What it feels like to be “other”

I see versions of myself reflected all around me. As a white, cisgender, straight, healthy, educated woman who chose marriage, career, house and family. I do not presently live with a visible or invisible difference. Added to that, I’m a dedicated rule-follower, colouring nearly inside the lines. Typical. Generic even.

My life has lead to very few experiences of feeling other. But I did enter that way of being after Xavier died. Read more

A Perspective. On Perspective.

Perspective - Butterfly on beach

I keep coming back to it. Perspective.

It’s a slippery thing.

After Xavier died my perspective on perspective changed. No longer a guilty reminder of my first world problems. It became a talisman. I held to the blessings, not because I felt the nagging need to be more grateful, but because they were all I had left. Read more

A change in direction: the Book

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t publish a style post last Saturday. The world kept on her axis. No plagues fell from the sky. Even I wasn’t too bothered.

I have a notebook full of ideas. Enough content to keep me writing pithy little posts about style for ages. But last week didn’t have enough space to steal. Actually, that’s a lie. There is always time somewhere. Books that didn’t have to be read. Social media scrolling that could have been cut short. Mornings that could have started earlier. Read more

If it were common – would it hurt less?

*** Trigger warning: This post discusses child loss, grief and miscarriage ***

Grief. Loss. Pain. Sadness. These are universal emotions. If all the feelings of the world were placed on a scale, I daresay the darker side would draw lower. Yet, that’s not what we see. Not what we are taught. Happiness is to be prized and paraded. Sadness is to be swallowed and hidden away.

I’ve thought a lot about this since Xavier’s death. The reactions to child loss, and to loss in a broader sense. What is acceptable in grief and what is not. You are told there is no guide book. But believe me, there are a host of unwritten rules. Read more

Five Light Years Ago

Somewhere, in an alternate reality, a universe parallel to my own, there is a mother preparing for a fifth birthday party. Her son is unwrapping presents and playing with new things. An older brother edging his way in, trying to sneak first plays that don’t belong to him. Perhaps there would be a younger brother, very close in age, helping unwrap. But he shimmers in this imagined reality – I am not quite sure he would be there.

This is not my reality. My reality is that my son was born five years ago and died two weeks later. My reality is his two brothers, older and younger, playing quietly upstairs while their mummy writes out her grief.  Read more