This too shall pass – World Suicide Prevention Day

BrooklynBridge

One of Bess’ beautiful images

I’m a firm believer that people enter your life for a reason. Sometimes they carry you, sometimes they hurt you, sometimes they only want you for your endless cupcake provision, but nevertheless, I believe we can always learn so much from the people in our personal worlds. Writing this blog has taught me so much about the innate strength and resilience of the women I have in my life. And today’s Guest Post is certainly no exception.

I met Bess about 10 years ago (omg we’re old Bess!) when we were studying art together fresh out of high school. Something between us clicked and we began to navigate “adult” life together in between life drawing and café breaks. Bess is an amazing person who is kind and warm and gentle and sweet, but also strong, honest, resilient and brave. She is also an incredible photographer, highly creative, and super-duper smart.

Anyway, life happened and Bess and I didn’t see each other for a number of years, so it was only when we reunited recently that I heard of her struggles with depression and suicide. Suicide is something that is so scary and so stigmatized that it’s almost impossible to discuss without fear or prejudice. But, we have to try. And so that’s why today, on National Suicide Prevention Day, I am so very humbled and honoured to share Bess’ story with you.

Personally, as someone who has only touched the tip of experiencing depression and suicidal ideation (and *that* was horrific enough), Bess’ words have helped to give me insight into a world that I don’t understand, as well as tools to help me know how to respond. So thank you, beautiful Bess, for having the courage and the ability to speak so candidly about your journey. I’m certainly so so grateful to you.

X

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Firstly I would like to say that I am honoured to be asked to be a guest on this wonderful blog. The honesty and courage that has been shown on these pages is an inspiration.

Today is World Suicide Prevention day. In the wake of the recent passing of Robin Williams much has been said on the topic of suicide; we have seen compassion but of course we have also seen ignorance. His suicide has been labelled selfish. To label suicide as selfish is to completely misunderstand the extreme and unrelenting pain that person is in.

In our society, unless it is a celebrity, we talk about suicide in hushed tones it is blanketed in silence. The media doesn’t report suicides for fear of copycat behaviour. This culture of silence perpetuates the grief and alienation felt by those who are left behind when someone they love suicides and it isolates those people who may be feeling suicidal, further from society. We need to start being more open about Mental Illness and suicide and recognise that these illnesses are real and acknowledge peoples experiences without fear or judgement. We need to do this so people feel they can speak out, to seek help, before the tragedy that is suicide occurs.

I can only speak from my own experience but the decision to suicide is not one that comes lightly. For me, it came after many months of agonising emotional pain. It was not a rational decision. It came out of desperation and despair. Of feeling utterly useless and out of control of my own life and mind. It is a terrifying feeling to have lost complete control of your thoughts and emotions and not one I would wish upon anyone, even my worst enemy.

I have battled with Depression since my teenage years but not having a name for it I found myself trying to cope through self-harm and alcohol abuse.

When things in my life were going well this darkness seemed gone for good, however as I grew into my twenties I could see the slightest upset or disappointment and the beast of Depression would be stirred out of the shadows.

As a side note: people with Depression do not ask for it, they do not bring it on themselves and they are certainly not given a handbook on how to deal with it! I cannot explain how terribly frightened of these feelings I was and exhausted by them. Because Depression is not a tangible illness we look for ways to illustrate it for those that might find it hard to understand, the black dog, the darkness etc.

I like to think of the rain cloud overhead. At first it appears just a slight drizzle and you haven’t got a raincoat or umbrella. The cloud follows you everywhere, even inside so you are continually getting wet. You can’t shake it and the rain gets heavier. Your clothes get wetter and heavier. You keep trying to keep up with life, with work and you wonder why everyone else seems to find it so much easier. By this stage your soaked through and frozen to the bone. Sometimes there’s thunder and lightening that roars and cracks right through your body, causing pain and making it hard to hear what else is going on around you. Still you try to keep going. Until it becomes too much. And maybe you collapse under the cloud. Or maybe someone offers you their umbrella to share or maybe you ask someone to share their umbrella. Acknowledging the cloud is there and telling people is the only way you can learn to deal with it.

