I beamed. “Oh great!”

I’d always been a reasonably studious schoolkid (I was in the A-stream at grammar school, dontcha know), so I’d come to expect no less than top marks from my body as well as my brain. Despite my loud Kentish accent, fair hair and six-foot stature, I’m no dumb blonde. So when the fertility doctor sat back in his swivel chair with a deep sigh and a furrowed brow, I was a little taken aback.

“Actually, it’s not great. Not great at all. A high FSH – that’s follicle stimulating hormone – test result is an indicator that your ovaries aren’t working as we’d expect for a woman of your age. We want a lower result. Imagine a car’s engine: you want it to purr along effortlessly, low revs. With your engine you’ve got your foot pressed hard on the accelerator, revving away…but you’re not getting anywhere….”

Oh.

That was near the start of my IVF journey, back in 2009, and was the shape of things to come: one disappointment after another; tiny victories followed by crashing, crushing, blows. My previous track record of good scores and good health were eradicated within months. Instead of High Achiever I now had a new, less impressive label on my records: Poor Responder. This less-than-desirable accolade is awarded to those who, like myself, have not responded as expected to the prescribed protocol.

The drugs, put simply, didn’t work.

Oh they did do something: mood swings, hot sweats, nosebleeds in the middle of the night. But my ovaries remained stubbornly, resolutely unresponsive. The doctors increased the drug dosages incrementally, reminiscent of an executioner turning up the voltage on an electric chair and standing back, waiting for the convict’s eyes to bulge and tongue to loll out. Higher and higher they went, until they reached the maximum legal dosage. Nothing. Scan after scan, pumped full of chemicals until I was bloated and uncomfortable like a duck being force-fed for the fois gras factory. But still my ovaries refused to play ball, producing only one or two substandard eggs instead of the fifteen or so that was desired – if not required – to increase the odds of a subsequent ‘live birth.’

Time and again, the doctors shook their heads forlornly and advised cancelling the precious cycle that we’d waiting months – no, years – for…and at each appointment we pleaded with them to continue: “Because it only takes one, right?”

Eventually, my husband and I conceded defeat and acknowledged reality: we’d never have a child of our own. Not only was my body not going to produce a baby, I was about to receive another killer blow from the specialist:

“You’ve experienced Premature Ovarian Failure. Your bloods now indicate negligible reproductive hormones and your egg supply is extremely low. I’m afraid you’re in the menopause.”

Premature menopause or Premature Ovarian Failure (during which periods can still occur, as was the case for me) is the name given to menopause occurring before the age of 40. The standard age for menopause is 51. By this point, at the end of 2011, I was 35; sixteen whole years below the average age. However, it’s likely that I’d been in this sorry state for a lot longer, having had previous gynaecological surgery to remove precancerous cells following a smear test (you can read about that here) at the turn of the century in my mid-twenties, and two more operations at the start of 2008, aged 32. During the final operation I’d been advised to have my damaged fallopian tubes removed (ironically, to improve the chances of IVF success), and it was probably at this point that the blood supply to the ovaries was permanently disrupted. Surgical removal of the ovaries (oopherectomy) is the primary cause of POF, although other causes include cancer, sterilisation, trauma and stress. For some women the cause is never known.

Looking back, I had a lot of the symptoms of menopause. Yet despite this diagnosis and long, meandering gynaecological history, my GP refused to acknowledge the need for HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) due to the (hotly debated) health risks and instead prescribed…antidepressants. Apparently this is common, as the symptoms are similar: low mood, brain fog, fatigue, low libido. But whilst SSRIs might tackle the mood aspects of premature menopause, they do nothing to counteract the flatlining hormone levels that can have a lifelong impact on vital aspects of a woman’s health: cardiovascular disease, cancer, bone loss leading to crippling osteoporosis, tooth loss, Alzheimer’s disease and ultimately, premature death. “Really?!” I thought to myself. “Is there no end of misery in store for me?” I was at my lowest ebb, and even contemplated suicide. I was well and truly broken, both mentally and physically, as I’ve written about here.

Finally, aged 37 and having suffered years of debilitating symptoms, I saw a sympathetic private specialist who prescribed combined oral cyclical (also known as sequential) HRT: oestrogen and progesterone. It was life-changing. I threw away the antidepressants that I’d been taking for almost two years and had an immediate new lease of life. The colour was finally switched back on after a long stint in a black-and-white world. It was too late for my fertility (and sadly my marriage) yet I felt the fog slowly lifting – and with it, a glimpse of the possibility of future happiness on the horizon that had hitherto felt impossible.

