#pelvichealthphysio

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[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

Fuerza

I used to write a blog a lot more frequently. In the thick of things, when I was struggling, writing it down always allowed me to reach the feelings I was trying so hard to bury. It’s been 3 months since I wrote my last blog, but I have a funny feeling that it might be a lot longer after this until the next - if at all.

As a mother, you become a master at putting your feelings aside. Everything is focused on your children. In some ways, I’m even worse than that - I literally put everyone possible above me and before me. Even the dog 😂

In this journey, I’ve often set aside my own feelings when women message me. No matter how I’m feeling, or if I’m in a hard place at that point, I always respond and give an answer to their questions (with the exception of very few where I’ve drawn a hard line). I don’t know whether I’m just used to doing that, but I suspect it’s to do with the responsibility I feel to others. Each member of my team both independently and collectively, have told me I owe nothing to anyone. Well I feel the opposite. I’ll not even start on what I owe them, but to the many women who have reached out over the years, I have been in their position, I know how they feel and that is something that unfortunately, unless someone has been through it, is impossible to find. For all the respect, love and highest regard I have for pelvic physios, unless they have experienced this personally, their understanding can only go so far. I wanted and continue to want, to help women in a way I never experienced. Yes there were others who had shared their journey, but they were years down the line. They weren’t at the stage I was when I suffered the most.

The messages I used to get were from women who had just found out about their diastasis. Now, the messages from women who are close to, or have just had surgery (I literally had a message from someone who had surgery just a few hours earlier!) Each one takes me back every time to when I was at that point. Hard to believe it was a year ago in one way, and in another, it’s like a lifetime has passed.

I’ve been taking some weird trips down memory lane recently. After the passing of one of my mentors at the start of my legal career and bumping into my original bosses, I then drove past my community midwife who was responsible for looking after me in both my pregnancies. It hit me how much had happened since I first met her, and since I last saw her. I had flashbacks of all our interactions. Then I drove past the hospital where I was seen on a fortnightly basis for physio at the beginning. It was all a bit much to be honest.

My midwife’s comments will be relatively well known to those who have been following for a while. My bump was ‘weird,’ she could ‘measure me big or small, I just don’t know what’s going on.’ She was not the one who picked up on my separation though, rather it was her replacement while she was on holiday around 36 weeks pregnant in my first pregnancy. When it came to my second pregnancy, she was convinced I would need a C-section and would have to go Consultant led. Thanks to my rockstar physios, I pushed back and well…we all know how that went. I almost gave birth in the car park and the pushing stage lasted 13 minutes. No painkillers - not even paracetamol and I wasn’t even admitted properly on the system by the time I gave birth to my daughter. If there was anyone who was going to prove so-called experts wrong, I guess it was always going to me (and Emily 😅).

In the days that followed, when my midwife came to visit, she brought a student. I kind of felt like a lab rat in some ways. She wanted her student to feel how large and deep my diastasis was because she’d never seen anything like it. Of the 100s of pairs of hands that felt my diastasis, I felt like that patient in Grey’s Anatomy with something really extraordinary and weird but it’s a teaching hospital so let the interns see it. I have no issues with students learning - I’m the biggest advocate for learning. I want to learn everything possible and always want to know why - in many ways, my brain probably operates a lot like my teams’. I am THAT patient. I want to see; I want to know why; I want to know as much as possible. And I’m going think more and have more questions. And when there isn’t an answer, I’m going to be a bit frustrated by that.

I would say over the course of this, I’d be surprised if I didn’t see at least 5 students and then on top of that, any courses I attended as the case study means we’re probably into double figures. But that’s the difference with those who know about diastasis- I wasn’t the lab rat. I wasn’t that patient with something weird (I was, but I was never made to feel like that). Sadly, no matter how well intentioned my midwife, I felt like I was the only person in the world who was that bad. I was the wrong type of unicorn.

My husband always joked I’m a unicorn. He meant it in a good way - according to him (and he’s clearly more than a bit biased) there was no one who wanted to learn and understand the way I did; there was no one who carried on the same way regardless of how hard it got; there was no one that worked so hard regardless of how the outcome wouldn’t change; there was no one who had shared through two pregnancies, two postpartums, pre-op and post-op. I never saw it like that. I was just doing what I felt I had to to make sure I never had any regrets when all was said and done.

My final consult was actually a month and a bit after 1 year post-op, and it still felt like the time came too fast. Ever since I had my surgery everything has happened too fast. The year leading up to surgery was the longest, slowest and hardest of all, and this one has been the fastest, shortest year, but also still pretty damn hard. I looked forward to and dreaded that appointment at the same time. I was dreading the worst hangover post-consult. I’ve mentioned before I get consult hangovers. Overwhelmed; hollow; empty; and low. The high has passed and all your left with is the memories - and even then they become pretty hazy. The build-up does not help. All my consults - physio and surgical - are booked months in advance so you have time to build up to them (and look forward to them in my case), and then before you know it they’re done in what feels like minutes, and that’s it until the next. Except there isn’t a ‘next’ this time.

I kicked myself coming out my appointment. I couldn’t get out of my own way. The part of me that tries to remain stoic and professional to the end. I didn’t say what I wanted to say at the time and it didn’t hit me until I left. Then the facade came down and the tears came. I spent the rest of that day tearing up or full blown crying at certain points when people couldn’t see me. At the airport and on the plane, I closed my eyes so no one would know and just kept wiping them away. By that point I was in a bit of pain from the procedure and wished I could take something that would knock me out completely to numb both pains.

