The woman glanced back over at me, peering up through heavy-lidded eyes, drugged in an oxytocin fug. Her blissful state as she gently rocked her tightly-swaddled newborn back and forth in her lap was at odds with the searing words rolling off her tongue, burning into my skin like acid.

Sure, she was smiling – one of those aloof, close-lipped grins reserved for those who know more than their recipient as they impart words of wisdom. Smug.

She could have left it at that. The inference was clear: as a Non-Mum, I hadn’t reached the hallowed gates of True Love Heaven. Yet she continued.

I was still reeling from the bullet of the first statement, which had hit me full-on in the face, square between the eyes, when she reloaded her verbal semi-automatic and took aim for a second time. To put me out of my misery, presumably – which would probably have been kinder in the long run, I think now with hindsight.

I forced myself out of the depths of my mind, which was currently replaying my friend’s last statement on repeat, taunting me like a broken record, and back into the room as I became aware of the sound of her voice starting up again: a continuous, low-level drone, like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. The indecipherable sounds slowly swam back into focus until they became sharp, clear as a bell:

“…as a parent, the world just…I dunno Sam…it just looks different.”

Was there an audible thud in the room as those words tore through my body? I looked around, expecting to see an exit wound, thick red blood spattered up the magnolia walls of my sitting room. Nothing. There’d clearly been no sound, the gunshots must’ve ricocheted off the squishy sofa cushions, I figured, because she continued, oblivious, and the baby never even stirred.

“I mean, people told me how amazing motherhood would be – how life-changing – but I had no idea until this little angel appeared in my life. It’s as though I’ve been blessed, you know? As if my entire life has been building up to this moment. It’s like we’ve known one another forever.”

I’d heard her say that last sentence before, years ago, about a boy she’d been dating for five minutes. I’d laughed it off with an accompanying eyeball roll. She’d ghosted me for a while, to pursue their ‘relationship.’ I’d done the same to her on occasion, to be fair. But this was different. I knew I’d lost her for good this time. I mumbled something incoherent, but it didn’t matter because she wasn’t listening anyway.

“It’s like my life has meaning now. I’ve got a purpose. I know what I’m for.”

She obviously hadn’t gauged my wide-eyed look of horror, recoiling in shock as I slumped back against the soft furnishings, the innocuous surroundings of my home disguising the fact that I felt like I was under siege by this, this stranger sat before me wearing my old mate’s clothes.

I wanted to leap up, turn off the telly (which incidentally was playing some inane daytime show aimed at other women, different women, who, unlike me, also had a “purpose”), and bellow at her: “Do you actually know what you’re doing to me right now?!” Can’t you see the wounds to my heart that your machine-gun volley of verbal shots is causing?!”

But of course, I didn’t. I smiled and drank my tea and made all the acceptable congratulatory noises, rather than the wild-animal wail I wanted to release from deep down in my soul. She was my friend. I wanted her to be happy. I was happy for her. I decided to let her have her moment. But it wasn’t easy. Because ‘her moment’ would last a lifetime.

And mine would never come.

September 10th – 16th is World Childless Week. To find out more go to www.worldchildlessweek.net. This article has been featured here in the Parents section of the Huffington Post UK. 

Sam x

The post You Never Know True Love Until You Have A Child appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

Argh! It’s happened! My newsfeed is full of back-to-school snaps!
Well, fear not, Non-Mums, because next week is our week :

Stephanie, founder of World Childless Week, and I recorded this video chat last week to tell you all about it.

The daily themes:

Useful links:

World Childless Week

The Non-Mum Network

Childless Path To Acceptance

Childless Chit-Chat

Childless Perks

Gateway Women 

Please share this post or create one of your own about World Childless Week to help raise awareness of childlessness and show your support for Non-Mums everywhere.

Sam x

The post World Childless Week appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

This year has been a rollercoaster for me. As an Aries, I thrive on excitement and adrenaline…but somehow the rush got a little too intense, even for a hyper Type A like me. I realised that I love challenges and change…but that you cannot underestimate the importance of those comforting constants in your life too. You need to feel grounded sometimes.

