I’m sure we’ve all been there. The moment you resent this journey and all the sacrifices you’ve made, and decide ‘screw it, I’m not pregnant anyway… what does it matter if I smoke or enjoy coffee or eat gluten or drink?’ I gave in.
A part of me is dead inside and I’m only acknowledging this now. Last Friday night, I dreamt of storks flying past my childhood home. In my dream, I looked up to find each one was decapitated and falling to the ground. That’s right, I was decapitating the symbols of fertility in my dreams.
Over the weekend (or erm past month) I let my body consume everything that I’ve denied it and then some. Now I feel gross. But what it pointed out to me is that I didn’t have any fight in me and I realised that even more when I read Black Panty Salvation’s blog post about never giving up.
I need to find the fight again. I need to believe deeply in this without despair sucking me into its ugly void. I need to stop comparing and looking back.
“The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.”
― Paulo Coelho, Alchemist
I need to get up.