I started this article trying to write about the day I found out Space Baby had died, only to realise that I did not have a landmark moment to articulate. There was no definitive scan, no blood and no kindly professional sitting me down to tell me of our loss. I do not know when our baby died, only that I accepted their death in small increments with each consecutive appointment. The day hope left, more than a week before the physical miscarriage itself, I remember leaving Joel at the train station and heading up to Manchester to speak at a mental health conference as if everything was OK. That night I sat in isolation amongst friends and allies, drinking my first beer in months.
Today I walk through the world with a deep and open wound. It’s a pain that leaves me feeling both full to breaking point with a deep sadness and curiously empty. It is as if my feelings are huddled in the corner, snuggled up with Schrödinger’s Cat – simultaneously there and not there. As I […]