Being a childless divorcee can feel like a weightless state: on the one hand there’s a sense of freedom and lightness that come from knowing you only have yourself to look after day-to-day. I can live spontaneously, moment-to-moment. If I want to pack a bag and disappear at the drop of a hat, I will. I can (and do!) stay out dancing all night long, without having to pre-plan months in advance – or even make a phone call to say I’ll be late. Whatever!

However, when you don’t have a family you can also feel disconnected, unworthy, insignificant; shut out from a society that values parenting above any other role. Consequently, you’re like a balloon floating on the breeze…and sometimes you get caught on the branch of a tree. You realise you’re not invincible after all; balloons are fragile things.

Recently, I’ve had a series of challenges. It can be easy to think: “What are the chances of this (good thing) happening?” “Surely I won’t win this competition/get picked for this opportunity?” Why bother? What’s the point? Throughout my life, I’ve often defied the odds…but not always in a good way! What are the chances of being infertile? 1 in 7. I am an infertile woman. I defied the odds. What are the chances of IVF working? Well, only 25% on average per cycle…but after 3 cycles 75% of women have succeeded. I had 3 cycles. I did not succeed. Again, I defied the odds. I am now one of the 1.5 women in 10 who don’t have children. What percentage of women experience premature menopause? One in 100. Guess what? It was me. I was the one in 100.

So then I started thinking: “What were the chances of all those statistics going against me?” “How come I fell out of the Unlucky Tree and hit every branch on the way down?” But then I also said to myself: “Hang on. If the odds can go against you in a bad way, surely they can work in your favour too?” What if I start going about my life by trying to do things that I would not have thought possible before?

I started to put myself out there a bit more. Someone nominated me for a blog award, so I filled in the application. I was selected as a finalist…one of a handful of over 4000 entrants. (The awards are next month – wish me luck! .) Then I applied for various opportunities…and have been chosen by brands for lots of partnerships and exciting projects. I’m defying the odds – in a good way!

The point I’m trying to make with this blog is this: life is a game of snakes and ladders. Sometimes you are climbing that ladder, feeling fearless…and then you’re suddenly knocked off course, sliding down the back of a huge snake. Your confidence takes a hit. But just when you think you’re destined to be writhing in the snake pit forever, suddenly you’ll see a chink of light and someone will chuck you a rope ladder. Don’t give up. There will be tons of snakes…but there are just as many ladders. You just have to hang in there and keep playing the game.

When I think to myself: “Why me?” I also think: “Why not me?” And that goes for good things as well as bad. Why shouldn’t I be selected? I used to hear the expression “Your number’s up” as a negative statement: you’ve had it, game over. Now I think of that phrase in terms of being chosen or winning something. (The lottery maybe? That’d be nice.) So maybe this year my number will be up: I might win something; I’ll get chosen; it might be my turn. I’ve defied the odds before, in so many ways.

Perhaps I’ll be in the 1% again.

But this time in a good way.

(As I was writing this it also occurred to me: today is my birthday. I was once a sperm who defied the odds to get to the egg. The chances of that sperm being me were about one in 300 million. If you’re reading this, you’ve already defied the odds. Now get out there and keeping defying them. You got this!)

Sam x

Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (lifeabirdseyeview)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Your Number’s Up! appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

G’Day Birds Eye Viewers!How are you all on this dull February morning?Now, those of you who know me personally and not just via the blog will already know that I’m something of a motormouth. I have a tendency towards being pretty full on: turbo-charged and as nutty as a tray of Ferrero’s at the Ambassador’s Reception. Some of you may remember my previous podcast recorded with Washington DC-based podcasters Sip And Shine.