If you suspect premature menopause, don’t suffer in silence.

Premature Menopause Facts: 

• Premature menopause affects 1% of UK women.
• There is no cure for premature menopause or premature ovarian failure.
• Symptoms include: night sweats, disrupted sleep, mood swings, irritability, depression, low libido, weight gain and cognitive impairment (also known as ‘brain fog’).
• Pregnancy is still possible (if unlikely) during premature ovarian failure, and the woman may still be having periods. Women with POF are advised to use donor eggs during IVF, as the likelihood of IVF success with their own eggs is often as low as 5%.
• Premature menopause is often dismissed or misdiagnosed as depression. Insist on blood tests of hormone levels: FSH, LH, HCG and AMH for accurate diagnosis, taken on day 2-4 of your cycle.
• Risks of premature menopause if left untreated include cardiovascular disease, osteoporosis and low thyroid function.
• The main treatment to alleviate symptoms of menopause is HRT, although there is a slight suspected increased risk of stroke, breast cancer, ovarian cancer, womb cancer and heart disease. Benefits outweigh the risks at least upto the age of regular menopause (51).
• The different forms of hormone replacement include an oral tablet, pessaries, topical creams, gels, patches and the Mirena coil.
• Natural ways to protect health following a premature menopause diagnosis include getting plenty of calcium in the diet, exercising regularly, maintaining an ideal weight, increasing exposure to sunlight for vitamin D and bone health, stopping smoking (big tick for me on this) and reducing alcohol intake (erm, I’m still working on this one).
• Herbal alternatives include Black Cohosh, St John’s Wort, Evening Primrose Oil, Ginseng and soya products.
• If your GP is unsympathetic you are entitled to register with another doctor of your choice, not just the one in closest proximity to your address, under NHS Patient Choices guidelines. 

Online support:

• The Daisy Network. A patient-run support group based in UK.
• The Dovecote founded by Kelly Da Silva.
• Gateway Women founded by Jody Day.
• Premature Ovarian Failure Support Group.
• Facebook groups – plenty! Just search under Premature Ovarian Failure.
• The Non-Mum Network. A support group for women without children for whatever reason (founded by yours truly!).

Further reading:

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 Menopause At 35 Turned My Life Upside Down appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

I love to travel. Sometimes I even love to travel alone. I’ve backpacked solo around Thailand, no problem. I’m a grown-ass woman after all: big enough, savvy enough…yep, and ugly enough to take care of myself. Sure, there were moments of loneliness; occasions where I’d watch a particularly breathtaking sunset and wish there was another human sitting alongside me, chugging on a Chang and gazing wistfully out to sea. But by and large I found travelling alone to be liberating and utterly exhilarating.

But there’s one particular journey I’ve undertaken that was excruciatingly lonely and soul-crushingly isolating: my IVF journey.

Although it was more a trip than a journey really. A bad one. The drugs you’re given during an IVF cycle are almost as mind-bending as LSD, for a start. Then there’s the waiting. So. Much. Waiting. Waiting for a year for the GP referral to the clinic in the first place, then another year (if you’re lucky!) on the clinic’s waiting list; waiting for tests…and then the results; waiting for the cycle to begin, the egg retrieval; waiting for news of fertilisation…then the two-week wait to find out if it’s worked. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Even the longest flight I’ve ever taken – to Australia, which seems never-ending – is like seconds compared to the clock-watching agony of waiting for news during each nail-gnawing stage of the IVF process.

And all through that process there’s this sense of solitude that makes you feel as though you’re the sole survivor of a shipwreck, bewildered and blinking in the sunlight; washed-up and alone on a desert island, wondering what the future holds; wondering if you’ll ever be rescued from the grip of infertility that somehow makes time stand still.

Only I wasn’t alone – well, not physically, at least. I’d step out of St Barts Hospital, rivulets of mascara-streaked tears coursing down my cheeks after another failed round of treatment, and be swallowed up by the sea of strangers surging onto the tube at Bank station. It’s funny how you can be surrounded by people, nose-to-nose in a crazily-overcrowded city like London – yet still feel completely alone.

Occasionally I’d spot a ‘Baby on board’ badge being proudly sported by a glowing expectant mum, coat straining over burgeoning bump, and think: “Will I ever get to wear one of those?” (The answer, which came much later, was no). Ironically, the IVF drugs make your stomach bloat, so I’m sure some people mistakenly thought I was already ‘in the club.’

