Did you know that “aftermath” has two meanings?
The one we’re familiar with, the one we all know:
The consequences or after-effects of a significant unpleasant event.
And the one we’re less familiar with:
[Farming] New grass growing after mowing or harvest.
I’m sat here, submerged in the aftermath. I haven’t showered today. Husband had to drop the boys to preschool because I couldn’t face leaving the house. I’ve sat at my computer and listened to sad songs. Songs from my teenage years, songs from the angst of my youth. And I’ve cried for everything bad that’s ever been.
I’ve looked through old photos of me, wondered where the girl I used to be has gone:
I know I’ve said this before, but how did I get here? Where did my fight go?
This is about more than a miscarriage. This about where I am now, and what path I’m on, and how the fuck I got here.
My heart feels so very heavy. Heavy for having lost it’s way. And the worst thing is, even if I sit and ask myself outright, I don’t really know what I even want any more.
What is all this grief about?
Is it the mourning of my youth?
Am I having a midlife crisis?
Why do I want another baby?
Why have I been so troubled for so long?
What do I really want to be doing anyway?
I need to move, to get out of this swamp of mediocrity I’ve been wallowing in. But I don’t know which way to go, or even if I can get out.
What do I really want??
For the first time in my life I want to ask a younger version of myself for advice.
Hey, 28 year old me, with the world at her feet. What do I do now? What’s wrong with me? Why am I so unhappy?
You know what I feel like doing?
I feel like chucking away every, single piece of clothing in my wardrobe.
Every item. All the crappy tshirts I slob around in, the jeans that are baggy enough to hide my less-than-flat stomach, the mediocre, boring, mummy-slob, clothes that I wear day-in, day-out. The practical shoes and the thermal tops. I hate it all, because it all came from supermarkets and it all says that I’m not important, I just need to cover up my post-childbirth-x2 body in a practical way until my children are 18 and I get the chance to think about how I look again.
God, I am having a midlife crisis aren’t I?
Yes, I am.
I have gone from Exhibit A – self-assured, confident, intelligent, well-traveled career-girl:
To this – Exhibit B (do I really need to say anything?):
(And by the way, if you recognise me, and you know me, for God’s sake ring me up and be nice to me.)
But back to what I started with.
The new growth after harvest.
That’s what I’m submerged in.
I think I know what I need to do. I know that change is the way forward, because what I am doing obviously isn’t working. Because if we all stay the same then where the fuck are we going to end up.
Thank you for reading this rambling, personal, crazy, post.