Trying to get a word in edgeways when I’m on one is no mean feat…as Mike Douglas, creator of the mental health podcast Mike’s Open Journal, was about to find out, when he invited me onto his show to talk about my experiences with mental health issues, specifically in relation to infertility, IVF and marriage breakdown, as described in this blog post…

                              
Having had his own experience of mental health issues and also a marriage breakdown and no children, Mike and I have plenty in common. Unfortunately what we don’t have in common is the same calm and controlled style of speech, so listening to Mike’s even and lilting tone will be soothing and easy to listen to; my own hyper and breathless babbling…not so much.

I wonder which one’s me…? photo credit

So apologies for the frantic pace of my chatter – oh, and the fact that I sound like Pat Butcher from Eastenders…and say “yeah” a thousand times. Believe it or not, despite the mile-a-minute rambling, I actually don’t like the sound of my own voice that much. Let’s just say I make Bianca Jackson sound posh.

Anyway, thanks for listening! I hope I don’t send your blood pressure soaring and you can listen with a nice cuppa, and not require a vodka and a fistful of statins to get through the hour-long episode….

 To listen to the podcast click here




Listen to Mike’s other episodes 
Follow Mike’s Open Journal on Twitter

Who, me? I don’t know what you mean… photo credit

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post I’m a guest on Mike’s Open Journal Podcast appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

photo credit

A child is like a tiny seed; a tree at the start of it’s long life. The quality of the soil, the water, the climate – all determine the tree that seed will grow into. It’s the duty of everyone who comes into contact with that little sapling to nurture it and protect it from the elements; to help it grow.

I don’t have a child, but I’ve been one, and so have you, so we’re all qualified to speak about this topic. We all remember the bewildering feeling of being small, defenceless; not yet understanding the world. Everything we encounter as a child is new: in turn awe-inspiring and confusing, fascinating and terrifying, as we look to the grown-ups to guide us and help make sense of it all. To be betrayed by the very adults that are meant to protect us causes lasting, irreversible damage. The bark of that young tree is marked with permanent scars.

The recent revelations of widespread sexual abuse in football have once again brought this difficult topic to the fore, although for victims of abuse it’s never far from their minds. A survey last week revealed that 86% of respondents had either been abused themselves, or knew someone who had. This figure, whilst shocking in itself, is likely to be even higher in reality, as it doesn’t include those who have never breathed a word of their suffering to another soul – of which I’m sure there are many.

So I, alongside many others, was disgusted by the recent ignorant comments made on Twitter by Eric Bristow: a washed-up former darts player who was probably spouting his nonsense from his front room, beer can in hand, whilst watching old reruns of Bullseye.

Eric, the overweight chain-smoking dinosaur who’s been putting the “cock” in Cockney since 1973, implied that the victims were somehow “wimps” for not taking action sooner. I took to my own social media account to let him know exactly what I thought of his careless and damaging remarks, and was horrified to discover that although the majority of my friends and followers firmly agreed with me, there was the odd (very odd!) person who defended him. One particular Bristow-sympathiser was a woman, albeit an “old school” one from a similar era as him, who questioned why anyone would “wait thirty years to speak up.”

Whilst infuriated and incensed by their comments, I’d actually like to thank Eric and his out-of-touch cronies, as their ignorance inspired me to write this piece.

Firstly, they clearly have never experienced any form of bullying, assault or abuse themselves, otherwise they would have some understanding and compassion for the shame, fear and self-loathing that wraps itself around the victim like a bone-crushing boa-constrictor.

Many years ago, when I was of primary-school age, I was sexually assaulted several times by the neighbour of a relative. Despite being appalled, disgusted and terrified on each occasion, I didn’t tell anyone what had happened until much later and soon after that, the man died. I came from a loving family, I knew it was wrong, yet I was told by this person to stay quiet, so I did.

Does that make me a wimp? Of course not. Quite the opposite in fact. It takes a lot of courage to carry around a burden like that, especially as a child. I know several people – strong, amazing people – who have also been sexually assaulted, raped or abused. In most cases, the perpetrator went unpunished.