If I’m honest, I felt it blindsided me. One minute I was getting a procedure done; the next I’m picking up my coat. I always knew it was going to happen that way, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I just wish in the moment I had had more awareness and taken the opportunity when I had it. I had tried to do it in previous consults knowing full well I would be an absolute mess (even if it was just internally) on the day, but I’m still annoyed at myself. It’s like I was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Flying to Dublin to following week felt more than a bit cruel. There was no possible way I could have known that the two visits would end up being just a week apart, and although it was for a weekend break, I almost regretted it. I was in a different part of Dublin, but that didn’t matter. It was impossible not to think of everything that had happened just one week before. My head was all over the place and still is. I wish I could I could turn my brain off. It’s been my life for 5 years so you would think I would be sick of it consuming me, but I think about it all the time and I can’t help it. Even more so the surgery. It’s all I thought about in the lead up, and now it’s all I think about in the denouement.

In my last physio consult, I spoke about dreading the end. I struggled to articulate the reasons why, but I eventually found the words to describe it. Loss. It feels like I’m heading for a loss and my last surgery consult only confirmed that. It felt exactly like a loss. I’ve mentioned before it’s like I’m grieving. I was grieving the postpartum body I never got to have; the postpartum life I never got to have. Now I’m grieving the loss of the consults and my team. You would think I’d be celebrating, but it just isn’t like that for me.

I have my final physio consult in a couple of weeks. To say I’m dreading it is an understatement. My physios responded in my last consult it hopefully won’t feel as bad as I’m anticipating. They don’t see it as ‘see you later, have a nice life.’ They plan to keep in contact. My last one is to be called ‘last’ loosely. Although, they feel it needs an official end to give me some sort of closure. I hate to break it to them, but I’m not sure I’m ever going to have closure. I think I tried to find that last year when I felt completely lost. Despite making the decision to stop counselling because I felt it had taken me as far as it was going to take me, I didn’t reach closure. I’m not at peace with everything. The ending feels like it’s just putting me back to where I landed last year after surgery - lost in a storm of memories, feelings and completely bereft of what happens next.

That’s partly the reason I got my tattoo. It wasn’t the first time I thought of it - anyone that knows me, knows that I put ALOT of thought into any major decision. But once that decision is made, there is no changing my mind. I wanted something other than my scar to remind me of everything I had been through. A physical change to my body that I got to choose - not something that was the only option, not something I had no control over, but something that was very much in my control. ‘Grit’ doesn’t have a great translation, but ‘fuerza’ is pretty apt no matter the translation - ‘force,’ ‘strength.’ I like to think I’ve represented both at points throughout my journey. Both physically and mentally.

5 years. 5 years since this all started. I dreaded the end early on because I knew what I stood to lose. I knew how important my team were becoming to me even back then. It’s maybe my own fault. There was no ‘arm’s length’. We have a lot in common. We’re like minded. All I wanted was to make them proud and do everything possible to not let them down (and me I guess). I was putting them before me just like I did in that sentence. But that’s just an indication of how much they meant and mean to me and I wouldn’t have gotten to this point without them. I would have been, and still would be, gutted to be held at arm’s length. Too much has happened and nothing has really been normal about this whole journey…I’m that weird patient after all 😅

So what happens next? I have absolutely no idea. It’s pretty frightening. There are no milestones left to work towards. There are no points in time I have to get to. The book is closing and I kind of want to go back a few chapters. Thankfully, I don’t want to re-write anything and I have no regrets overall, but it would be nice to go back and slow everything down until I’m ready. Although, I’m not convinced I ever will be…

Maybe my team will forget me over time as one of hundreds of patients for each of them, but I’m going to be an old lady telling my grandchildren about my very own superheroes I assembled that changed my life forever; how they put my broken pieces back together; and how lucky I was to have them, even for a short time❤️

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

A Soft Place to Fall

The memories are going to be tough to deal with over the next month. I’ve had to rethink things. I don’t think there’s going to be a soft landing from this.

I have one final crutch I haven’t let go of. But just as I made the decision I would need it for a bit longer than anticipated, the following night I made the decision to drop it sooner rather than later.

4 years of my life. I’m not like other patients who maybe had a few appointments, then naturally there was a break, then they came back. There were no breaks. As I mother, it’s all I’ve ever known - I didn’t only become a parent, I became a patient. And I have been a patient ever since. No gaps. No stops. It’s been one of the most consistent features of the last four years - I was always in rehab or prehab. I was always a patient. I have always had my team. Now that’s about to change and I feel like I’m heading for a crash and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. If this is how I felt once I had my surgery, how will I feel when this ends for the final time? No more consults. No more rehab.

My counsellor told me a few things about dealing with the end. About trying to figure out what does it look like after? Do you keep in touch? Most patients would probably be happy to be signed off. I am not most patients. It says so much about my team, that I’m not looking forward to that bit. Despite everything I have had to go through, despite how incredibly difficult it’s been at times, they made it better, and they made it easier. I put them on a pedestal, but I have the furthest to fall. For a long time I have had more support from them than people in real life. I’m not just losing the consults and the team, I’m losing my safety net.

It’s changed my life for the better. They have changed my life for the better. That’s what makes it hard to walk away. That’s what I’m leaving behind. If I didn’t have the relationship I do with them, it would be easier. But I don’t regret that. That is just the way I am. That is what has made this journey what it is, and what made it better even at the worst possible moments. That is the only way this worked - I let them all the way in, and I did everything I could. And I wanted to make them proud. I wanted to make me proud and leave nothing out there.

I was asked by some awesome physios for permission to use my story as part of an upcoming presentation. That has happened a lot over the years, but this is the first time in a while. I didn’t hesitate - firstly, because if it helps anyone - be they the physio, the people attending, or even better, their patients, I am more than happy to share, even indirectly. If others can benefit from learning from my experience, it’s not even a question.