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My journey to understand my Depression and learn to manage it in my life is an ever-evolving process to say the least, and of course there are good and bad days. I am extremely lucky to have a wonderful network of dedicated friends and family who help to carry me along. And who have learnt to be patient with me. I know it can be frustrating for them, trying to understand and know how to support me. I know I can shut down and forget how to be honest and open. Of course this comes from not wanting to burden them but in the end not being open often worries them more and I, in turn, suffer alone.

Sometimes people worry about upsetting a depressed person by asking them if they feel suicidal. And I can sympathise with this. I have also had friends who are Depressed and felt unsure whether to ask them, but on the times I have and they have laughed and said ‘No Bess, I’ll be fine’ I have walked away thinking ‘Well better for me to be wrong and laughed at then not asking and being right.’

I also know the times when I have confided in someone that I was feeling suicidal, I felt a huge weight had been lifted and it was no longer just a taunting thought in my head that only I could hear, I was distanced from it by verbalising it.

It’s important for people to understand that people who are struggling with a mental illness are fighting a battle at every step. I try to acknowledge the little achievements. For me, some days, just to make it to work is one of these achievements. And I am lucky I often have a text from my Mum saying, ‘Just try to make it until lunch time.’

The smallest things become difficult when you are depressed so an offer of cooking a meal for someone or taking them out can make a world of difference. I also think in this busy world the ‘check-in text’, to tell someone you are thinking of them, can go a long way. But I guess the most important thing for both supporters and sufferers is patience. And yes, this is definitely still something I am learning! Like with most things in life: nothing is certain.

There is no quick fix for Depression. And whilst medication can help, for me and I think for many others it has not been medication alone. There is different therapies, identifying triggers and making life changes.

I hope that sharing this helps people to better understand the experience, helps them to feel confident in assisting friends or family they know to be suffering. I hope it also helps those people who may be struggling to feel brave enough to reach out and know you are not alone.

In the dark times I try to remember ‘This too shall pass.’ I try to remember that feeling of coming out of an episode. When you see the world with a new fresh gaze. When you can take comfort and see hope in the little things, a blue sky, a dog’s enthusiastic leap, a lie down in the sun.

Breathe in Now

So it’s been over a month since I last posted. Part of that was wanting to wait until I had something half thought-out to say, and part of that was wanting to keep all the things I’m learning stored away like precious treasure. And part of it is that I’ve been busy breathing and learning and living.

I really don’t know what in my life will resonate with people now, but I know that I friggen love life more than ever. When everything was so shit over the past year I used to have a mantra that I would repeat in my head just to calm down and be able to take another step through hell.

It was simply: “The sun, the breeze, the sky, the trees.”

Just saying that to myself, took the focus away from me and my private hell, and onto the magnificence all around me. No matter how effed up life becomes, these things remain, and they remain beautiful and pure and good and constant (well, at least until the sun explodes and obliterates us all).

Ok, so not technically the sun exploding but still an amazing movie (if you're into metaphors and all that)

Ok, so not technically the sun exploding but still an amazing movie (if you’re into metaphors and all that)

I lost basically everything – all of a sudden I had no husband, no job, no income, poor health, and (very soon) no house. I was suddenly untethered from everything that was stable and true to me. I was floating in loss and despair. But yet, those wonderful things – the sun, the breeze, the sky, the trees – remained. And what’s more, I actually started to notice them.

I have no idea what my future holds now, and for the first time in my life I’m okay with that. Losing everything can be somewhat liberating. It means that there is a new and unimaginable future ahead. It’s excitingly scary.

Yes, Life, I'm talking to you.

Yes, Life, I’m talking to you.

In my darkest moments last year I planned to take my own life, and I got terrifyingly close. Knowing this scares me like nothing else in this world.

It petrifies me that I had no idea of the beauty and peace and joy that was just around the corner for me. It is daunting to think I almost allowed my life to be reduced to someone else’s actions upon it. And it cuts me to the core that there are people out there who never get to realise that they are worth more than their circumstances.