So I have nothing but the utmost respect for these footballers and others who have been abused – in fact all victims of any crimes – who find the courage and strength to speak out – no matter how long it takes for them to feel able to do so.

Self-confessed selfie-queen Karen Danczuk has also recently been in the spotlight for winning a court case against her brother, who was last week found guilty of repeatedly raping her (along with two other victims) throughout her childhood. Having attempted to bury the trauma for many years, Karen finally spoke out on Thursday during an emotional interview on the daytime television show Loose Women, during which she told of her shattered confidence and efforts to seek approval from others through constant selfies, a habit which had previously seen her ridiculed and written off as arrogant and narcissistic.

Those of you who read my blog regularly will know that I don’t shy away from broaching difficult topics, yet it’s taken me until this post (my 60th article for ‘Life: A Bird’s Eye View‘) and forty years of life on Earth to write anything about this subject – although I’ve started to a few times then hit the ‘delete’ button instead of ‘publish.’

Common effects of abuse include anger issues, low self-esteem, depression, self-harm, law-breaking, substance abuse and promiscuity. This may seem like a tenuous link, but I directly attribute my childlessness to those unfortunate childhood experiences, since the careless behaviour which led to my cervical cancer surgery and subsequent inability to conceive was a direct result of my damaged self-worth caused by those events.

The repercussions were mental, as well as physical. I was afraid of bringing another person into this world, for fear of passing on my flaws; the responsibility for shaping the personality of another human being just too great. Well, I got my wish and never became a mum. (I later changed my stance on this and went on to have multiple failed IVF cycles; it was too late).

Why am I telling you this? Certainly not for sympathy, or to jump on any bandwagon; rather to illustrate the far-reaching effects of sexual abuse, and that it can happen to anyone.

So how can we protect our children from these vile predators?

It is vital to talk to your child. Even if you think they are too young for such a conversation – they are not. The NSPCC Pants campaign and accompanying Pantosaurus Quiz are great tools to assist with this, and the charity recommends introducing them to children as young as four.

Do not make the mistake of thinking that it can’t or won’t happen to your child. Abusers are usually well known to the child: a family member, family “friend” or trusted adult in a position of authority. These are rarely scary strangers in macs; they are the smiling, normal-looking men you’ve known (and trusted) for years.

This has to be a joint effort. It’s up to all of us to protect all children, not just our own. One in five girls under 18 is a victim of sexual abuse, and one in 25 boys. If you suspect something, do something. If a child’s behaviour changes, find out why. The internet presents a whole extra dimension of risk that didn’t exist when my generation was growing up; including very young children being groomed online whilst their parents watch TV downstairs, oblivious. Educate yourself – your children are probably more internet-savvy than you are.

By talking openly about uncomfortable topics such as this, we remove some of the shame, guilt and isolation felt by the innocent victims. Perhaps then, we can prevent some of these incidents happening in the first place – and if they do happen, hopefully victims will feel able to speak out sooner and the perpetrators punished so that they can’t harm anyone else.

We’ve all heard the saying: “from tiny acorns mighty oak trees grow.” Well it’s up to us to nurture those tiny acorns as they grow into trees, warding off silent predators that creep like poison ivy, threatening to wrap their suffocating fronds around delicate branches. A child can only truly reach his or her full potential as an adult if they are allowed to blossom without suffering physical and/or psychological harm.

So please, look around you; be aware. Let’s not blindly trust people with access to our children, no matter who they are or how well (you think) you know them. Sometimes, you can’t see the wood for the trees.

Useful Links:

NSPCC parents’ guide
Samaritans
NAPAC
The Compassion Cure

This article has also appeared in The Huffington Post UK.

Sam x


Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:

www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com
www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com
www.mummymission.blogspot.com
www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com

Follow me:

Twitter: @SamanthaWalsh76 (Life:ABird’sEyeView)
Facebook: @lifeabirdseyeview
Instagram: @lifeabirdseyeview

The post Speaking Out About Sexual Abuse: The Seed Of Change appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.