When I first experienced loss and
for the ensuing years of infertility and loss and coming to terms with
childlessness, there were many sleepless nights. My mind would race, go over
and over events, trying to imprint it on my memory, afraid that I would forget
the details, the pain that I was experiencing, the thoughts I was having about
my experience. I was afraid I would forget everything I’d been through. I was
afraid that forgetting was a betrayal of the babies I’d lost, of the losses my
husband had experienced, and of my own desires. I was afraid too, that
acceptance meant forgetting all of that.
It was odd, for me, because my
memory has pretty much always been a real strength. I rarely needed to keep a
diary, because I could automatically remember dates. I can remember
conversations almost verbatim – it drives my husband crazy! Etc. But the fear of
forgetting was strong. What I didn’t realise then was that I would never
forget. And when I began recording first the hard facts – events, dates, timelines
of my losses and treatments – and then my thoughts, I was freed from that need
to remember.
But I also learned that remembering
is not dangerous. Remembering experiences is how we learn from them. Reliving
the pain, feeling everything that we felt at the time, is not beneficial,
however. It keeps us in that timeline, restricts our development, and halts our
healing. In those years of volunteering with dozens (100s?) of women, I’ve seen
women and men who can’t move on, and who get stuck. I’ve found that it is a
choice – even now I could put myself back into the mindset and emotions I
experienced after my ectopics. But I choose not to, because it is not healthy.
If someone really struggles to make that choice, or feels totally unable to do
so over time, it is wise to seek help, as reliving, not remembering, is a
feature of PTSD. So the rule is to remember,
not relive.
But why remember such a difficult
time in my life? As I said, one reason to remember is to learn. By remembering
my early days, I realised what helped me, and what didn’t. I remembered what
stories I had been telling myself, and with the benefit of time and healing, I
was able to question and challenge those. I was able to take lessons and apply
them to new situations. Or at least, to know I should try to apply them to new
situations, even if I wasn’t very good at doing it in practice! I’ve found that
of enormous benefit in the last decade or so.
And perhaps best of all, it allowed
me to recapture the love I felt. Instead of feeling guilty about the losses my
husband endured, I was able to recapture the love and compassion I felt for
him, for the way he dealt with the losses, for the ways he supported me. And
instead of reliving the grief of losing my babies, I was able to remember the
love I felt for them – before and after conception. (We all know we felt love
for our babies, whether or not they were conceived or grew inside us.) Feeling
that love helps me smile about my experiences. It helps me know I had it in me
to be a loving mother. It helps me feel self-compassion and self-love too.
Ultimately, my aim is not to remember the pain, but remember simply the love.
Remember. It helps.