I considered making my own badge, adding a big red ‘NO’ in front of the words ‘Baby on board,’ and a tongue-in-cheek ‘…but can I have your seat anyway?’ after them, followed by a smaller ‘Infertility awareness.’ But then I thought better of it. It would’ve had to have been a pretty big badge for a start, to fit all that on clearly. Saucer-sized, at least. Hardly subtle.

I guess my badge idea was kind of a cry for help, a hope that other women in similar circumstances would see it and strike up a conversation with me; actual, real-life women, instead of just the virtual friends (helpful as they were) that I made online on sites such as Fertility Friends as we consoled and supported one other late at night through our computer screens.

So when I came across the pineapple pin, the simple but genius brainchild of the ladies over at online fertility magazine IVF Babble, I mentally high-fived them and their stylish, subtle approach (as opposed to my bullish one) and instantly headed to Amazon to get my own. As this year marks the 40th anniversary of IVF success, IVF Babble launched their #StrongerTogether campaign during last month’s National Fertility Awareness Week. The pineapple, long since a universal symbol of friendship, warmth and welcome, has become the globally-recognised symbol of good luck in the TTC (trying to conceive) community.

Both Sara Marshall-Page and Tracey Bambrough from IVF Babble are proud mothers of twin girls following their own fertility treatments, so are fully aware of the rollercoaster of emotions that are inevitable during such a personal and life-changing journey. Although I am no longer part of the TTC community myself, having stepped off the fertility treatment carousel some years ago now, I am a vocal supporter of those who are going through treatment and beyond. I am far enough along in my journey to be able to help others: on my blog Life: A Bird’s Eye View, in newspaper and magazine articles, and my Facebook group for childless (or childfree, depending on your outlook) women called The Non-Mum Network.

The pineapple pin is for anyone wanting to offer support to those with fertility issues, as well as the one in six couples experiencing difficulties themselves, with all profits going to Fertility Network UK. Famous supporters include Fearne Cotton, Kate Thornton, and Izzy Judd, wife of McFly drummer Harry, and now a mother of two following her own fertility struggles.

Having gone through my own meandering IVF journey, taking the scenic route to happiness, albeit without the fairytale visit from the stork at the end, I can say that anything that offers support to those people – both men and women – going through fertility treatment has to be a good thing. UK IVF success rates currently stand at around 1 in 3 per cycle for women under 35, with well over 250,000 babies born in the UK though IVF in the past 25 years.

So if you’re sitting at the bus stop or on the tube and you see someone wearing the pin, give them a smile. You may both be on the same journey – in more ways than one.

Would you like to show your support for this campaign? Order your pineapple pin now from Amazon below….

This article has also appeared in the Lifestyle section of the Huffington Post UK here.

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 Pining For A Baby? The Pineapple Pin That Says ‘You’re Not Alone.’ appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

IVF KILLED MY MARRIAGE

Samantha Walsh, 41, works in retail management and lives with her partner Andy, 35, a shipping coordinator, in Sevenoaks, Kent. She says:

“When we had our first round of IVF in October 2009, my then-husband Liam and I were so confident it would work, we bought a four-bedroom house in Sevenoaks. We were raring to fill it with our family, but looking back, it was a mad thing to do. We’d had to resort to fertility treatment because my Fallopian tubes were blocked with scar tissue from a previous gynaecological operation, and by August 2011 we were on our third attempt. But I was still sure it was going to happen. I vividly remember the hope I felt knowing I was due to take a pregnancy test on our sixth wedding anniversary – followed by utter heartbreak when my period arrived.

We were both gutted, especially as we had run out of NHS funding. That’s when we made the horrendous decision to say enough was enough. Neither of us felt strong enough to continue – it was just too hard. I’d been taking the maximum dosage of hormones for each treatment, so my moods had been all over the place. Liam and I had always been a laid-back, party-loving couple, but by that point we were arguing over everything. It didn’t help that our dream family home needed a lot of work, so on top of the pressures of trying to get pregnant, a renovation just made us more stressed. Our lives had effectively been put on hold for two years as we desperately fought to have a family and now it was all for nothing.

