Simply for Success

Oddly, the pregnancy came as a surprise.  At thirty-one I had become benignly complacent, believing that effort was required to conceive, after all, I had been married for seven years and my peers had all planned their babies.  That system appeared to be effective and flawless from where I was standing. Wayne and I were at first quite stunned by the news but quickly felt the enormous joy and excitement that comes with the news of a child on the way.  Bizarrely had never really imagined myself as a mother.  I felt rather like an impostor, I couldn’t be pregnant, not me. That was something that other people do, real grown ups, not me.

Our families were excited, as were we.  It seemed as though the world was abuzz simply because we had a baby on the way and we were overwhelmed with excitement.

 It did not take long for my fears and insecurities to surface. I had always been pretty good at that. I became plagued with fear and negativity.  Wayne and I were inseparable, ever since we met we had lived out of each other’s pockets and I loved it.  How would a child fit into that world?  Would a baby spoil what we had?  Would I end up home alone with small children like my mother for all those years?  Would Wayne find family life restrictive and not share the responsibility?  OH MY GOD – Would I have to learn how to cook and find my way effectively round a kitchen without dropping stuff and tripping over? Would I cope with lack of sleep? How would that be possible when I can barely talk before 9 in the morning and I definitely don’t function without tea. Would we ever manage to be a couple again? These and many other ridiculous thoughts hounded me.  I was in a complete self centred, nauseatingly childish, stupidly selfish, unnecessary and painful spin. I managed so spectacularly and completely to miss the magic and the joy of the moment.

 The miscarriage happened at seven weeks. It quite simply broke my heart. I had not realised how much the pregnancy meant to me until it was over.  There are no words to express the feeling of abject despair that comes with the loss of a baby. And for all those people who feel that early miscarriage is easy, let me spare you the delusion. It is excruciating, tortuous, agonising with any other painful state you can imagine thrown in for good measure. It really, really hurts. I felt aimless and alone in a harsh and barren desert of sadness, and that was when I was feeling ok. I felt frightened, dejected, and lost.  I grieved so deeply and clung so tightly to wonderful Wayne but nothing, not even my superman eased my suffering. It was almost too much to bear, but as nature dictates, life goes on. We began to pull ourselves together and move on.

 As I awoke from this period of mourning I began to search for answers. I decided I needed to know ‘why’. I took responsibility for the loss of course, it had to be all my fault. My wobbly emotions were to blame, perhaps my pathetic emotional rollercoaster had made the baby feel unloved or unwanted. Maybe I had eaten the wrong things, maybe I hadn’t eaten the right things, maybe I had worked too much, or not slept enough? A thousand thoughts swirled around my head, each one more uncertain than the last.  I felt tremendous guilt along with my sadness and terrible confusion at my fears and negative attitude to impending motherhood.

 My parents live overseas and as luck would have it they came to visit shortly after the miscarriage.  It had been years since I had spent time with my father and as I come from a family of seven and am the third born, the first time in my life I had my parent’s full attention. It soon became apparent to me the fears I had created in association with motherhood were directly related to my memory of my parent’s relationship with each other. My father was a colourful dynamic and interesting man who never really identified well with the role of husband and father. Brought up in the north of England, the heart of male chauvinism, he not so secretly believed that women are best kept in check barefoot and pregnant. I loved him dearly in all his glorious failings, but I had not realised the impact my childhood experiences had on my attitude to motherhood. I had been comparing my relationship to my parent’s, living in fear of a life that belonged to someone else and only as a memory. In short, I had allowed my past to rule my future and orchestrate doubt in my husband for reasons totally unrelated to my  reality.  I was married to a good, kind, loving and supportive man; it was ridiculous and unjustified for me to see him behaving as my father had done.  I was afraid of re-living my Mother’s past and created all sorts of mind games to torture myself as a result.

 Following this powerful realisation, I felt as though as great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I had understood the lesson and I was grateful.  I needed to free myself from the emotional baggage of the past. I vowed to welcome the next baby with an open heart and mind. I committed myself to joyfully accepting the future in all its diversity.  I was, at last, able to enjoy the arrival of a child.

Our first born son Isaac came into this world on Good Friday in 1998 during a wild rainstorm, beautiful, healthy and perfect.  The universe continued to turn, and I believed my lesson to be complete.

