I’ve been relatively absent from my blog over the last couple of months and whilst I’m certainly not under any illusion that there are hundreds of people wondering where I’ve been, I thought it would be nice to have a catch up. Bloggers disappear, without a word, all the time and I tend to be one of those people who wonder “What happened to them?” Sometimes life gets in the way and other times, they just fall out of love with it all. In my case, it was little bit of both.
As most of you know, I had a miscarriage in November and that was what turned everything on it’s head. It came at a time when it felt like 95% of mummy bloggers were announcing pregnancies and whilst I was pleased for them all – it can become truly exhausting being happy for everybody else. Especially when you’re battling with your own grief. I had to look after myself and take the time to heal. It was then that I decided to take a step back from the blogging community. For my own sanity, if nothing else.
I, at least, was in the fortunate or unfortunate position (depending on which way you look at it), to have been through this all before. I knew that it would get better in time, I knew that my grief wouldn’t be this painful forever. And I’m glad to say that things are getting better and the pain doesn’t sting quite so much. I can now smile at the pregnant ladies at our toddler groups without fighting back the tears. I trust that my turn will still come. I have to believe that it will.
The amount of time I suddenly gained from not blogging was more than I knew what to do with. Well, at first anyway. But then I joined the library (it only took me two and half years!) and I have found myself getting lost in books again. I can spend a whole morning at the library – browsing the aisles, running my fingers across the spines of books, searching for a title that grabs me. I’ve slept so much better since swapping my ‘up until gone midnight on the laptop’ routine for one that involves climbing into bed at 10pm to read a few chapters of a good book. Better sleep = less grumpy. Less grumpy = more patient. More patient = happier mummy. Happier mummy = happier daughter.
Talking of being more patient. I never feel like I have to rush around anymore. Whereas before I would snap at Jasmine because she wasn’t walking home from nursery quick enough . I’d worry that she’d then be late down for a nap and I’d have less time to blog or clean the house or prep dinner… The list of things that I thought I needed to get done was endless.
Those things are no longer priorities. Instead, I let Jasmine stomp in every puddle on the way home – even the pathetic 4×4 cm ones. I encourage her to run along the different types of gravel we come across, as many times as she likes. We touch the leaves and twigs on every bush we walk past. We say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ to every person and animal we meet. We loiter all the way home and it’s ace. I just wish I had known it sooner.
I’ve started doing more for me and I now know that I’m not being selfish for doing so. A realisation that took far too long to come to me. In January, I rejoined Slimming World and I’m slowly working my way back to my target weight (which I achieved in the summer, before I got married… and then subsequently comfort ate like a mofo after the MC). I also recently started going to cardio kick boxing classes which make me feel a happy, satisfied kind of exhausted.
The time-suck part aside, I have missed blogging. Writing here on Tinyfootsteps has always been my favourite creative outlet but recently I’ve chosen to keep a diary instead. A diary that is for my eyes only. Understandably, my thoughts and feelings have been so raw over the last few months that I’ve been less willing to share them publicly. Everything about the whole damn situation was ugly. My blog was supposed to be my ‘happy place’ and I felt the ugliness was creeping in.
So where do I go from here? I’m not really sure. I think I am just going to keep on doing what I’m doing.
Healing. Taking things slow. Looking after myself. Getting fitter and stronger. Reading. Writing for me. And jumping in tiny, pathetic puddles with my girl.