I was asked a number of questions about my experience over the years. There were two that have stuck with me, and they have crossed my mind so many times before I was even asked by this physio:

1. If you were to go back - is there anything you would change?

2. What would you tell a room full of physios working with people with DRA that they should know?

I’ve said it many times before, and I have reassessed this at every crunch point, when everything reached a peak (usually the most challenging moments of this journey) and my answer is still the same: I wouldn’t change a thing. Even though this last part has been the hardest part, I would go back to the beginning and I would do it all again, exactly the same.

Every high and every low has taught me something and made me find another piece of me I never knew existed: another layer to my armour; another level of strength I didn’t think I could reach. I’ve had the opportunity to connect with incredible people and incredible health professionals. And don’t get me started on my team. I’m just a patient and to them, I’m sure they would say they’re just doing their job. But it’s so much more than that. They will never truly know how much they have done for me and how they became the heroes of my story. There will never be enough ways I can express that (and I’m not sure they would listen either knowing them and taking compliments)

What would I tell a room full of physios? My physios changed my life. They have made this journey what it is. I wouldn’t have got to this point without them. You cannot underestimate the role you play in someone’s journey. If your patient ends up having surgery because conservative rehab doesn’t give them what they need, be there to support them before and after and empower them with the knowledge they need to make those crucial decisions. You are in a unique position to help women like me, no matter what happens in their journey, and that is awesome.

I ticked off two of the biggest goals yet much quicker than I had ever thought. For someone who thought she’d be lucky to be back in a CrossFit gym by the end of the year, I did a full GHD sit-up at 7 months post-op and completed my first competition at 9 months post-op (when I thought I wouldn’t be competing until after a year post-op minimum). One of my coaches told me I have rewritten the book on rehab. Maybe I have…but I certainly didn’t do it alone. No matter how hard the moving on is going to be, I will be forever grateful for that ❤️

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

The Beginning of the End

I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach. It just feels like it’s all ending. The reality hit me that I probably only have two consults left with my team due to when we’re meeting next. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that to be it. It’s been 4 years during one of the most monumental parts of my life and I can’t imagine what life is like without the consults.

I told Alex how I was feeling. I don’t know whether I was thinking he would maybe tell me there’s more to go, or whether he would disagree that I only had two consults left, but he agreed.

“The journey has been amazing. It’s actually incredible. To have gone through what you have and hit so many milestones along the way, it’s mental. To have reduced the gap so much the first time; another pregnancy; your pull-ups; then starting CrossFit for the first time with a significant diastasis; to coming back to it and getting your GHD sit-up. It’s actually crazy that you started CrossFit in the middle of all of this…But you couldn’t have done it without them.”

I know I couldn’t. I’ve said that from the beginning and I still say that now. I couldn’t have achieved what I have without my team.

“What I would say is, you refused to accept the purported limitations of diastasis. What you achieved physically is all down to you.”

Well, I’d say I don’t always believe in myself, so I would argue that it was in large part down to you and them supporting me and giving me the confidence …and maybe a bit of determination on my part.

“A lot of determination Claire.

You don’t need them the same way anymore. You and I didn’t think you’d be back at CrossFit by 6 months and not only were you training before then, you did a GHD one month later. It was the peak of what you wanted to achieve and you never thought you’d do it by 7 months.”

I don’t feel like that. I might not need them for the physical part, but the support they’ve given me mentally…it’s that safety net.

“But you don’t need them - you might want them, but you don’t need them like you did.”

I struggled to answer that. Of course I still want them in my life. But hearing I don’t need them is difficult to believe because I still feel like I do. It’s the comfort of knowing I had them in my corner throughout all of this and that no matter how hard things were, I had unwavering support from a team who got it, and more importantly, got me.

I have made the decision to have one more counselling session and then stop. I don’t know if that’s also playing into it - the fear of cutting the safety net from under me and figuring out if I can do it on my own. Counselling has been helpful in understanding a bit more about how I am as a person has played into my experience over the last 4 years. I haven’t had the experience of many, but maybe that’s because I refused to accept it. Because I’m so stubborn that I couldn’t accept that I wouldn’t be able to do X again, or that surgery was my only option when I had only been in rehab for 4 months. Not only did I not accept it, I went further than that: I did things I never would have even contemplated before I had kids. I achieved more functionally, and physically, than I ever had before. I’ve been told many times that I have grit. “Grit is the stubborn refusal to quit.” I can see why that might fit 😂

I haven’t had the answers I hoped I would get from counselling. There are no guarantees with these things, but I did hope it would be a tool to get the answers I felt I needed. Understanding more about my feelings and myself has helped, but I’m not getting where I need to be with it. I’m glad I gave it a go though. I compare it to rehab and surgery. If I hadn’t tried everything possible to help myself, I would have always had a question mark; a “what if?” I couldn’t leave an option out there. I don’t like relying on others or asking for help, and if there’s anything I can do myself, then I want to do it. But even I have to accept help when there are no other options left. I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid.

