Crikey O’Riley Restless Ones,
I’m going on a journey. And this is one I don’t need to get on a plane for.
I wasn’t sure if I should share it while I’m in the thick of it, or wait until it’s all finished, so I can tie a little bow around it and present it to you, neatly.
But then I reminded myself that this is, largely, what this newsletter is for — to share the messiness of life as it happens, through a time when I have lots of questions and far less answers.
Just over a year ago, I gave birth to twins. Two beautiful little lives which I grew inside me for 37 weeks. Bringing them into the world didn’t all go to plan and Jupiter ended up in intensive care.
There are some hangovers from what happened that day which creep, unexpectedly, into everyday life. And I know that there are thoughts and feelings which I’ve squashed down into my (muddy) boots, in an effort to just crack on. But I’m eager to see if I can bring them to the surface.
This post might be sensitive for anyone who’s experienced loss or trauma around birth. But I also know that there are so many people who have been through some kind of trauma in the past (birth related or otherwise) — who carry it around with them for years, a lifetime even.
This has felt heavy enough to carry for a year, so maybe in sharing the journey, it can lighten the load for someone else too.
And as a side note… the human mind is freakin’ FASCINATING. As is this EMDR therapy stuff. I’m down for the ride.
Thanks for being here in this little corner of the internet with me. You are the jam to my sponge roll.
Big love,
Anna xx
It’s early on a Wednesday morning and I’ve driven 45 minutes from home to a place nestled in the green folds of the Cotswolds. My therapist, Joyce, has sent directions to her studio and, as I take a few steps towards it, I can see that the door is already ajar.
‘Hellooo?’ I call.
‘Hello Anna. Come in.’ A soft voice floats from the other side of the door.
Joyce’s studio is warm and cosy. She’s sitting in a leather office chair opposite the door. In her late fifties, she’s got shoulder length white hair and is wearing a navy jumper with a red beaded necklace over the top. To my right is a small green sofa with two large, square brown cushions on it. There’s some kind of infuser going and the place smells of coconut and vanilla.
‘Hello Anna. How are you?’ Joyce asks.
‘Good, good. Thank you.’ I reply, shifting in my seat. ‘Well, actually, I’m a bit nervous.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, but that’s good. It’s good nerves, you know?’ I add quickly, as if I’m trying to reassure her that I’m not going to make a bolt for the door.
Joyce nods. I take off my shoes and move position again so that I’m sitting cross-legged on the sofa.
‘Are you comfortable?’ Joyce smiles.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘So, Anna. What we’re trying to do today is to check that I’m able to help you, that we get along, but also that the EMDR therapy is going to work for you. Does that sound okay?’
‘Yep, sounds great.’
‘So I will tell you about how the therapy works, but first — and I know you’ve already shared some of it with me on email but — could you go ahead and tell me why you’re here?’
I take a deep breath.
I want to talk about it. I’m ready to talk about it. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s difficult to talk about it.
It’s also mad that I don’t know this woman at all, and yet I’m about to share my deepest and darkest thoughts with her. But that makes it easier, I think. Because — she’s not a friend, or family member, or even a colleague. I’m not, for once, concerned with her wellbeing over my own. I am here to put myself first. To take what I need.
So I override my inner mental commentary, which constantly wants to present things in a positive light. I take another deep breath and explain what happened.