At my back
My children’s father sent me this photograph the other day, a photograph of myself and my son taken 40 years ago. “Beautiful”, he wrote in the caption. Yes, I was, wasn’t I? But how I wish someone had told me that then, or rather, how I wish I had known it.
I don’t remember the photograph being taken but I remember the young woman I was back then. The night before, I would’ve fed my son at 10pm and if I was lucky, got to bed around 11.30. I’d have been up again feeding him at 2pm, changed him and paced the floor of his room with him in my arms as I sang him back to sleep. Maybe I’d have crawled back to bed for 3am. At 6, he would have woken again and I would have seen to him alone until he went for his morning sleep at 10. I will not have gone back to bed.
At her back then…
I look at her, that young woman who I was, innocent, smiling bravely, so very tired, and I want to say, “I have your back”. I want to say, “You are allowed to meet your own needs – go back to bed and rest.” And especially I want to say, “You are not only beautiful but you are a good mother”, (that would have made her cry). “I know you think you don’t know how to do it and for reasons no-one can tell us you have a baby who would try the patience of a saint, but you are doing really well. Give yourself some credit and cut yourself some slack, you are enough.”
But of course I didn’t know to say those things to myself and there was no-one there to say them to me. It makes me sad even now, the loneliness of that time, the sense of overwhelm and anxiety. As I write those three words – loneliness, overwhelm and anxiety – I realise I could equally well apply them to these last years of grieving. I had barely even held a baby when I had my own and no-one taught me how to be a mother – which isn’t quite fair to my own loving, if perfectionist mother; but though I had her example to follow (or reject) she was 300 miles away and I saw her rarely. And no-one has taught me how to be a grieving mother, a grieving widow. I have followed my instincts the best way I can but following birth and following death, there has been a sense of isolation, of there being nobody at my back, of not knowing how I am going to get through from one end of the day to the other. Which is also not very fair on my kind and stalwart friends, but I knew neither what to ask of them and nor did I want to overburden them. And so, I became semi-reclusive months before COVID and lockdown demanded it of us.
…and now
If I needed the wise mother at my back in my lost and woebegone 20s, what did I need 7 or 8 years ago – and still sometimes now- when I am crushed, not only by the weight of loss but also by the burden of responsibility of living alone in a challenging world? What would I say to myself in my lost and woebegone grief years? I would say:
“My darling, it sucks. You have every right to feel whatever it is you feel. Rest all you can. It’s ok to say ‘No’ and it’s ok to say ‘Yes’ – or to change your mind. You don’t always have to meet the needs of others nor do you always have to be brave – sometimes courage looks like falling apart not keeping it together.” I would say, “Your instincts are good – follow them. That old tree and your friend the river – they are wise. Spend as much time with them as you want to, just being. There is nothing you have to achieve and you do not need to have all the answers. Relax a little.
“Sweetness, you know your heart is hurting because it loved so very well. It may feel frozen now and the sky may feel unremittingly grey and the wind bitterly cold, but warmth and blue will return, and little by little you will defrost. You will see that your heart hasn’t lost any of the love it always knew. What you have lost are two of the three most precious beings you shared your life with: your loving companion and that little child you once held on your knee. There is no getting around it, these things are sad and hard and they will cause you grief. But you do not wish those beloved ones had never been, for they have made you who you are. They have matured you, wizened you, strengthened and softened you and, as grief transforms you, it will bring you face to face with a you whom you can love and respect.
“Grieve my love, weep or rage, eat chocolate if you like. Life isn’t easy and you are doing so well. Oh, and one last thing, it’s never to late to reject perfectionism.”
I hope I would have listened. I’m listening now.
With my love,
Nickie
NEWS
Writing Pilgrimage
Places are filing up fast. There’s still 2 weeks to go before we start on our journey and just a few places remaining, so do please get in touch if you are interested in joining us.
Perhaps you’d like to simply write each day, respond to invitations, see where it takes you. Or is there, perhaps, an issue you’d like to explore through writing, a question you have, a dream, a yearning even if it’s nameless? My own wondering is, can I use my writing to bring out my deeper longings, meet myself on the page, hear my soul speaking back to me?
If any of this speaks to you and you have at least 10 minutes a day in which to write, then please consider getting in touch with me. You may not have ever written before or you may write frequently, everyone is welcome. I will not ask anyone to share their writing, this is your private journey, but if you choose, you can share some of your steps with others along the way.
If you are interested, please write to me here or at the email address on the image. I will send you an overview and itinerary of the pilgrimage and details for payment if you choose to join me.
I hope to see you soon.
Nickie
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