One year on.
As much as I try not to, I can’t help but say to myself: ‘one year ago I was…’; ‘one year ago this happened…’; ‘one year ago, it all turned to shit’.
Facebook memories don’t help, but as the time was so significant, I remember most of it anyway. Last week was one year ago that I felt a serious inkling that I was pregnant. Friday was one year ago that my suspicions were confirmed. Saturday was one year ago when Gary turned into an arsehole and didn’t believe me at my most vulnerable. Sunday was one year ago when I kicked him out. Last night was one year ago that I spent the night alone for the first time in a long time: lonely, pregnant and scared as hell.
One year ago was when it all started to go down hill. Things had been rocky, but I do think we could have worked through it, figured out a way. But Gary chose to rid us both of that opportunity and let others’ insecurities and bitterness seep into his mind and poison him to what we had.
I’ve been on many a roller coaster since then and I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle any more emotions. It’s coming up to one year ago that I was told my baby didn’t have a heartbeat, that I’d had a ‘missed miscarriage’ and that my options were to take pills, have an invasive procedure or simply wait it out. I was given three choices I never thought I’d have to choose between.
I had my closest friends and family around me, yet I felt truly alone. I had absolutely committed myself to a life with Gary; I was looking forward to being his wife, sharing life’s adventures and challenges together, living in England for a bit, having a family together. Then a challenge arose and rather than work through it together, we went our separate ways.
We’ve obviously been in touch on and off since, as well as in the recent months and weeks. I know things won’t work out; there isn’t even an option or opportunity for it to happen. Yet I still wake up and think about him, walk around and wonder about him, hope that he’s okay. Then I have to forcibly remind myself of the dick that he was, the horrible things he said and did and the little consideration and care he showed.
I keep breaking my own word, and when he messages me, I respond. Or I’ll initiate my own message, just a quick hi, how are things. I can’t stop myself. It’s been a year and I’ve come so far, yet so much of me is still back there.
Mel and I were chatting once, between the kicking out and the loss of heartbeat, when she mentioned she thought I was doing quite well. I was – because while Gary was not at home, I had that little baby inside me. As well as my secret hope that we’d be able to work things out.
One year on, and there is a part of me that wants that, but the bigger part of me, the sensible part knows it can’t. I am a strong, independent woman. I am travelling parts of the world by myself. I am doing things I’ve never done before and I’m surviving, I’m thriving. I’m learning about the world, about different cultures and more than anything, I’m learning about me. I can do more than I ever thought possible. I can trust in my body, in my mind. I can trust in myself.
I’m coming up for five months away now. I’m slowly making plans to head home. I’ll get to my six months, or as close as possible anyway. I really want to go to Africa, so I need to cut down on my spending and give myself the opportunity to earn a few dollars for a few months before heading off again.
What this equals is a year off. I’ll have taken a year out of my life to live my life. Africa will be up to a couple of months, so normal life will resume in January / February. I figure this is fine – things happen at the pace they want to happen. This year and this me time has been much needed. I can only hope that when normal life resumes I’m ready to take it on and the lessons I’m gaining get put into practise.
Everyday I see babies, children and pregnant bellies and still so desperately want this for me. The urge in me to become a mother has not waned. I mentioned to Fiona in one of our last sessions that after things with Gary, I realised I didn’t want to be a single mum, that I wanted a partner. Well, that’s not true. I can be a single mum and I can be an amazing mum. And I will be.
Normal life will resume, but so will my desire and plans to become a mum. That is a dream I will never let go of. The fact that I will most likely be at least 36 when I have my first baby will not faze me. My baby and I will love and deserve each other.
I will never give up on my dreams and hopes – they may change throughout time and adapt to my world, but at the core, they will always be there and they will be achieved.
One year ago I was extremely happy yet nervous; one year ago I was in immense pain yet filled with hope; one year ago I was a different person. Thinking back on one year ago is hard and painful, yet it also shows me how I’ve grown, how I’ve handled challenges.
Things turned to shit a year ago, but I’ve picked myself up and have dedicated time and patience to myself. There can be nothing shit about that.