London Grieving

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In three months we’re leaving London for Sydney. I can’t believe the big move has come around so quickly and the thought of it fills me with fear, anxiety, sadness and worry.

I was a totally different person when we left Australia in early 2007. I was broken, confused, damaged and I’d lost my way in the world …

I think it all started when my twins died in 2002, I never healed from my loss and my solution at the time was to have another baby. I thought it would fix me. It’s only now that I’m older and wiser that I’ve learned there is no way around grief, you just have to go through it.

I ran away from Sydney. There’s no denying that. I was desperately unhappy with my life and I wanted to take Rob and Holly far away and start again.

And that we did.

When Rob was offered an amazing job in London we made a decision in a heartbeat and left ten weeks later.

I closed the door on many aspects of my life and many people in my life. I packed up our dream home we’d spent the previous three years renovating, picked an area of London suggested by my wonderful Australian friend who lives in London – and we left.

I swore I’d never go back, ever, and I think this is why I am feeling so sad and reluctant to return.

There is so much about myself that I will never blog about but my passion for London isn’t one of them. However it’s tricky to write about why I am so attached to London without letting too much go about myself.

London saved me. It forced me to take a really good hard look at myself and more importantly be honest with myself about why I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. I saw my future on a clean slate, I had a once in a lifetime opportunity to start again and get it right.

It took me several years to get to a point where I didn’t hate myself. The hardest part was the realisation and acceptance that I thought I was a shit person. I find it really sad to write that now, but it’s true. And when you hate yourself as much as I did it restricts your ability to let any love in and I was a genius at that.

I know I’ve screamed it from the rooftops before, but I am married to an extraordinary man. He is the only person in the world who knows me. Really knows me. And he’s still here. Isn’t that amazing? He understood me when nobody else did. What a blessing.

I don’t hate myself today. I have a full, wonderful, healthy and happy life but I’m under no illusion how fortunate I am, however what I have hasn’t come easy and I have fought like a Trojan for it.

I can blog about all the wonderful things I have in my life and how lucky I’ve been to travel, have four children, to have the opportunity to live abroad, etc., and all the funny things that my kids do and the craziness that engulfs my life. But sometimes I feel like a fraud because there is a side of me that I battle with and that a lot of work goes into in order to keep me afloat.

Since I left Sydney, there isn’t a single bit of myself I haven’t analysed or had analysed. I have made so many changes to my life that not much remains of the Stephanie of 2007. Its been a terrifying, difficult and at times lonely ride to the present but for the head-space I have today its been worth it.

Depression. It really is a fucking bitch.

*Please feel free to email me privately if you do not wish to make a public comment.


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