I am remembering hurts that are long-buried – and, oddly enough, as I pour out the words it’s generally not that painful. I thought there’d be endless tears, but there’s not; I am a bit obsessive about the journalling though.
As promised, this is very warts and all – two of these pages talk about the point where sex became a chore, and the start of my affair with Tony (who I’ve now been with for 26 years, so…), the pain of seeing everyone else have a baby and the years I spent on a fertility drug.
The process of remembering, recording, covering up and moving on is very healing. I continue to visit the cemetery a lot in my lunch breaks, and sit near the memorial stone to lost babies. So much healing…
Cath Sheard 