I’m not sharing this for pity or concern, I’m sharing this to remain true to the essence of Lady Breaks. It’s about vulnerability and pain, but also about the strength and beauty that is garnered and discovered when everything is stripped and everything aches.

As far as I can see right now, life is impossibly painful and impossibly beautiful. And it’s worth it.

PS. The heading is indeed a reference to Katie Noonan’s (george) glorious, healing song, Breathe in Now. So powerful.

Like Dust, I’ll Rise

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My favourite poet, Maya Angelou x

 

Firstly I really need to thank everyone for their kind messages following my last post. Every day I feel like I’m getting stronger and it’s because of all of you. I’m trying to keep telling myself that my life isn’t falling apart, but instead it’s falling into place. God, I hope that that’s right, or else all the struggle and fight was really for nothing.

Secondly, for those of you playing at home, you might remember that I said we were asked to be a part of Insight’s discussion on domestic adoption but I missed the filming because I was stuck being a dweeb in hospital. Well, at the time I found that ridiculously unfair, like all my advocating for adoption had met a dead end. But now, in the ever-marvellous world of hindsight, I can quite clearly see that that was for the best. I mean I already feel humiliated enough without all of Australia witnessing it. Anyway, the point is the program airs tonight at 8.30pm on SBS ONE and it is bound to be a very interesting look into all the different perspectives at play in the adoption debate. So tune in you beauties.

As for my health, as many of you have messaged and asked me, I am feeling a lot better and *hopefully* my clots are disintegrating as I write. I still have to get a zillion blood tests and I take a bottle of Warfarin a night (not literally – relax) but I do feel a lot stronger – physically, mentally and hungrily. Also I’m caring for my mum full time, who has managed to snap her Achilles’ Tendon during this whirlwind of bad luck, so that’s kept my mind fairly focused on routine things like eating and administering drugs and injections, rather than plotting the demise of infidels.

Source: Giphy.com

Source: Giphy.com

Thank you for keeping me strong and honest. x

Lady is Broken

There is no easy way to do this; in fact I have been putting it off for weeks. The sad truth is that I, Ms. Lady Breaks, am broken. I don’t mean broken in the sense of cracked or rusty or crinkly or hurt. I mean b r o k e n. Crushed, obliterated, eliminated. Smashed into a zillion unfixable pieces.

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And I’ve spent a long time thinking through the best way to do this. I mean this site is about strong, resilient women and it’s about my journey towards a family. And now, my life is about none of those things. I feel weak and battered and unsure of the future. Every single one of my dreams has been ripped from me, callously and without warning. Everything I spent fourteen years building and loving is gone. The last eight years of a harrowing fertility journey has culminated in an epic naught and nothing.

Mr. Lady Breaks has opted out of our life together.

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Right now I simply can’t make sense of it, and I don’t know the right words to articulate it. I don’t know how not to spew hate across this page at what has been done to me. I don’t know how to describe the hole in my heart that was full of him for more than half my life. I don’t understand why this has happened. And I can’t begin to comprehend the depth of repugnance of character of someone who would come between a husband and a wife.

In all honesty I never would have thought that this would happen to me. I loved being married and I adored my husband and our life together. Fertility issues aside, I thought we had a pretty damn good life. But, I guess life is always ready with another curve ball, I just could never have seen this one coming – especially not when I was already in hospital!

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I thought long and hard about closing Lady Breaks down completely. I feel humiliated and ashamed of my story now, like I finally managed to build up the courage to share everything and now it’s all irrelevant anyway. All those adoption assessments, safety locks, IVF needles, baby clothes, all that pain and anguish, the years of hoping and dreaming, it’s all withered away to a pointless and traumatic end. I was always so sure that Spring would eventually break forth for us.

So yeah, I was very close to just shutting this whole embarrassing blog down, I felt hypocritical, like everything it reflected no longer resonated with my reality. But then I remembered that I am the captain of this ship, and I really friggen love writing it. I remembered that its focus is on strong and resilient women, getting back up despite everything telling them to stay down… and I want to go to there.