I am in a better place mentally. I almost didn’t want to say that out loud in case I put some sort of jinx on it. In case I put that out into the universe and it came back to bite me. I’m not the person I was, but there’s a high chance I won’t ever be again. I think that’s why I’m so worried about the end. What if this is just temporary and I fall back to how I felt when I felt hollow and empty? Not only that, but I’ll miss my team. There is no denying that. You can get to know people pretty well over 4 years. Especially when they’re as awesome as they are - not only as professionals, but as people. They were the perfect fit for me. I couldn’t have dreamed of picking a better team. I could have looked all over the world and not found any better combination for me. They have changed my life for the better, when I hit one of my lowest points. They have put this broken woman back together. My experience, however difficult, was worth it because of the opportunity to meet, work with, and get to know them. I can never put into words what they have done for me and I will be forever grateful. I will never tire of trying to tell them that (regardless of how much they don’t like taking compliments 😂)

I have spoken with my counsellor before that I don’t know what’s next. I can’t help but feel this entire journey has been focusing on the next play, the next milestone. Surgery was THE milestone, but then I had to get back to CrossFit. Whereas getting back to function so much quicker on rehab 2.0 was a surprise and one that was positive; getting back quicker post-surgery feels like it’s bringing everything to an end sooner, which is the thing I’m dreading. This time last year, I was wishing time would speed up and it did nothing but drag; now I’m wishing it would slow down and it’s hurtling away from me.

I know some people must think I’m crazy for not wanting this to end. Admittedly, I very much wanted it to end during my low points before surgery. But I have always said I wouldn’t change what has happened. Not just from the point of my team, but for everything I have learned about myself, and for everything I have done. I have been tested and pushed to my limits and I still made it through. I might be a different person, but there is no doubt I am stronger one - physically, and mentally. And for all the people I have met throughout this or connected with online - the messages of support, and the women and professionals who have reached out and told me I had helped them in some way. I may not be able to believe it or accept it, but if that is true, then that alone makes it worthwhile.

I feel like I owe a lot of people a thank you. This journey wouldn’t have been the same without so many people following and supporting me from all over the world. There were so many times that I thought I would stop sharing and maybe it wasn’t worth it, but there were so many women who reached out at what felt like the right time and showed me why I should carry on. If you’re reading this, you are one of those people who are the reason I continued. I’ve been told so many times that I didn’t owe anyone anything. I disagree. I owe the people supporting me and who helped me through the darkest days. And I owe my team everything. Even then, it would never come close to what they’ve done for me.

I guess all I can do is try to express my gratitude to you all. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but it’s all I have. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. You will never truly know what you have all done for me and I will never forget it.

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

Throwing Out the Rule Book

I opened Pandora’s box. Some of you will have seen the counselling exercise I was set and I shared the results of that. I had to write my thoughts/feelings on the picture the night before surgery, and on the picture post surgery (5 weeks post) that I had shared with my counsellor. I was dreading it. I knew some of the feelings immediately, while others came to me after some thought. What was not surprising, was the overlap between the two. I knew given how I was feeling, that the post-surgery photo wouldn’t be all positive like most people would expect.

Insecurity/self-consciousness- the reason for that pre-surgery is obvious. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t the first thing you noticed when you saw me. I didn’t want to be in public or social settings. I didn’t want to have to choose clothes that made it obvious or drowned me to make it less obvious. I didn’t want the stares, the glances, or the comments. Post-surgery, I still felt like that. It’s not just about how I look. It’s way bigger than that - it’s about how I feel and in social situations people will make it all about how I look.

Frustration - Pre-surgery I was at the end of my rope. It’s exhausting putting in hard work and getting nowhere. Feeling like I was in no man’s land and just stuck. Post-surgery I’m frustrated with how I feel - why can’t I get past whatever is causing me pain? Why I can’t figure out what’s wrong and what I do to fix it? I’m impatient and I don’t understand it.

Relief - Relief that this is finally ending and I’ve reached the final milestone. Relief that I look how I want to look and can start to deal with everything else.

Strong/weak - Physically strong in both, and I thought mentally strong in both. But then I had a real think and I changed my mind because I feel pretty weak mentally. Last year was the hardest until this year happened, and I can’t ignore that my inability to deal with whatever is going on makes me second guess my mental strength.

Proud/respect - despite everything, I am proud of what I achieved. I respect what my body did for me both pre- and post- surgery. I became the strongest I had ever been before surgery and did things I never would have dreamed of doing pre my diastasis. I’m proud of giving myself the best possible chance of surgery being a success because of the work I put in. But most of all, despite how hard everything has been, I’m proud of myself for not giving up. Even when I felt I was a lost cause, even when I hit the lowest point, I haven’t quit. I’m still facing everything head on.

I was nervous to talk about this out loud with someone. We actually didn’t end up going into it in much detail, but there’s a chance the floodgates would have opened if we had. While the exercise hasn’t solved my problems, it forced me to confront my feelings in a way I haven’t yet. It’s a start.

I couldn’t have seen this coming. I couldn’t have possibly imagined that after I got everything I wanted and had longed for for years, that I would hit the lowest point of this journey so far. Even if someone had told me and warned me to deal with my feelings throughout so I was able to face this after surgery, I couldn’t have changed anything. I didn’t deliberately set out to put my head in the sand - I did what I had to to survive and get through. It was the only way. I threw myself into rehab, and I focused on the next milestone: pregnancy, postpartum, surgery. As I said before, I’m now paying the price because there are no milestones left.

My counsellor asked me about some comments I had made and asked, “is it control, or is it influence?” I spoke about how I did everything I could to control the controllables - work hard, get strong and even if the aesthetics didn’t change, the work would influence the outcome of surgery. She then asked me a question I struggled to answer. “What has your influence been?” I knew what she was getting at. She knew I had shared my journey and she knew one of my struggles is dealing with the response and support from everyone following. I don’t blow my own trumpet and I struggle to accept when people tell me I have influenced anything. That’s me as a person. I couldn’t even answer her honestly. I laughed to shake it off and said, “I’ve been told…” She questioned me more, not satisfied that I answered indirectly.

