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Little sparks of joy


Today is the first day of my period and I’m sad. Really sad. I knew it was coming and the tell-tale signs were there: bloated stomach, spots on my chin, tender boobs and a desperate urge for crisps and chocolate. However, I clung onto the tiny thread of hope and desperately reimagined these symptoms as very early pregnancy symptoms. Of course, that twang is not usual, that’s not usually what I feel like before my period begins. Maybe I am pregnant; I won’t do the core part of Davina or push myself too hard during our daily lockdown jog/walk. I won’t have that glass of red wine even though my friends are drinking during our lockdown pub quiz. Every cycle is the same loop of forensic analysis, restriction, guilt and pain. I didn’t know I could feel so sad and yet, every cycle, I feel the ache of sadness exacerbated by the red of blood on a white sanitary towel, an unsubtle reminder of my infertility.


This time, I stupidly thought there might be a glimmer of hope. I’m working from home. I’m not feeling the usual exhaustion from teaching and dealing with the constant demands of students and staff. Surely, I’m more relaxed. I know I’m not sleeping well and, yes, I’m having nightmares and I’m so worried about my parents, I feel sick, but apart from that I feel a lot less stressed than usual. I thought working from home would be the magic fix. I think my husband did too. He looked crestfallen when I told him my period had started. That didn’t help.


I have spent the morning feeling lost. I started off the day with a cup of coffee and the remains of an Easter egg. What the hell. I’m not pregnant and, so far, being good hasn’t helped at all. I felt so lethargic and really couldn’t be bothered doing anything even though I knew a walk or some stretching would probably help. Instead, I sat on the sofa and watched The Vicar of Dibley and continued knitting a scarf for my husband. I’ve only very recently started knitting and I’m now starting to enjoy it and make sense of patterns and a whole new set of acronyms. I thought teaching was acronym bad, knitting is worse. I started to feel better especially when my cat came to see me and settled down for cuddles. I may not have a baby but I have a cat who loves me. I started to feel calmer, more stable, but then it was the episode when Alice has her baby as the Virgin Mary. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. That will never be me. My husband gave me a hug but it just wasn’t enough. I feel empty and I feel like my body is just not capable of producing a baby. Enough. Wallowing in self pity just wasn’t helping. I had to take control of my emotions or attempt to anyway.


I decided to have a shower and physically feel cleaner and fresher. I’m also no longer in my pyjamas so mentally I feel like I’m ready for a new day, new start.


I had intended to do some spring cleaning today but, instead, I found myself taking my laptop out and writing this blog post. As the words spill out, and being an English teacher who finds it very hard not to over analyse everything, I’m very aware of how much I’m giving myself a hard time. My husband always tells me I’m too hard on myself but I don’t fully appreciate it. I’m focusing on what I don’t have or can’t have rather than appreciating what I do have: a loving husband and family and friends who do care for me even if they don’t understand how I’m feeling at the moment. I’m reminded of one of the many self-help books I have read over the past two years. What would a loved one say to you? You’re amazingly strong and resilient for coping with all of this. Allow yourself to feel sad for a set amount of time but then take control and enjoy the rest of the day. You can’t control whether or not you can physically have a baby but you can control your feelings about life. You don’t have to drink countless cups of coffee and wine to enjoy life but you can do things that, as Marie Kondo says, spark joy. Recognise what sparks joy for you and do it.


Be kind to yourself. As I type, I’m lying on my side in my bed, curled up, almost in a foetal position. It sounds uncomfortable but it really isn’t. I feel like today is a day to cocoon myself. I’m not entirely sure what I will do but I refuse to wallow in front of the TV. I’ve done that and it didn’t help. I have found that writing this has helped and I do feel a sense of release. Maybe I will do some stretches after all. Tiny little sparks of joy are better than no sparks at all.




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