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Right now, I do feel broken, but I know I will get up again. I would love you to keep walking with me as I fight my way through this (I promise to reward you with multiple cat gifs). I will still advocate for adoption. I will still promote infertility and pregnancy loss awareness. And I will still have my lovely, inspirational Guest Ladies. I just don’t really know what else I will have, because I really don’t know what my new life will look like yet. So if you don’t mind a blog that is more like an unfinished ‘Choose your Own Adventure’ novel, jump on board.

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As for me, I will get back to listening to Adele and watching animal compilations on Youtube.

x

Note: I don't really want to listen to Taylor Swift.

Note: I don’t really want to listen to Taylor Swift.

What I learnt from grief

Today’s Guest Post is so inspiring and breath taking I wish that I could make the entire world read it. I wish I could swallow it down into my soul and truly embody it, and as the New Year approaches I am determined to meditate on Amy’s thoughts and *try* to apply them to my own life.

Amy and I went to Primary and Secondary School together and we weren’t always the best of friends. In Primary School she hated how I would “show-off” and do the splits everywhere and I thought she was annoying and a “teacher’s pet” – I mean, her mum worked at the school, what was with that?!

Somehow we managed to put these differences aside and maintain a civil relationship through out High School, but it has been in the years since then that I’ve really seen the depth of her beautiful character. Amy is now a Classical Chinese Medicine Doctor who works tirelessly to bring fabulous health and strength to her clients, and she absolutely loves loves loves her work!

You are about to read just a snippet of her journey – prepare to be encouraged, motivated and challenged! Thank you so much for sharing with us Amy!!!

x

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Three years ago I went out to play pool with my brother.

We’re actually not blood related at all, but Pat had been a part of our family since I was in primary school. He had been a weekly fixture at Wednesday night Changing Rooms and Roast Nights at mums since I was 12.

We would sneak off and play pool after dinner to avoid doing the dishes, and he would hang me upside down by my ankles over the slate floor, and then let go of one of my ankles until I giggled myself beetroot red and mum was forced to intervene with a stern “Ah… Patrick… I think it’s time you put her down…”

Pat picking me up in one arm + holding a beer in the other at my sisters wedding. So Much Fun!

Pat picking me up in one arm + holding a beer in the other at my sisters wedding. So Much Fun!

He was the gentle giant that made the whole room giggle, and he broke up the girl-on-girl sister tension with his bold and deeply cheeky ways.

So, three years ago, we went out on the town to play pool.

And two weeks later he was gone.

Because two weeks later it all got too much,

and Pat committed suicide.

He was 31.

I cannot express what it feels like to experience such overwhelming grief and deep sadness in every part of your body,

in every nook

in every cell

right down to your very wounded and fragile soul.

Those weeks are a blur. I didn’t go to work. I remember helping to choose the suit that Pat would be buried in. I remember sitting with my sister and Pat’s beautiful long term previous girlfriend sifting through photos for the funeral. I remember staring blankly at walls.

I wrote a lot. For hours each day I penned streams of subconscious thoughts and feelings.

And I gave myself permission to feel it all.

Deep, full body, heartbreaking pain. Numbness, shock and raw emotion.

I had a godsend of a beautiful counsellor to help support my path.

The big decision I made early on was to sit with each emotion as it arose; to embrace every moment for what it was.

I chose to feel the depth and breadth of it all in each moment because I knew deep down that even though the full experience of grief is so painful it’s almost debilitating, it’s also the only way to heal.

Every day was a big day.

Hard day after hard day.

But at some point, something changed.

The condolence flowers on the desk in my bedroom began to wilt and die in front of my eyes. Something shifted.

‘Don’t we all die at last, and too soon?’

I started wondering how it was that I had programmed myself to believe that I was always entitled to another day.

I owned up to the big elephant in the room…that some day each of us will have our last day.

Boom.

There it was.

The shift.

Instead of contracting, shrinking, blocking and controlling, I expanded and welcomed.

I stretched out on the river of change.

It was painfully refreshing.

Liberating difficult.

I distinctly remember walking around Brunswick and being overcome by a massive, whole body wash of deep gratitude for all that we have in each moment.

