I’ve been away from blogging for four months now. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It just kind of happened. Like much of life, distractions arise, different things demand our focus, and it can be hard to return to what was before. The world of blogging is restrictive. Brand identity, reader expectation, and consistency often influence words and images. But life isn’t consistent. and we shouldn’t live by the expectations of others. We are multifaceted humans, with many voices. And they all deserve to be heard.

This is my rebirth. Mirrored in real life by the recent birth of my son. This is my rebirth into blogging. My rebirth into motherhood and me.

Back in June, when last I posted, I was 34 weeks pregnant, and unbeknownst to me about to become a problem to be solved. At a routine scan to check the position of my placenta, the sonographer informed me that my baby was breech. I wasn’t concerned, but my community midwife was. She immediately referred me to the consultant, and I started to get twitchy. I was having a home birth, and nothing short of my vagina closing up was going to stop me (hence the placenta scan). So ensued three weeks of to-ing and fro-ing, of not knowing where, how or with who I was giving birth. Thankfully it all resolved, and I birthed my beautiful boy at home, with Dan, my doula, and an independent midwife beside me.

Those six weeks were full of emotion and fire. There was plenty to say, plenty to shout about. But I was too inside it to formulate anything worthy, anything pretty, anything refined. I’d created an online space for myself that only allowed the expression of a singular, controlled side of me. My late pregnancy rants and ravings had no place. And so I silenced myself.

Now, as I emerge from this newborn haze, I see again how the space I thought I’d created to share my experiences, was actually stopping me from speaking my truth.

Because the reality of my truth was messy, real life. ¬†Waking up everyday on sheets soaked in milk and baby shit. Surfaces stacked high with dirty plates, dirty clothes and soiled nappies. Wearing clothes that didn’t fit and scrapping back three day old hair. Balancing a nursing newborn with one hand, and dealing with whatever chaos Bee had created with the other. All to the soundtrack of endless cBeebies and someone crying. There was nothing pretty about it. There were no beautiful photographs. And I had no well thought through words.

But I regret not documenting it. Not sharing my truth as it was, as it sometimes still is.

Six weeks ago I joined a mothers journalling group, and through our meetings I have grown to understand what drives me to write. In their words and images I have seen a part of myself reflected. I’ve seen how I’ve been silenced, and I’ve seen how I’ve silenced myself. My soul has been set on fire, and I want to let it burn.

So, here is my rebirth. Writing whatever I want to say, and capturing life exactly how it looks. If thats not your thing then look away, I won’t be offended. But this is my truth, my space, and I’m going to fill it.

Dedicated to SP, TV and the mothers of my journalling group.



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