After we decided not to carry on, we ended up retreating to our own floors of the house, where we could deal with our loss alone. Liam had the top floor, I had the one below. Without a common goal of a family, we lost our focus and optimism. While I grieved for what I would never have, I began to see my friends on my own and Liam did the same. It was very subtle, but soon we were socialising without each other, which was something we had never done before. Then we started going on separate holidays. There were days when we were so heartbroken that our 15-year relationship was in such a sorry state that we tried to make amends, but all the hope we once shared was replaced by grief.

While Liam and I did look into fostering and discussed adoption, we didn’t want a child for the sake of a child, we really wanted our own children. And besides, by the time adoption was the only option left, our relationship wasn’t strong enough. It was just too painful to be together and in February 2013 we split up. We sold the house and moved out a couple of days after our eigth wedding anniversary. I felt so alone. I was 37, and all my friends were married or in a relationship and extending their families, while I felt like a complete failure. It hurt so much that I almost contemplated suicide.

Liam and I stayed in touch and a few months after we split he started dating a younger woman. I felt sick at the thought of him having a baby with someone else. I truly believed – and still do – that we would still be married if we hadn’t put ourselves through IVF. I so wish we had been able to regain the happiness we had before our infertility nightmare began.

Even so, I am glad we tried, as I would have regretted it if we hadn’t. Liam still hasn’t had any kids, but I’ve slowly come to terms with the fact he might have children one day and I know he will make a great dad.

In August 2014, I met my current partner Andy. He has two young daughters who live with their mother, but I see them regularly, which is lovely. He’s at peace with the fact that I will never be able to give him children. My sister has a young son so I’m an auntie now, too. I’ve learned it’s best not to dwell on what might have been, and I think I have accepted that I will never be a mother.

I believe we were lucky that we had our treatment though the NHS, as we were given honest information about success rates – there was no benefit for them to cherry-pick figures. But I know that some clinics present results in such a way as to make them look better than they actually are, which is heartbreaking – especially for vulnerable couples who are desperate to have a baby. I know too well how that desperation feels and am just so glad that they didn’t try to tap into it.

Thankfully, I’ve now found another purpose in my life, running a Facebook group for women in the same situation as me. It’s just so nice we can all offer each other support having gone through such an awful time.”

For the full article, go to Fabulous Magazine Online or click here.

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 In The Sun’s Fabulous Magazine: When Fertility Treatment Fails appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

And lo, thanks to the almighty combined superpowers of Messrs Hashtag and Keyword, those marvellously mystical Twitter algorithms brought us together. Ahhh. It was a match made in digital heaven: I welcomed her into my Non-Mum club and in return immediately signed up to feature in her project. Naked. <Gulp>.

Are you out of your tiny mind, I asked myself? (especially since the rest of me is not quite so tiny). Why would you want to do such a thing? Well, as a childless woman I feel we are underrepresented (and often misunderstood) by society, who regard us on the whole as witches, freaks or cold-hearted cat-ladies. I fully support any initiative that seeks to tell our stories, to push back against prejudice, smash stereotypes and simply depict us as we are: human; complex; flawed – with a back-story, just like anyone else.

Time flew by, as it has a habit of doing; before I knew it I was sitting in the passenger seat of Andy’s car as he whisked us to Brighton for the Sunday morning shoot – shaved, plucked and buffed to within an inch of my life, liberally marinated in self-tan; practising sucking in my tummy without looking like a constipated warthog in the wing mirror.

At the point of setting the date for the shoot I’d started an internal dialogue, attempting to convince my sceptical inner self that we’d be eating nothing but mung beans and courgetti spaghetti in the run-up – the outcome being that I’d regularly be mistaken for Elsa Hosk or some other sylph-like Victoria’s Secret model in the photos. No need to fret about my (Non) Mum Tum or dimpled thighs. Sorted.

Of course we both knew, my inner voice and I, that this game plan was more BS than VS. I was spinning a yarn in my head; I had zero intention of sweating it out at a spin class or sitting at home of an evening farting about spiralising veg. I’d rather gouge my own eyes out with the complimentary chopsticks than exist on vegan bento boxes. It was never gonna happen. Sure enough, the pre-naked-photoshoot “diet” consisted of my usual calorie-laden carbs washed down with prosecco…but on the morning of the shoot I skipped breakfast. Yep, that should do it.

