I’m Sorry, But You Need to Let Me Go. – an experience with miscarriage and the partner I tried to stay friends with.

“I’m Sorry, But You Need to Let Me Go.”

I was approached by someone very close to me who experienced a loss in their younger years with a partner who many years later turned into a good friend. She never really took the time to analyze their friendship and how the loss of her child would affect who they would become. Now is her opportunity to speak out about her experience, and I am so happy to share her feelings. It is hard to lose a child, especially when you were so young. It is even harder to carry that weight for so long and feel like you couldn’t talk about it. Thank you for opening up—I want to validate you and let you know you are loved.

With Love, From Ficus.
www.ficusdoula.com

“I’m Sorry, But You Need to Let Me Go.”
– an anonymous letter to the man I once almost had a child with.

I know that years have passed, and we have grown a friendship that is much different than back then, but you need to let me go. I know that we have both become different people, you following your career and me following mine. We have gone on many adventures since the days we were dating, since the days we altered who we would be to each other, but you need to let me go.

I know that you don’t think about what happened when we were dating, but I do.

I know that you didn’t create the space for me to talk about losing my baby—our baby back then, but I need it now. I needed it then and you asked me not to talk about it. Maybe that was your way of dealing with it, was pretending that it never happened.

But I needed that closure; I needed that time to talk to someone because it affects me every day.

Every time I see you, I think about it.
Not because I love you and I wonder what our life would be like together, because I don’t, but because you never acknowledged what I needed. You never acknowledged that we could have brought a baby into this world—A real human into this world who would be someone and mean something to someone. It makes me question our friendship and how I can sustain it while trying to heal from an experience you disregarded.

I’m sorry, but you need to let me go.

You need to let me go because even to this day, you are still selfish. You need to let me go because to this day, I need to be selfish and speak to you about what happened because you never ever gave me more than a few minutes to be vocal about it. Yes, we have been great friends but I can’t give any longer. I’ve been so supportive for so long about all the passions you have but you have failed to give me the time to talk about mine:

 My passion of being a mother one day, my passions about relearning everything through the eyes of someone who lived inside of my womb.

I’m sorry, but you need to let me go.

Because I’ve written endless diary entries, seen endless counsellors and therapists to try and deal with this heartache, not because I think the right decision would have been to keep our child, but because you never let me tell you about how it hurts that my body didn’t have the ability to work with our child to stabilize that first trimester.


I’m sorry, but you need let me go.

Because your language and actions have impacted how I feel about a romantic partner and being able to become a mother in the future so much that I am afraid of telling my current partner the details. I don’t want to blame you for my dishonesty with this subject, but your treatment towards me to this day has caused enough shame and anxiety that I now suppress my memories during that time. And I don’t want that. I want to honour what memories I have of that child: the rush of hormones, the dreams I created.
I’m sorry, but you need to let me go.
Because I can’t hold onto our friendship any longer and act like part of the gang.
Because I am not just a friend or an ex-girlfriend.
I was the mother of our child.
You were the father of our child.
And you needed to focus on where you were going in life. I understand that too, but a child would have made an impact on your plan.
More than anything, I wish that it would have made an impact on where you were going.
But I am trying to grow, come around in circles from that day where I found out our child didn’t make it so I can grow, I can become a mother and I can rid my cells of the shame you helped me create around the loss of our baby, my baby.

I’m sorry, but you need to let me go.

Because I need that room to grow into a mother, and I can’t help but see you as the same person you were so many years ago.

With this letter is my release of all that I can expect from you, my opportunity to make something for who I want to be with someone I want to be with.

So I’m sorry that I couldn’t say this sooner,

But you need to let me go.

11805977_10153413737900661_867306852_n

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s