 A year and a half passed, Isaac was growing well and I fell pregnant again. It was perfect timing and all was good with our world. Then suddenly and without warning it happened again. Those horrible and gut wrenching telltale signs of miscarriage. I didn’t understand, not again, not me, not now.  I had learned my lesson. I had moved to a place of joy and acceptance, I had understood Goddammit! It was so, so painful.  The realisation the pregnancy was failing, the awful drawn out wait between ultrasounds, the unfeeling, unkind and uncommunicative radiographer who I at that time could have happily strangled without a second thought. She put ultrasound equipment in places I didn’t even know were legal and then appeared to me to act as if I were not even in the room. All during a time when I was at my most venurable, emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually. The news that we had conceived twin babies, and the sick feeling in my stomach as hope faded.  It couldn’t be, I had learned my lesson; I was free of doubt, content to change, open to the universal plan.  It just shouldn’t be.

 I miscarried after several long and emotional weeks of uncertainty.  The pregnancy lasted two and a half months.  We both plunged once again into deep sadness.  It is such a long, long  fall from joy to sorrow.  It was so unfair.  Once more I searched for answers.  I rang everyone I thought could help.  I consulted a healer who had been so wonderful during the first miscarriage.  We discussed the concept of karma.  Maybe it was a gift to allow these babies to journey for a time with us. I prayed for the answer but nothing became clear.  I was sure I was missing something obvious. I felt frustrated with my lack of perception. Why couldn’t I understand?  Why couldn’t I make sense of this?

 We conceived again, two and a half months later. I felt tentatively good about the pregnancy. I had been taking care of myself, seen a naturopath and built up my energy.  I stopped work immediately and Wayne helped more with Isaac at night so I could rest.  We both went to great pains to ensure my health and well-being.  We lost the baby at twelve weeks, two days after hearing the heartbeat for the first time.  It was so very, very sad. Thankfully the miscarriage was quick. It started on Wednesday morning and I lost the baby Thursday night.  There is no need to elaborate on the feelings we experienced again.  Sorrow is sorrow. Pain is pain.  Tears are tears.

 We have always been fortunate to have good people in our lives and were well supported over the next few days.  As chance would have it I had a prearranged appointment with a lovely healer the day following the miscarriage. I was in dire need of guidance. I asked her what she felt I needed to learn but she could not tell me.  She advised me to stop turning myself inside out looking for answers.  We discussed again the karmic aspect and perhaps some little souls come into this world with a wish to experience disappointment also.  She gave me some wonderful healing energy and we both saw the spirit of the baby carried safely away.  It was both reassuring and sad.

 Over the next few days I became very introspective.  A clear realisation dawned almost imperceptibly. I became very quiet within myself and stopped trying to think.  All my previous experiences merged and I became aware of a very simple truth. The answer to the question that had tortured me for so long was clear.  The way forward was obvious. I had once again so completely missed the point. For so long I had struggled, used my mind instead of my feelings. I had ‘mind searched’ instead of ‘soul searched’. I had allowed pain to engulf me, swallow me, control me. I had tortured myself with an unquenchable thirst for reason and logic. I had forgotten the essential nature of life, ever changing, ever evolving. I had tried to harness an infinite universe of opportunity and stage-manage it with my mind. 

The answer is, there is no answer.  There is no need to rationalise.  Having a reason for sadness, loss or any form of emotional pain does not alter the inevitable , healthy and natural emotion that accompanies it. My key to peace and harmony was Loving Acceptance of Life As It Is.  It really didn’t matter why.  If we are indeed willing to accept that there is more at work in this universe than simply what we can see, feel, touch, smell and hear, then the power that exists around us which we may choose to call  God, Universal Energy, Life, Love or any number of the names that are common in our world, requires an element of unsubstantiated, unformed acceptance, a complete lack of clarity and an embracing of uncertainty.  An ability to recognise our own limits in relation to this force that operates around, through and as us, and to release the need to KNOW. The fact this may well be in total conflict with our Conscious Will is entirely beside the point. The pain comes from resisting life As It Is.  If we accept all things as perfect then the conflict is gone. This does not mean we feel no emotions. The emotional journey is biologically tied to us, it triggers the learning process and is fundamental to our development.  How can we learn to overcome painful situations if we suppress, ignore or refuse to experience the emotion?  Emotion is part of the process but it is eased or aggravated by the conscious choices we make.

I can hardly begin to tell you how important this discovery was to me. Until this particular point in time I had only conceptually believed in the idea of ‘acceptance’ as a life choice, but never truly experienced it. I finally felt blessed and at peace with myself.

My heartfelt desire is that my story serves in some way to allieviate the deep pain that accompanies grief and loss of any kind.

Thank you for being part of my journey.

August 2000