I remember not wanting to put my sunglasses on, because I wanted to feel and see the world in all its raw intensity.

The delicious rays of sunlight.

The leaves dancing on the pavement.

All such delightful miracles

And treasures to keep

If we only see it.

It caused a palpable and ever-present shift in my life – and it all comes back to how I changed my perspective on that day, lying curled up in my bed, staring at the red wallpaper of my Brunswick share house.

So what changed?

I am no longer prepared to live a life that is any less than breathtaking, amazing and deeply soul filling.

I am here to live the depth and breadth of all that I can be.

I am so clear about what makes me feel amazing, and knowing that I won’t be here forever somehow gives me the courage make big and bold decisions based on what I am here to do in this crazy beautiful life.

I invite big and scary change. I love them in fact.

I moved states

away from all my family and friends.

I found the love of my life

and created my very own business that I’m so deeply in love with that I can hardly call what I do “going to work”

I designed a life that I love

And I wake up every day with a smile on my face

at this crazy, beautiful life!

I’m no longer willing to compromise or falter when it comes to what truly matters

because I feel big clarity.

I work tirelessly to create a reality that is totally in line with what I crave from my life experience.

I give my brain, my ego, over thinking and over rationalisation a whole lot less credit than I used to. They’re more like backseat drivers to me at this point.

I listen to and act on what my gut/heart/intuition tells me, and I pursue the things that I am deeply passionate about.

I’m careful what and who I surround myself with.

I’m not perfect, but I no longer aspire to be.

I know what I am here for.

I know what matters.

And I am unapologetically myself.

I barely ever wear make up

And I smile when I look in the mirror at just how lovely and true to my deep nature I am becoming.

I am here to feel clear, light, vibrant, deep and whole.

I am here to experience truly amazing health,

to burst out joy and to radiate kindness,

to help others discover their own fabulous health.

I treat my body like it is the most beautiful vehicle for change,

Because I believe that it is.

I want to inspire, create, to live and to love.

So I do.

Every single day.

And boy it feels good!

I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude on an hourly basis.

When I start to sweat the small stuff,

(And I do, because I am human)

I stop. I take time out. I ask myself what I really need.

I resist the urge to get swept up in it.

I ask my partner his honest thoughts.

I surround myself with notes that make me smile,

Peg my goals and desires above my desk.

And meditate each day to check in and realign with that deep clarity.

Because I know I am worth it.

Which is lovely in itself.

I still feel overwhelmingly devastated that the world lost such a cheeky and kind-hearted, beautiful treasure, but the feeling of loss has paved the way for the deepest sense of privilege that I was blessed to share those moments with him at all.

My life would be void of so many beautiful moments, adventures, giggles and fun without his presence.

At the end of the day,

I just want to learn all that I can from the deep experience that I was gifted.

So when it comes,

I welcome the pain.

And I am grateful for it.

Pain is beautiful because it reminds us of all that we have.

And it reminds me of the lasting and deeply beautiful effect you can have on your fellow life travellers.

Little things like walking past a pool table at a pub can beam joy right into the core of my heart, and make me feel giggly, full and grateful.

Other times it can open up a deep fragility.

And occasionally it overcomes me,

But I learnt to let go of judgement long ago.

If tears come,

I don’t mind,

I’m sure as hell not going to hold back anything that my body wants to feel, because that ain’t the path to fabulous health!

I simply respect the feeling, the beauty, the loss, and often I’ll say something in my head or my heart to my brother Pat,

I breathe, I embrace, and I gently move on.

I learn and grow.

Learn and grow.

I stretch out on the river of change.

Gentle tips for finding your way through grief

  1. Be gentle with yourself. Be kind. Be patient. Let go of expectations. The most beautiful and useful thing that no one ever tells you about grief is that we all deal with it in our own unique way, and that that’s okay.
  2. Find a brilliant counsellor to guide, support, and hold the space for you as you move through the complex up-and-down of it all.
  3. For all types of transition, my favourite book is ‘Broken Open’ by Elizabeth Lesser. Truly beautiful.

All the best with your beautiful journey. You’re doing a good job.

