As I reach the third trimester, my anxieties have started to increase. The closer we get to the time we lost Orla, the more the fear of history repeating itself kicks in. Add in a couple of other challenges and bumps in the road, and my anxiety this week has hit an all-time peak.
I knew from the start that I would struggle to ask for help in this pregnancy. Despite knowing that I would need to at some point and that this would be completely understandable, I still struggled to see how I would do it. How would I know what warranted asking for help and what I just needed to learn to tolerate and manage for myself? Would it be a slippery slope and that as soon as I asked once, the floodgates would open and I would be calling my midwife or the hospital every day? Would I be demanding to be admitted until the baby was born, banging on the labour ward door, hospital bag in hand, begging to be allowed in?
I think I have, and still do, worry about these things. But above all else, I think that asking for help means admitting to myself and others that I am feeling vulnerable. That I am scared – utterly terrified – that my life is going to be ripped apart again. That I have failed again. To ask for help means that I am not coping, and that the burden of responsibility that has weighed heavily for the last few months has become too much. Continue Reading