I eventually admitted that I think it’s been to prove what is possible with a diastasis. To hopefully show women there is nothing to fear. To myth bust by being an example. People tell women they can’t do this, or they’ll never get back to X and I ignored those common misconceptions. “You basically threw out the rule book.” I laughed. Yes. I did. And I’m not like that - I followed the rules in school. I follow things to the letter. I’m not really a rebel. But this was important. Postpartum women are vulnerable enough - they shouldn’t be fed misinformation and made to feel fear.

I dreaded coming back from Arizona as that was the first time I felt that hollow and empty feeling that forced me to get help. I had only felt it one other time after a consult and I knew how much it would affect me. When that feeling takes hold, it takes ages to subside and even when it does, it’s only at the point when I can just about carry on. This time, thankfully it never happened. Maybe it’s the knowledge I’m doing all I can to help myself. Maybe the fact that I have support in place this time made the difference. As much as that’s comforting though, I’m not feeling better. I’m not any worse - but I’m still not any better. I’m struggling with that. 6 months feels like a long time to not feel like you’re in a better position. And I’m not a particularly patient person!

The end is something I’ve spoken about a lot with my counsellor. I’m dreading it. This is all I’ve known for 4 years and the end is now nearer than it ever has been. There a number of things playing into that. I now need to figure out who I am without it all. That’s scary. I feel like I’m living this normal life, but I’m watching from the outside because I don’t feel normal. I’ve lost so much confidence, self-esteem that I’m a shell of the person I was. I’m stronger yes - but I feel a bit lost. What next? And what do I leave behind?

There’s a fear of being forgotten. Like it never happened. My team are my one and only - while I’m one of hundreds of patients for each of them. I’ve always said I get consult hangovers - it’s awesome at the time, but afterwards it’s almost like it was a dream and never happened and I take a few days to get my head round things. That’s exactly how I felt after my 6 month post-op consult. I left Dublin struggling to believe I’d looked forward to it for months and it was over and it already felt like it was ages ago. And now I have just one left. I’m dreading the end and feeling like the whole thing never happened.

I really hope it’s just an end to the way things are right now, and that it won’t be a case of reaching the end and never speaking to them again. I genuinely want to keep in touch with them all because that’s I how I feel about them as people - it goes far beyond the professional for me. They have played an integral role in a monumental part of my life and have changed it for the better. They have been the majority of my support network for so long. They go over and above every time and they all mean a lot to me. How could I not feel that?

I’ve never been a person who loves change, which is ironic given the fact that I’ve been through some of the biggest changes in my life in the last 4 years. No wonder I’m struggling to cope 😂 but once again, there’s a link with bereavement and loss that I can’t ignore: I’m forever changed and my life will never be the same again. I just have to learn to adjust to my life as it will be now.

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

The Hollow

I’ve been seeing a counsellor weekly since the start of May. I made it very clear I had ran out of options and I was no longer able to help myself. I couldn’t carry on as I was without trying to get help.

I’m not good at many things, but one thing I seem to be good at is picking the best team members. Although my counselling is completely separate, she couldn’t be a better match for me. She doesn’t psychoanalyse what I’m saying, she merely asks questions to understand. She is patient centric, and lets me lead the way. Albeit, that’s been pretty hard as I have no idea what to do, how to think, what I feel, or what is wrong with me.

The feeling is hollowness and emptiness. It was the only way I could describe it, and when she asked me to try and locate where I felt it, I had to take a minute when I realised…It’s in my core that I feel it. The irony hit me like a ton of bricks. That feeling is coupled with a heavy heart and complete feeling of hopelessness. Like I want to just collapse in a heap and give up. Like my body is buckling under the weight and it’s all I can do to hold myself up. It’s feels like I’m defeated.

There have been two times when I’ve felt the hollowness is overwhelming. It takes me a long time before I feel it ease. At least 4/5 days for it get better, but even then, it’s just survival. It’s just the point at which I can carry on. It’s not healed or anywhere close.

I’ve acknowledged I’m not getting the space to process whatever is going on. I’m a mum, a wife and I work full time with a husband whose hours of work can literally change on the day. My new job has been full on to the point I’ve travelled every single month since I was signed off to travel, and in June, I travelled every week of the month. I’m run down and exhausted before I even start to look at what might be going on. There is no respite. My sessions are the only time I can process things. But I’m not even scratching the surface and I’m still no closer to figuring out what’s going on.

The problem with my recovery this time is that the mental element is overtaking the physical. They are intrinsically linked and rather than the physical being my way of coping with the mental like before, the mental is holding back the physical. I was physically ready to return to the gym much earlier than I did; mentally I wasn’t. I know whatever this is, it will hold me back until I can address it.

My counsellor is either exceptionally good at her job, or I’m ridiculously transparent. Or maybe it’s a bit of both. In a short space of time she’s got me down to a t.

There are a number of things my counsellor has touched on that have made me think. I’m not going to share everything we discuss because this is an ongoing process and this is entirely for me. But the reason I write these blogs is to help me process. I hope that by writing these thoughts down, it might help my sessions with her.

Trauma. It’s like I’ve been through a trauma. I’ve been told that before, but I didn’t agree. There are so many worse things, and I couldn’t see the link. When my counsellor said it, I told her that. She pointed out that consensual or not, surgery itself is a trauma, never mind the rest of it. My body and mind have been through a trauma - even though it’s what I wanted - and while my body is healing, my mind also needs to heal. I know they’re not on the same page right now. My head has not caught up with my body. I still feel like the whole thing has been a dream. The drugs didn’t even affect me as badly as I thought they would, and I remember everything from the minute I woke up and was conscious in the room after. But it still feels like a vivid dream.

Disbelief and inadequacy. I’m still completely overwhelmed at the level of support and following I have from people I’ve never met. And complete disbelief at the luck of having the best possible team and the incredible support they give me. I’m nobody special. I still don’t understand how people are able to say I’ve helped them. Or how physios say that I’ve changed their practise. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know how it happened or why anyone has taken an interest in me.

