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

The terrible weight of June

the terrible weight of June - Grief
I have been waiting for it. The heavy weight of June to fall. The pendulum to swing in favour of grief. It held out. Took it’s time with the swing. I thought maybe I’d even escaped it this year. That my son’s fourth birthday would pass with a melancholy kind of joy rather than re-exposing the scar of grief. Weeping and raw. Four years since he was born. Nearly four years since he died. Taken at merely two weeks old. And everything rushing back.

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Invisible Mothers & Warriors

Mothers day is fast approaching. A day to be filled with burnt toast, sticky kisses and hand-drawn cards. A day to let my own mother and grandmother know how much I love them. A day for hearts bursting and hearts aching. My middle son will be in my thoughts more often than he usually is. He always will be on days like this.

invisible motherhood

My head and my heart will will be full of him but I will be thinking about other women too. On days like this I always do.   Read more