Becoming-Loving-Adult-ebook – was the first step on my path back to myself, and I’d love to pass it on to you. It was life changing in a time of unbelievable turmoil.

   I send my heartfelt love and admiration. I apologise in advance if anything I’ve said is misplaced. It comes completely from empathy, I promise.

   Dawn xxx

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   • Thank you for writing this. This has made me so emotional because I relate to every word and feel without having ever met me you know me x Thank you x I will read the book and find someone to talk to x Thank you x

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     • I know you because every honest ounce of you is in this very special blog. Sending so much love. xxxx

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