Grief. Someone mentioned to me a few years ago, that maybe what I was experiencing was a kind of grief. When I discussed everything that I was feeling to my counsellor, she highlighted it was like grief. It was the feeling of disbelief that follows a loss and the feeling of experiencing it all over again when you realise.

It’s like the dreams I used to have when I lost my dad. The initial dreams were that was he was still here and I would wake up and experience overwhelming grief all over again. I would have to relive the loss. As time went on, I would dream he was there, but somewhere in my brain, I knew that was no longer normal and he wasn’t meant to be there. That almost felt more devastating. It meant that every part of me knew it wasn’t normal for him to be here any more.

I knew she might onto something because in my subconscious I had imagined a number of times I still had my diastasis. I’ve been convinced that things are how they used to be, only to wake up and realise they’re not. It’s happened a few times where I’ve drifted off during scar massage at night in bed, with my hands resting on my tummy. I’ve been so vividly caught up in some level of my subconscious where I’ve thought I still have my diastasis, only to wake with a jolt and have to check myself. It may be telling, but I don’t always feel panicked or get upset as you would expect I would be to think I still had it. It’s almost comforting in a weird way because it’s familiar.

It’s happened to me once when I’m conscious since the first week post-op in the hospital waiting area. I was travelling to London and I walked past a slim woman who was very obviously pregnant. I glanced at her and thought, “to be fair she probably thinks the same about me.” I had to look down before I realised.

I don’t know why that keeps happening. But 5 months on from surgery can’t erase 4 years of my default. My husband told me recently I still stand in public like I have my diastasis. Arms folded across my tummy. Protecting, hiding and completely self-conscious. When I said all my confidence had disappeared, I meant it. My surgery may have taken just 3.5 hours, but nothing I have lost is coming back quickly.

When my counsellor booked my next session for mid July - 4 weeks on from our last, she said: “I’m not one for usually giving homework, but I have an idea if you’re up for it?” I smiled; I’m always up for homework. That means I can actually do something and something is within my control to help myself. “I want you to print out the photos pre- and post-surgery you showed me, and I want you to write your thoughts and feelings down on each of the pictures.” My mind flashed to the pictures instantly and I had a sudden feeling of dread. Why did I feel like I was about to open up Pandora’s box?

Perhaps opening that box is exactly what I need to address this horrible feeling. Maybe the feeling of having to gear myself up to do this task is reminding me of how I felt when I had to address my tummy and how it looked. Maybe the hollowness is a result of trying to numb myself for years to what my tummy looked and felt like. To steel myself to everything I was dealing with. To switch my feelings off so I didn’t succumb to overwhelming feelings of anger, hurt, bitterness, disappointment, pain, grief and repulsion. Maybe I’m suffering for those decisions now. I’m paying the price for everything I did just to survive and get through it.

I’m honest and I have no shame in opening up. That’s why I thought I’d be further along to addressing this than I am. Maybe that’s why I was naive enough to think the hollow feeling wouldn’t overwhelm me for a second time. But I just can’t get to the bottom of what’s going on. And it’s killing me. There’s barely any part of me left that I recognise. I see flashes of ‘normal’ me, but it’s fleeting. I’m trying my best at everything, but right now, I’m failing spectacularly at being good at anything.

I don’t have the answers to how I get through this. I can’t try any harder than I am. I can’t do anything more. It’s gutting that it isn’t enough. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I don’t want this to define me. I need something to change. I’m banking on there being a lightbulb moment, but in reality, it might not look like that. I just want it to get better. Even if it’s slow. Even if I barely notice it at first. I’ve always carried the grit to get me through, but at the minute, it’s running low.

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

Behind the Wall

When I joked I was waiting for the shoe to drop, when my first two weeks post-op went way better than I expected; I didn’t think that when the shoe did drop, it would come down with an almighty crash that would stop me in my tracks. There have been many ups and possibly more downs throughout this experience, but I never imagined in a million years that my biggest low would be after surgery.

I have never felt so bad in my life. The week following my work trip to the US, I woke up with a sickening hollow, empty feeling that left me wanting to stay in my bed and shut out the world. I tried to ignore it or at least hope it would get better as the day wore on, but when the reality hit that this feeling wouldn’t go away, I realised that there was nowhere to hide. For all the times I had put a brave face on; for all the times I had turned my focus elsewhere; for all the times I had pushed feelings aside; it began to dawn on me that I could no longer do this alone. I would have to get help.

I almost wished for an injury that would justify me taking a break from rehab, but also that would distract me with a physical pain that I could focus on, instead of the growing pain I was feeling mentally. I was desperate to feel anything other than the feeling that I was no longer in control.

I knew it was possible I could feel low around 3-4 weeks post-op, but the fact that that never came, did not mean I expected a catastrophic fall a few months later. I described a weird feeling at 12 days post-op which continued to grow as time went on. Initially, I thought it was a me thing, so when someone confirmed they too felt it, I was relieved. What seemed to be something I would just get on with and push through as normal however, snuck up on me when I least expected it. And it doesn’t make sense.

The elements that play a part in all of this, I understand. It makes sense that I am struggling with being so far from the limitless function I built up to, (twice). The mental exhaustion from trying to get used to my new tummy, (and a new job), is understandable. The overwhelming gratitude I have for my surgeon and my physios, is a given. The feeling that I’m letting them down by my reaction to this, is inevitable. However, the feelings of emptiness, hollowness, and anxiety are completely unexplained, alien, and unexpected. I have everything I wanted and more than I could have dreamed of from the aesthetics. Lack of initial function has never stopped me before, so what is the problem now? Why am I in such a bad place that I have never felt so awful in my life? And what scares me the most: why can’t I find a way to deal with it? Why do I now, after all this time, need someone to help because I just can’t figure it out on my own anymore?

