The fog lifted, I smiled and laughed and jumped and ran. For a month. … I gave my all to my love, my students, my clients and myself (perhaps there is something to be said for the order that I wrote those in… but it was unintentional). I was ready to nest, I began cleaning, I pushed through some wounds with my mum during her visit, and I started getting excited about labour, birth, motherhood. I spoke at length with my amazing midwife about the spiritual side of birth and motherhood for me. Something I’ve found really difficult to connect with anyone about- which, in turn brings up the isolation again. So much isolation. I’m already from a different planet to the vast majority of my human circles… the way I’m approaching this whole experience has only highlighted that fact, and pushed me into myself- to my own detriment. Up and up. Pushing forward. I’ve got this etc.

But I don’t. The curtains are drawing closed again on my light, and my internal room is once again, dimly lit. And the dramatic internal monologue is full of doubt and critique. Doubt that I can do this. Doubt that I even want to do this. Doubt that I’m worthy of this. Doubt that I’m justified and validated in my feelings throughout the whole entire ordeal. Paul constantly reassuring me that I’m doing amazingly, not complaining (“no, please. Complain more!”)… I’m so incapable/unable to see myself as other people see me. And it’s something I’ve always craved. An objective view of myself. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to lift out of my own body and watch me operate from outside. Now more than ever. I feel cumbersome and inconvenient for everyone I encounter. I feel physically devoid of value. I slept from Wednesday through to Sunday last week. I woke to teach classes, then went back to bed…

I found a kitten last week. On the road. Miraculously missed by the car I was following. And he’s been the most welcome distraction from the constant boxing match that’s been going on between my foetus and my cervix, the vomiting that’s returned with a vengeance, and the exhaustion- naps are better with a kitten. But last night guilt waltzed in and told me how terrible I was for attaching to the kitten and ignoring my unborn. I’m back to wanting to cry all the time. I’ve heard all about my friends being angry at their partners and pissed off about everything but I’ve just been crying, and telling boomers off in coles for absurdly stockpiling goddamn toilet paper. Just sad. Just alone. Just worthless. The question of my worth was really reimagined during my mums visit… She came in with her values and made me question all of mine. Thank god that was during my good month… I’ve had the energy to process most of it. But now, as I start to shrink back into myself, the voices of my inner critic and self doubt get louder and louder… and it’s time to battle again. Battle myself. Battle my demons. Tamed in cages, but brats, and escape artists. Always challenging me.

12.5 weeks to go. I can meet my dude and start to heal my body. 12.5 weeks. I’m on the home straight. I’ve been under twice as long as I have to go.