Denise greeted us at the door to her studio in the hippy haven of Brighton and we set about prepping for the money shot. As the women in the sequence must all be photographed in the same way – curled in the reverse foetal position on a bed, shot from above – it was vital that everything was just so. Denise has been working on the series for two years now, gradually expanding her portfolio of images of childless women. I’m number 17 in the sequence, with her target being 66, so there’s a fair way to go. It’s a work in progress; already exhibited at Somerset House in London as well as in Cologne; nominated for a Sony World Photography Award amongst many others and has attracted tons of media attention. Denise, herself a childless woman aged 49, says: “Mum’s Not The Word brings together images of the female form, positioned in the foetal position, in reverse. The foetus is representational of an intimate and introspective metaphysical investigation. It is a posture that relates to the female as reproducer and acts as a metaphor for the seed within and the world without.”

To further personalise the piece, each woman involved brings her own duvet cover, something which I found comfortingly familiar as I disrobed and got into position on the bed. The camera clicked; Denise busied herself around me, arranging my hair, the mattress and the bedding, giving me directions as to the exact positioning of my hands and feet. Andy assisted with lighting; he enjoyed being involved in “creating art” as he put it. A few minor issues with annoying shadows and ugly creases (on the bedcovers, not me, fortunately)….and then we were done!

I got dressed and we gathered around excitedly to check out the photographs on Denise’s laptop. Sure, I had my rounded belly and the VS girls wouldn’t be out of a job anytime soon, but I felt empowered, elated. I was proud of myself; finally accepting of my body and forgiving it for the fact that I’ll never be a mother. I looked perfectly imperfect – refreshing in today’s world of photoshop, airbrushing and adding filters.

The figure in the picture is strong; real; vulnerable; at peace. The figure in the picture is me. Each image in the series is briefly captioned with the subject’s story in her own words. We represent a growing number of women who aren’t mothers for various reasons, but are still valid members of society with a lot to offer; we don’t want to remain invisible.

I may be a Non, but I’m not Anon.

If you’re a Non-Mum interested in taking part in Denise Felkin’s project Mum’s Not The Word or you know someone who may be, please share this blog post with them or contact Denise directly at denisefelkin@hotmail.com. You can also follow her on Twitter and join the Mum’s Not The Word Facebook group. 

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 Mum’s Not The Word appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

The post Mummy Mission appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.

When the long-awaited day finally comes for you to stand before your beaming congregation of family and friends, feeling lighter than air, wearing the most expensive dress you’ll ever own and full of hope and optimism for the future, it’s easy to repeat those solemn vows. The hard part, as I was to discover, is keeping them.

As my new husband and I turned to each other, rings exchanged, smiling as the hot Ibizan sun dropped down behind the sprawling hills of Santa Eulalia, neither of us had even the slightest inkling of the fate that was about to befall us. Having been together for the previous seven years, we knew each other inside out – our strengths, weaknesses, similarities and glaring differences, and had decided that yes, this was my forever partner.

We weren’t perfect (who is?) but we were perfect for each other: a young working-class couple sharing a love of travel, clubbing and all things fun. Of course we’d faced challenges, such as the untimely passing of Liam’s father a few years previously, but had come through it closer than ever.

Little did we know as the cameras flashed, the champagne flowed and we danced into the early hours, that our vows would soon be tested to the limit…

Like most couples, we intended to follow that well-trodden path: love, house, engagement, marriage, children. It’s human nature to yearn for a partner, someone to share our lives with….then the irrepressible desire to reproduce kicks in and the rest is history….isn’t it?

After a few more years of working, holidaying and partying we looked up through the fog of our Sunday morning hangovers and realised that our friends were gradually dropping off the radar, having been struck down with that lifelong disease that is as yet incurable – parenthood.

A fate worse than death, since they are still standing in front of you but their eyes have glazed over zombie-like; sure, they look the same, they sound the same, but they are lost to this condition and one glimpse of them clutching the fruit of their loins in a loved-up fug of oxytocin and you know that your friend, and your friendship, will never be the same again.

It would be easier to accept in many ways if you never saw them again, such is the torment of seeing your buddy in this state – still present, but knowing that your relationship is changed forever. The first time this happened it took my breath away.

We trotted round to visit our fun-loving, clubbing mates, bottle of bubbly in hand, hoping they’d introduce us to their first little bundle of joy…then we could bundle it off to bed and have a party. Not so! Once a baby has been dispelled from the body, a large portion of that woman’s personality is lost with the placenta, chucked in the hospital incinerator with the afterbirth, never to be seen again. Did she have a baby or a lobotomy? I wondered.

As we made our way home, sober and sobered by the experience of our lost pals, I consoled myself with the knowledge that soon I too would have a personality bypass as I passed a sproglet.

Only it never happened.