A friend had recommended counselling back when I admitted to feeling ‘weird’. As much as I appreciated her suggestion, I put what I was feeling down to only being a few weeks post-op, and I knew I was struggling to get used to how I looked.

I also knew the grey area of rehab was also causing me confusion. I didn’t feel like I was on any solid or familiar ground and I felt completely lost with how to approach it. As much as I eventually felt reassured that I knew how to scale and modify, I was still left with question marks. I just can’t see a clear path back to what I want to do.

Alex tried to convince me that I should just get back to the gym, start slow, and build back up. However, the thought left me feeling anxious. I didn’t want to feel useless, and I didn’t want to feel inadequate and at this point in time, that is all I feel. That is the reason I’ve decided to delay my return to the gym. If I don’t feel confident in some basic movements in my own space, how can I possibly put it on a coach in a class?! My first 121 in the gym I confidently stated: “I can do anything, there are no limits to my function.” The coach would not have typically had me doing what I was doing because of my diastasis, but the fact I had physios and myself saying I can do anything I want, was what changed it. Fast forward to now, and one of the most worrying signs for me was the panic I felt at the thought of setting myself further back, should I go back to the gym too soon. That’s when I knew. I have always relied on rehab/exercise/training to cope with everything I was dealing with. Now, I am too far gone for my usual coping mechanisms and this is way beyond anything I have ever felt before. I don’t know what to do to fix it, but I know this time is different. I can’t figure it out myself this time.

Even the decision to get help, was not without struggle. I felt like a complete fraud and unjustified at seeking help when so many are suffering with far worse things. My issues didn’t even make sense. I am so unbelievably lucky. I have had the surgery I longed for and needed for 3 and half years; I have the best possible team who have continued to support me through everything; and the result is more than I could have ever hoped for. What right do I have to feel like this? What right do I have to get help for something like this, when there are far worse things? And even worse, I have lived through worse things?

I feel for Alex in all of this. He was so excited to get his wife back, and somehow I’ve lost even more of myself in a few months. He acknowledged that like it or not, my diastasis DID become part of my identity after all that time, and now I don’t know who I am any more. I never lost myself because of becoming a parent - like so many do - I lost myself because of what I had to experience on top of that. He has done everything he possibly can to support me through it all, but even he can’t help me now. All he can do is continue to be the rock he always has been. I know he and my children aren’t getting the best of me. Nobody is and I feel horribly guilty about that. If there’s one thing I’ll always do, it’s that I will try my best at anything and everything; but I am failing big time right now to do my best at anything.

I have always tried to be a kind person to everyone, but everyone does not include myself. I am hard on myself and expect a lot from myself. I don’t give myself breaks. I struggle to let myself off the hook when I don’t meet my own sky high expectations. Couple that with the feeling that I am letting others down; I put myself in a very dark and unforgiving place. There is no more hiding behind the wall I have built for myself - in fact, the wall is going to have to come down whether I like it or not.

When I told my physios I might need to lay off rehab for a while, it was suggested I could take a year off and come back - it wouldn’t matter: they were there to support me regardless. Once again, showing me how incredibly lucky I am. The thought of being away from rehab for a year however, filled me with a sense of panic. I hoped it might be a few weeks at most, or even better, I could just take it as it came and do it when I felt like doing it.

Whilst it would appear that everything recently has been a struggle - despite this incredible thing that has happened - I have always said from the beginning that this is a warts and all account. There is no point pretending my tummy is fixed so everything is now fine. Far from it. But I have no doubt that at some point I will get back to the person I was or if not, the person I will be going forward. I will get back to the gym, and I will be back to enjoying the hard work that will hopefully, allow me to reach my goals. This is more than a blip - it feels more like a road block, but I WILL get through it and I will come out the other side. I’ve quoted this before, (and in fact, this quote hangs on my gym wall) but it feels pretty apt for where I’m at right now:

“Obstacles don’t have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don’t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.”

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

Head on Fire

I think everyone feels like my rehab is going really well from snippets I have shared, when in reality, I feel like the biggest fraud there is. I have high expectations of myself and I’m not even close to meeting them. It doesn’t even look or feel the same like it has before. Everyone is saying I’m doing amazing and I feel like running away and hiding because I feel like anything but. I know people might think I’m doing more than they would expect. But I guess like everything, it’s all relative. I was coming from a place of high function, and I want to get back to a place of high function. To me, this part where I’m starting out, is the part I want to get past to eventually reach my goals. It’s not my end game.

My surgeon deserves the wow factor reaction for what she has done. Éilís has done an incredible job and I can’t even react in a normal way because I feel anything but normal. I owe her far more than I’ve been able to offer and I’m gutted I can’t seem to show it. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m not happy with the result. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Part of it is actually that she has done such an unbelievable job that I can’t get my head around it. I always knew that she would do. It wasn’t even a consideration when I chose her; her skills as a surgeon were never in doubt. The fact that she ticked so many more boxes as well (which is an understatement) was an absolute bonus. Just like everyone else in my team, there just aren’t enough words to describe how amazing she is and how grateful I am. It’s one of many things I’m struggling with - I’m completely overwhelmed with gratitude and I don’t know how to say it or show it.