Amy

Amy O'Brien

Amy O’Brien

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What did I tell you?! I think everyone can take something from this amazing reflection! Thank you so much Amy for giving us an insight into your journey, I’m sure it will speak to many people.

Make sure you check out Amy’s website, Fabulous Health, and ‘like’ her Facebook page, Chinese Medicine + Fabulous Health, where she regularly posts tips to achieving (you guessed it) Fabulous Health!

I am truly so blessed to know so many beautiful ladies like Amy – we can all learn so much from each other! Thank you again Amy! xoxoxo

In Loving Memory of Pharaoh

Lady Breaks was created as a space for women to be real about their struggles and heartbreak, and to use those hardships as fuel to push themselves upward rather than down. Of course this is much easier said than done, and sometimes the valleys are so deep and vast simply choosing to take another step requires more strength than anyone should ever need to muster.

Losing a child is an agony that I cannot even begin to imagine or process; yet devastatingly one in every four parents experiences it. I feel so incredibly honoured to share Bianca’s story with you today. Bianca and I knew each other as teenagers, and reconnected again through the wonder of Facebook. Although our journeys have been extremely different, there is some sort of unspoken solidarity through shared grief.

I can’t really express how much I admire her strength and bravery through this time, it has inspired me to push on and keep sharing my own journey. Thank you Bianca for giving us an insight into your grief, and allowing us the privilege of meeting your son Pharaoh.

x

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A year ago, I would have never pictured my partner and I decorating our first family Christmas tree alone. A time that is meant to be full of joy and excitement is now overcome with emptiness. I had so many visions of what it would be like to have a new baby to spoil on his first Christmas day.

It has been 10 months since Pharaoh passed away, although I am now a lot stronger in my grief it still hurts to know all of my hopes and dreams for this year, and forever, are gone. I know each year I will grow stronger, but the first milestones and celebrations are always the hardest.

Pharaoh

Grief can be a very isolating journey. I know at times I have felt very alone and misunderstood. It can also be quite challenging for loved ones around me to really understand and accept all of the emotions and feelings that come along with it. I understand life has to go on for the world, but my world is only just starting to, very slowly, spin again. I feel I have literally been stuck in time, back with all of my hopes and dreams for our son.

I know to some it may seem like I’m being selfish but I can’t and won’t change my journey through grief. It is such a personal experience so who are others to judge or have false expectations? It is very easy for society to suggest we grieve in a way better suited to them. Unless you have been through what 1 in 4 mothers go through, there is no way they could possibly understand how debilitating it can be. Every experience is different, and people deal with things in their own way, in their own time.

When your baby dies, the world is put into a new perspective. Things that were once important now seem superficial and materialistic. It tests some relationships and makes others stronger. It helped me to be outward with my grief, and I found different ways to express all the emotions I was feeling. I created ‘Pharaoh’s Page‘ for this very purpose and I appreciate anyone who ‘liked’ our page and read an article or two. The page was never created to preach my alternative beliefs, and ways of living. It was a way for me to share the lifestyle I had planned for Pharaoh, and a way for me to still parent him. Every article that was read and acknowledged helped me to keep his memory alive. So I would like to thank each of you who have followed my journey through healing. It is far from over, and I know each day will be a new one.

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It amazes me how much you can grow and learn about yourself, just when you think you’ve got things figured out life hands you another load to deal with. All of these challenges and obstacles make me the person I am today, the person I am still growing to be. Although I wish my son was here more then anything, I am accepting why the universe has made things the way they are. I am different now, I can love, understand and empathise on a whole new level.

My new way of thinking, feeling and seeing the world would not be possible if it weren’t for Pharaoh’s short time with us.

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I just want to take the time to thank the few special people in my life. I know I have been absent this whole year, I’ve missed birthdays, engagements, and dinners. I’ve ignored phone calls and text messages – I’ve pretty much been a bad friend. It takes a lot of empathy to understand that my actions were not a personal attack on you or of my feelings toward you, more a reflection of my grief. I didn’t have the energy to maintain a friendship, and you all held me up by not judging me, and you kept the friendship alive even when it came across like I didn’t care.

