There was a time where my story of first pregnancy hung really heavily over me, draping me with its sticky shame, seeking to define me with its secrecy, grief and self-centred choices. I felt it's claws puncturing me, every moment of every day.
After it happened, I was a little (a lot) less the effervescent person I had been before, and felt a whole bunch 'less' of a person in general. I felt less than the people I hung out with. Less than the amazing people they were. They didn't have this baggage hanging over them, in them, under their skin, bruising their insides. They were amazing people. I thought I was less worthy. Of love, of attention, of kindness, didn't deserve any of it.
I was still stuck in self-punishing mode when I met Greg. He wasn't my savour, not my knight in shining armour, didn't rescue me from myself and didn't seek to fix me. I didn’t need any of that. He started in my life simply as a great friend. He was a good egg. He was shy and sensible.
As we began spending more time together and one day I realised I liked him (incorrect, actually one day, just like that, I realised I was looking at my future husband). Over time, we grew closer, but my still fairly recent history had me hesitant to get too close, hesitant to believe I could be happy, and hesitant to be presenting Greg with ‘damaged goods’. My shame over my pregnancy termination held tight to my heart and failed to release. I wanted to move on, live my life, and go forth and be an adult with freedom, yet the shame lingered.
So I bit the bullet. One night, on my bed, after weeks of anticipation and the almost eventual start of our relationship, we lay looking at each other and I told him the story i'm writing you now. I laid it out for him like an open wound, cutting through his basic understanding of my life with a machete, slicing out any misconceived expectations of winning the girl next door. I stepped him through what had occurred, how it splintered my heart, and how it continued to weigh me down even then, more than a year later.
Because it was important to me that he understood who I was and what I had been through before we make any decisions about kicking off a relationship. I wanted to be open and vulnerable to him.
It took a while for me to say all the things. I cried and he listened. And eventually when I had said all the things I needed to offload, I stopped talking. And he took a moment. He took a fair few moments. During those moments, I wondered if this would be the end of us before we had even began, I wondered what abhorrent things he was thinking about me, and I wondered if I had been stupid to declare it, rather than packing it away forever. After what appeared to take forever, of him staring up at the ceiling, he looked at me and simply said...
"I'm sorry you went through all of that… but I’m just not sure if any of that impacts on us being together. It doesn’t change how I feel.”
And with that, we moved forward....with transparency, acceptance, understanding and mutual respect. At that stage, I felt that I needed to be brave to tell him...but at the same time, still it was a safe place.
I'm telling you this because I think it's important for me to point out, whilst the telling of my story here is bold, it's emotional, it's being open and transparent...I don't think it's actually brave. My loved ones already know this story, and those who didn’t know it before now, they love me enough.
Piece by piece, over the years, decades now, I’ve worked to recover me. Being real. Owning who I am. Appreciating it and standing tall in it. And sharing it as I wish to.
I know for some, sharing this degree of personal and intimate details online with the world might terrifying, shocking or embarrassing. In fact, I’d suggest that Greg sits on that side of the fence. Often shocked and perhaps appalled by the level of detail I reveal to the world about myself, my life, my thoughts and feelings. But as I've worked through all of this and my life in general, I've come to realise that the more I share, the less I need to hold so close. And thankfully, he understands and appreciated that it’s my story and I get to tell it when I want, to who I want, and in whatever way I want to.
More and more, I seek to be released from the chains of secrecy. I don't want to carry the weight of this on my shoulders anymore, and being able to tell my story is cleansing, freeing and liberating in itself.
But it’s important for me to be clear… There is no cost here for me. I am not at risk of losing anything, and I am not concerned for my safety, your judgement, or social scathing.
I am loved. I am worthy. I am a kind, generous, giving and trustworthy person. I love myself. I appreciate the full extent of my journey, because it's brought me to the day we breathe today, and for that and all of the experiences that eventuated, I am grateful. Even the hard ones.
And because I feel confident in myself and know the acceptance of my loved ones, there is nothing here at risk for me. No parents will disown me, no husband will mistreat me, no friends will judge me, and no family will be ashamed of me. There is no real risk here. Zero really.
In fact, as I expected, and appreciate so much, I have been absolutely love-bombed as a result of this story. I have had an overwhelming response to this story, with friends reaching out to offer support and love now, and being reminded of how it felt back then for them too. I have been absolutely wrapped in acceptance, comfort, and unconditional support. Because that's my village. That's you! And I appreciate and am incredibly grateful to be in such a position.
Call it what you will, but don't appreciate my 'courage' too much. I tell it because I want to own it and I want to tell it to you. I am even so privilege as to be able to choose when, how and how much I want to share. It's simply me, stepping out into the light. Because I want to say it. Speaking freely, as I choose to, finally. Think of me as confident, well supported, free and healing…and maybe still a little broken. But when you think of bravery, don't think of me.
Think of the women who go through a lot worse than I have and speak in the absence of unwavering support and love. Think of the women who speak knowing their voice may result in persecution, discrimination and harm. Think of the mere fact that I can share with you without any of those fears, and feel disarmed by how unbalanced the world is. Consider for a moment how differently we judge women, compared how we encourage men to 'sow their seed'.
I’m not brave. I tell this story from a platform of incredible privilege and safety.
Not everyone has that freedom...
Ciao for now,
LG - Lauren Granger
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