Baby after bouncing baby claimed the fun-loving friends I’d shared so much with, until there were more babies than bird-mates left. It was an epidemic. Except I seemed to be immune from catching this particular contagion. It was like being the only remaining survivor after the apocalypse. I could empathise with Will Smith in I Am Legend.

Years passed and soon I was the only female left on the face of the Earth not pushing a pram and discussing breastfeeding versus bottle or little Johnny’s sleeping patterns. Or so it felt. Friends dropped like flies, and I hung around the sidelines, hoping their abundance of hormones would somehow perk up my progesterone, awaken my barren womb.

Reluctantly we surrendered and called in the big guns. The St Barts fertility doctors performed every humiliatingly invasive procedure they could think of (plus a few more seemingly thrown in just for their own amusement), before 3 agonising rounds of IVF. Eventually they gave up on my flat-lining embryos with a sigh, visibly frustrated as they downed tools that my faulty Fallopians had messed up their 25% live birth rate success stats

The decision to stop was far, far harder than the decision to start. Starting something, whilst scary as you step into the unknown, is accompanied by optimism, excitement, anticipation. Stopping is an admission of failure. It’s final.

Henceforth followed the demise of my marriage – two painful years of gradual decline into the irretrievable abyss. Sadness, resentment, despair are not emotions conducive to a happy marriage, it turned out.


“For better, for worse, in sickness and health, ’til death us do part….”

The words echoed around our empty big house until they became deafening and the walls began closing in. Tears flowing, we divided up the accumulated belongings of our 15 year union….and said goodbye.

The following year was the worst of my life. I’d never lived alone before and suddenly here I was, 37 years old, single, sad, alone. My friends and family were very supportive, but everyone ultimately has their own busy lives to take care of and, like a baby (ironically), I had to learn to self-soothe.

Somehow I’d been performing really well at work throughout and had recently been promoted to regional manager, responsible for running 18 London shops. Inside, though, I was dying. I recalled something I’d read, that ‘suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem’ and tried to tell myself that ‘this too shall pass.’

Miraculously, after a tumultuous year of reckless self-wrecking, it did.

I took the decision to resign from my draining management role and fled to Thailand for a month of reflection. The intention to sit navel-gazing in the sunshine, taking yoga lessons and finding inner peace didn’t quite materialise, however, as I soon reverted to type and hit the Full Moon Party (Full Moon, Half Moon, Black Moon, I wasn’t fussy) but slowly, once the aftermath of the Sangsom buckets had worn off, I started to feel better..

Little by little, with each gradual change in the colour of my skin came a subtle change on the inside too. It was like the sun was warming my soul as well as my bones.

Without wanting to sound too hippy-dippy, I would say I experienced an epiphany, alone on those beaches sipping cocktails and seeing the most breathtaking scenery. I became aware of both my tiny insignificance in the great scheme of things as well as the enormity of the importance of my outlook.

Gradually, my bitterness faded, my great sense of loss and injustice subtly being replaced with….well, gratitude I guess.

I started to see my situation differently. Before, when well-meaning mates had pointed out all the good things in my life in a vain attempt to make me realise how lucky I was, I would angrily shut them down. It dawned on my that only when you are ready to start to open up and see the world through grateful eyes can you truly start to move on.

I re-watched The Secret, which if you don’t already know, is a self-help film (and book) which works on the law of attraction, the theory being that positive thinking can create life-changing improvements in health, wealth and happiness.

I started to actually believe that things would be ok. And they were.

Today I have finally moved on.

To quote Elsa from THAT Disney movie, I’ve ‘Let It Go.’
(One perk of not having kids is that I’ve never had to sit through that bloody film, for a start!)

And there are lots of other perks, it turns out. I can go out on a bender on a whim, buy whatever I like without even the most fleeting feeling of guilt, and the house that once felt eerily silent is now a peaceful haven that I share with my partner, Andy – a fun-loving fella who I jokingly refer to as ‘the child I never had.’

So if life is getting you down and you feel like there’s no way out of a particular situation, I’m here to tell you that whilst the situation may not change (infertility for example, is pretty permanent), your attitude to it can.

There’s nothing worse than someone else preaching about positivity if you’re feeling down so I won’t prattle on any further, but keep in mind that when you’re ready the world will tilt on its axis and your entire perception of it will change. Then you will truly know that you can find peace and be happy.

Let It Go.

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 Let It Go appeared first on Life: A Birds Eye View.