So thank you for being so selfless and understanding, to me this was priceless and the best kind of support. I can’t promise I will ever be ‘back to normal’ or spontaneous and social like I used to be, but I am still me and I want you to know that I love you very much.

So even though I will feel the emptiness this Christmas, I will still feel enough joy to celebrate our baby’s life and our new little family. Christmas will be a very sad time for a lot of other families in this world. Instead of celebrating with their children by their side, they will be celebrating with them in their hearts. So please take the time to remember these families, I know they will appreciate your thoughts.

In loving memory of

Pharaoh Ireland Bryar – 26.1.13

Max Baker James – 17.12.07

Taya Joy Delbridge – 11.12.12

All the angel babies

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Thank you so much for sharing your journey with us Bianca.

Please don’t forget to visit and ‘like’ Pharaoh’s Page!

x

Reality Hits You Hard

Well after the last heavy post I thought it might be good to backtrack a bit and share a little snippet of our story. If you can’t be bothered reading you could just watch the clip from ‘Up’ which basically tells the first half of our story in heart-wrenchingly beautiful detail.

Mr. Lady Breaks (who coincidentally doesn’t exactly like being referred to as “Mr. Lady Breaks” because apparently it a) “sounds like he’s a lady-man”; and b) “sounds like he breaks ladies”) started dating me back in 1999. I was 14 and he had just turned 15. I’m not going to bore you with too many soppy recollections of high-school romance, but to say it felt like the most normal and natural thing in the world.

So we dated and dreamed about our future. There was going to be retro cars, murals on the walls, and two studios (one for music and the other for art, obviously). We would own a weatherboard cottage and a café and together we would change the world. We picked out songs for our wedding and names for our children. We couldn’t wait for our adult life to begin.

At my 16th Birthday in 2001

At my 16th Birthday in 2001

Needless to say, most of these things didn’t happen (well, my first car was a 1967 HR Holden but we – ironically – sold it to buy a “family car” when we started trying). We did get married, but finance and reality limited life and dreams – as it seems to do to everyone.

Man, I loved that car

Man, I loved that car

What was never expected though was infertility. We were young, really young, and healthy. In fact the doctors refused to even test us at first. Then, after eighteen months of trying, we were referred to reproductive specialists who told us that there would be a very long ladder of options available to us before we would need to consider something as serious as IVF. They were wrong. After the results came back it was clear that IVF would be our only option to ever conceive.

I realise at this point of the story it might be handy to say what the problem actually is, but I’m choosing not to. It’s not that it’s a closely guarded secret at all; it’s just that it doesn’t really matter. The thing about struggling with infertility as a couple is that you struggle as a couple. Infertility is a shared disease – if one person is diagnosed, both are diagnosed. Yes, one may be technically fully able to procreate, but, as we know, it takes two to tango. Also, there is a big, burdensome load of blame and inadequacy that comes with being The Infertile One (read: the reason behind all the pain and sadness), which I’m sure I will discuss some other day. So suffice it to say that “we are infertile.”

Anyway, I won’t get into the nitty-gritty of deciding to do IVF today either, as it was quite a huge decision that took over us a year, but just know for now that we tried and failed. Of course it’s something that we could keep trying but for that damn ‘finance and reality’ thing again.

The thing I really wanted to share today was how brutally unfair the whole thing felt/ feels. Having grown up in a broken home, I really longed for that stable family unit. Part of the reason I loved Mr. Lady Breaks so much was that I knew he would make a great dad, and I doubted he would ever walk out on his children. I could give my children something I never had, and I could finally experience the much-lauded nuclear family thing. But, of course, life had other plans.

Mr. Lady Breaks (the name is sticking, so get over it) and my story isn’t over, but we just have no idea the direction it will go. We have come to so many closed doors and dead-ends after almost eight years of fighting and struggling that we hardly know how to dream anymore.

But the story isn’t over, and we have to keep dreaming. We need to fill our own Adventure Book (‘Up’ reference) and I love the fact that you are now along for the ride. Thank you.

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