Pregnancy. It’s an exciting time in your life. A miracle is growing inside you! An actual human being! Everyone seems over the moon for you. Everyone you tell about it congratulates you. But, truth be told, being pregnant is HARD. There’s just so much to process, so many conflicting emotions, so many overwhelming physical changes. Nothing is in your control anymore, and it can be absolutely terrifying.
Here’s what happened to me. I got pregnant, just as some big life changes were taking place. We were moving house to a new county. I had just booked my first advert job. My agent was getting me into auditions almost daily. My toddler was growing up and required emotional support through some major developmental shifts. I was working with my valued personal training clients, and working up a business plan for moving my business into the next exciting phase. I had loads going on, and it was all super exciting. Then, bam, we’re PREGNANT! How much more could happen in such a short space of time? According to the modern world, that’s the dream, right? Progress, progress, progress. No time to stop, yay!
At the time, I didn’t realise it, but I was in a maelstrom of transition. My body was being subjected to high levels of stress with the day to day life stuff. Making a baby, building a home for a baby, all of the crazy hormonal shifts that happen during that process were then taking place ON TOP of an already ridiculous level of stress and exhaustion. A level of stress and exhaustion that I hadn’t even noticed. One day, specifically, the day before we moved house, 2 days before the advert was shooting, it happened. My body told me NO. I felt more sick than I had ever been, more tired than I had ever been, and my head felt as though it was being squeezed with a rubber band. I couldn’t put a thought together. I couldn’t read, watch TV, sit up, or lie down without feeling nauseous. There seemed to be no respite from anything.
I thought I knew what I was in for, and how I would handle it. But, as with most situations in my life, I deserved a big, humbling slap in the face. I needed a sharp reminder that having a baby is an exercise in letting go of control, or any illusion that I ever had of it.
Life goes on though, doesn’t it? It HAS to. We HAD to move house the next day. I HAD to get to the shoot for the advert the day after. I HAD to keep getting to every precious audition. My business HAD to keep growing. I HAD to be positive and get things done. There was no room to be vulnerable, to admit that I was falling apart, or to acknowledge that my body had to choose a healthy pregnancy over all of the other life stuff. So, it all happened. We moved house. I shot the advert. I kept obsessing over how I would keep building my business. We unpacked, and I did my very best to be a positive, present parent for my toddler as she transitioned to a new home, a new environment. But, there was no way around it. No solution. My body had been pushed to it’s limits, and now, with a baby to take care of, it was putting it’s foot down. The next few weeks were some of the hardest of my life, and one heck of a wake up call.
My body told me NO. I felt more sick than I had ever been, more tired than I had ever been, and my head felt as though it was being squeezed with a rubber band. I couldn’t put a thought together. I couldn’t read, watch TV, sit up, or lie down without feeling nauseous.
I began to wake up in the mornings, bleary eyed, with headaches. My eyes felt as though they would explode if I opened them fully. My body felt weak. I would sit up in bed, and the entire room would begin to spin. My stomach would be churning with an awful combination of nausea and hunger. I would attempt to eat half of the Belvita biscuit that my husband had brought up for me, with a glass of milk. It would be a challenge to get through it, but I would, and then I would go to the bathroom, and either be sick, or retch, and brush my teeth, which would make me retch, and often cause a vomiting reflex. By then my toddler would be up, I would drag myself downstairs with her, feel nauseated by the smells of the kitchen, prepare bowls of cereal for us and attempt to engage with her in the way that she deserved, whilst tentatively eating teaspoons of Choco Crackles to try and get some kind of energy into my system. The days would carry on like this. Occasionally I would do something enterprising, drag myself into London for a casting and absolutely exhaust myself in the process, or take my toddler out to the park or soft play, or attempt to do a light workout. Without fail, these activities culminated in my coming home, lying on the sofa in the fetal position, and eventually vomiting up a portion of anything I had eaten that day. My average bedtime was 18.50. No joke.
I began to wake up in the mornings, bleary eyed, with headaches. My eyes felt as though they would explode if I opened them fully. My body felt weak. I would sit up in bed, and the entire room would begin to spin. My stomach would be churning with an awful combination of nausea and hunger.
All the while, I was beating myself up terribly for being so weak, so unable to handle the basics of life, for being such a waste of space. I felt like a failure as a parent, most of all, because I just couldn’t give my daughter the Mum that she was used to, or that I wanted to be. I felt like a huge disappointment to my agent, because eventually, I had to take 2 weeks off just to recoup some mental and physical energy, and an actor who isn’t able to attend auditions is no good to anyone. I felt tremendous guilt towards my personal training clients, because I couldn’t be the example that I wanted to be to inspire them and keep them on track. I felt like an awful friend, because I couldn’t look at a screen to reply to messages, or get myself out to see anyone. I felt like nothing but a burden as a wife, because I wasn’t working, progressing, being a good parent, nor was I able to keep the house running properly, or provide any meaningful physical or emotional contact. My entire sense of identity crumbled, because I couldn’t DO any of the things that make me feel like Me.
My entire sense of identity crumbled, because I couldn’t DO any of the things that make me feel like Me.
The end product of all of this, was that I became very resentful about being pregnant at all. I felt that I had made a terrible mistake. That I wouldn’t be able to cope with another child. I was plagued with anxiety about the health of the baby, because all I could do to keep myself going was imbibe sugary crap and eat crisps. On top of it all, I felt a crippling level of guilt for not being happy about the miracle that was growing inside me. When I was going through all of this, I just wanted to stop being pregnant entirely, and go back to being myself.
Now, I’m not just writing this post to garner as much sympathy as possible (although it is appreciated!). I’m writing it because all the while I was going through this, I felt that I wanted to share the experience, because it’s so cripplingly LONELY. And, it’s hard to be honest and talk about it, because there is an obligation to be really happy and excited when you’re pregnant, even though it is one of the most INSANE processes you will ever go through in your lifetime.
it’s hard to be honest and talk about it, because there is an obligation to be really happy and excited when you’re pregnant, even though it is one of the most INSANE processes you will ever go through in your lifetime.
So, you’re not alone. Let yourself stop and take a break. Don’t feel guilty for not fulfilling the 20 roles that you fulfil on a daily basis when your mind and body are riding a rollercoaster of hormones, physical upheaval and mental mayhem. Let yourself off the hook. You aren’t chickening out, or being lazy, or turning into a waste of space. You’re going through a period of intense transition, and the world can wait.
Easier said than done, I know. There will be many more posts about all of this, going into each of the issues raised in turn, but, for now, please know, you’re not alone. I totally get you.