Surgery wasn’t about function for me and no promises can be made about function anyway. I had taken care of function with the help of my physios and had managed to achieve things I could never have imagined before pregnancy. I was the strongest version of myself before surgery. It was about aesthetics, yes, but it wasn’t just about that. It was about fixing what I couldn’t and never would have been able to fix on my own. Without realising, I think there was a naive part of me that thought validating how bad my diastasis was, would let me off the hook. That I would give myself a break for failing to do what I set out to 4 years ago. I always knew surgery was my only option and I was happy with that, but it’s maybe another factor.

In my most recent physio consult, I demonstrated a few exercises so we could try a few things. At the point I took my top off so they could see my tummy as I did the exercises, Antony said, “who’s that girl with the flat tummy?” Without even missing a beat, I responded: “I don’t know her either.” And it couldn’t be truer. I’m walking around going through the motions, but I don’t feel like myself or feel like I know the person walking around looking like me. It’s like I’m watching it all happen from a distance outside my body wondering when I’m going to rejoin reality again. I wish I could explain myself to the 3 people that matter most in this.

I’m getting frustrated with myself. I’m impatient to deal with whatever is going on and not be in this weird place where I can’t even describe how I’m feeling - let alone get over it. People are probably getting sick of me saying it. I’ve spoken to one person who got it and she said it took her 6 months. I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes me 6 months as well. Whilst I would do anything to feel better before then, I just have a feeling I’m in this place for a bit longer. I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know how I am going to feel better because I don’t know what I need. Time? Space? A good cry? Scream? I can’t even bury myself in my rehab like I normally would. It’s the strangest feeling to know you don’t feel yourself and you feel you have every reason to be happy and grateful, but you have no idea why you feel so out the game and don’t know how to fix it. It’s exhausting. I’m completely drained and depleted by the whole thing.

Someone messaged me to say maybe I was grieving. Maybe. I’ve experienced a lot of grief in my life from tragedies, but while I could relate to going through the motions and putting a face on it, this feel different. Maybe it’s a different form of grief 🤷🏽‍♀️

I’ve been massively guilty of kicking the can down the road. I’ve pushed my feelings about my diastasis aside, thrown myself into exercise and training each time, and just focused on the next thing: pregnancy; postpartum; surgery. I somehow became an agony aunt for everyone else and their feelings about their diastasis and I pushed my own feelings further and further away. I was happy to be someone people could message, because I know how difficult it is not having that someone you know with it; to have someone who understands how you feel and what you’re going through (on top of being a mum). And maybe on some level, I was happier to deal with everyone else’s feelings instead of my own.

The first time I didn’t even contemplate not improving it. I committed myself completely to doing everything and anything possible to change it and I was relentless. I made progress and that became addictive, so I trained harder and got stronger. While I wasn’t back to where I wanted to be and I knew my story would end up with surgery, I knew I was in the best position I could be for pregnancy number two.

I continued training right up to 38 weeks pregnant and had my daughter at 39 weeks. Two weeks later I was back at it. Resigned to the fact I was back at the bottom of the mountain with another long, hard climb up ahead. At the top would be surgery, and finally, a resolution to the last 4 years. It *should* be all downhill from there.

The year leading up to surgery - frustrated with lack of aesthetic progress, and being kept out of the gym by repeated illness; feelings came to the surface that I had worked so hard to bury. I have always bottled things up. Even when I lost my Dad at 14, there was a marked difference between how my mum and sister dealt with it, and how I dealt with it. I am my Dad’s daughter in almost every way. I became an adult overnight and skipped those typical teenage years. With my diastasis, training had been my therapy. I could work through the feelings and frustrations related to my diastasis with exercise. When I couldn’t exercise and have that outlet, I was in such a dark place.

The milestones post op at 2 weeks then 6 weeks flew past and went so much better than I expected. Rehab however, is not what I expected. And I can’t explain how I’m feeling so rehab is not giving me the same therapy it was before. I joked in my consult: “A psychologist would have a field day with me right now.”

I just have to accept that the scars that this experience has given me are more significant than the physical one I bear from surgery. I’m my harshest critic and I’m very hard on myself. I can’t help it - I’ve always been this way. I’m trying not to be, and to give myself the space and time I clearly need, but it’s not easy. I feel like I’m letting people down. I feel like I haven’t reacted as I should have to the most incredible result which has blown others away just as much as it has blown me away. And I can’t do a damn thing about it.

My feelings on sharing what I’m doing for rehab are mixed. Like everything else, it’s a snippet of what’s going on. There’s a lot more to it than what I share and sometimes I wonder if it creates the wrong impression. I have always shared an honest account from the beginning and that will always, ALWAYS be the case. Far too much of social media is through rose tinted glasses or filters. I’m just not that person and clearly, no filter in the world would have helped I used to look anyway 😂 Equally, there are a lot of people who might find it helpful. The guidance on this area is next to none and while I would never advocate anyone just doing as I’m doing without seeing someone qualified to advise them; once again, in my story it might be an example of being more capable than you think, while following the guidance of health professionals.

Every day I hope things will become clearer. That a bit more of the fog will lift and I will feel more like me again. It hasn’t happened yet and I don’t know when it will. I wish more than anything I could get an answer to the why. Why am I feeling like this, and what can I do to fix it? I’m so delighted with the result. It’s more than I could have dreamed of, but why does it feel almost hollow right now? I don’t think it’s just any one thing. It feels like it must be everything: like rehab; where I’m currently at function wise; the way that I now look and so many other things.

People won’t understand and that’s completely fine - I don’t understand myself, so I can’t expect anyone else to. I could never have predicted that having the surgery I had thought about multiple times a day for almost a year would leave me feeling confused. I feel like I’m absolutely over the moon, but I’m still just hovering in space on the other side, drifting. Any time Mission Control wants to intervene though and bring me back down to Earth, I’m more than ready 😂