Just over eight years ago, I was in Morocco. A mum of two at the time. We had headed south, seeking warmth. So that we could comfortably, begin the conversion of our Horsebox into a home.
But it would be anything but, comfortable.
Unawares to me, I was with child. I pushed aside the tiredness that I felt and kind of ignored the fact that I was late with my cycle. I was still breastfeeding my youngest, who was two, so my cycle was not always regular.
And tiredness is something you just have to learn to deal with as a parent of two young children.
When we got there, we found a place where we could park up and work on the truck. I spend my days using the sander and angle grinder, but using them made me feel unsettled and eventually nauseous.
It was then, that I suspected, that I was pregnant. Then when I got it confirmed, I was a little shocked, but knew that I had to try and take things a little easier. So I cut wood and lay insulation.
Whilst also caring for my two daughters and cooking almost every night. After a couple of weeks, we moved on from that spot. Which had been in the middle of a coastal town. I longed for somewhere wild. Away, from the constant sound of civilisation.
So we headed further down the coast and found a place very close to the ocean. Just North of Sidi R'bat. I felt so exhausted, but so grateful to be by the ocean. To hear, to see it, to smell it. I felt like I could finally relax.
Then on the full moon, I began to get really intense cramps and with it I began to bleed. The pain intensified and I got my ex to take our girls outside for a walk, as I did not want them to see me in so much pain.
Pain that ripped through my body.
I knew I was losing my child. I surrendered to the pain and rode it's many waves. I had learned to this during birth, but this, this was so much more painful.
And at the end, there was no child for me to birth. There was only heartbreak and pain.
What is this,
all this pain,
flowing out of me,
This little life gone,
never,
do I get to hold them,
never will I, be the same,
My silent screams,
fall on deaf ears,
all these tears, no one hears.
All this anger spilling out,
so confused,
all alone,
where is this place I call home.
I no longer
bleed to life.
I wrote the above poem, as few days later, as I tried to come to terms with what had happened to me, whilst trying so hard to keep it together for my girls. I felt, so broken.
I craved to be with women. To share my grief, to cry. I called out to the universe, I called out to my sisters, to bring me to a circle of women, where I could be heard and understood, where I could be held. Where I myself, could be mothered.
The next few weeks, were really intense. I really struggled at times and I felt so alone. Crying myself to sleep most nights. Holding onto the remains of my lost child, which I had kept. Because I did not want them to rest here.
I wanted to find a place, where I felt safe.
Then by chance, we met a family, who told us about a place in the South Of Spain, where there was lots of children and a new birthing School. I really wanted to visit and convinced my ex to go.
A month later we arrived, to the same area that I now live in. I found my circle of women and a sacred river in which to release the remains of my baby.
A river that me and my girls still swim in, a river that I also put some of my sisters ashes in. This river cleansed me, it helped to heal me.
Loss is such a huge part of life. It brings us, the deepest of sorrow and pain, it rips us apart. The love we feel for those we have lost, it reflects the grief that we must go through. Our grief and love, one of the same.
Miscarriage, is not something that is often talked about, with so many women suffering in silence. It was my first experience of real heartbreak. Such heartbreak, that I was unsure if I could put myself back together again.
It is so important that we get to express our pain, that we get to share it. Because then, we can finally begin to heal.
