Be Thankful For What You’ve Got

Anniki Sommerville - 17 Jun 15

Whilst clearing out my bedside drawers this weekend (after reading Eva Wiseman’s article in ‘The Observer’ about the joy of de-cluttering), I came across a list I’d made in a battered notebook. It read:

Things to be grateful for today:

– Scallops for tea

I read this a couple of times and ‘Scallops for tea’ made me sad. I’d written it four years earlier whilst going through a particularly tough time. The scallops was basically me clutching at straws. I was practicing a particular brand of self-help that tells you to be grateful. Apparently the more grateful you are, the better you feel. Each night I had to make a list of things I was thankful for.  I did it for three months straight. Each night I played with different combinations. But on bleak days it was a challenge.

One day’s list reads:

– Cat came in when called

Another states:

– Slept for seven hours

Eventually I gave this ‘gratitude practice’ up because I got sick of staring at a blank page. I was hollowed out. Yes I had a lovely partner and great friends- these were all things to feel grateful for but there was a void. I wanted a child. Having ‘scallops for tea’ wasn’t going to cut it.

Further on in the same notebook is a long list where I’ve scribbled down various vitamins, vegetables and food types that I need to consume to help the miracle happen. In the margins I’ve put giant stars next to the words- ‘sunflower seeds’ and ‘orange-coloured vegetables’. At this stage  I firmly believed that eating more of these things would make me pregnant. There is quite a bit of optimism at the beginning when you’re trying for a baby. You really think that simple things like changing your diet will knock your fertility into shape. If only.

Around the same time I also got a book all about tracking fertility. This book had hundreds of diagrams and revolting photos of women’s bits. It required me to fill in an excel chart each day. Just opening the book made my heart sink. It was such a disheartening read. It was like revising for your driving theory test but even less interesting. But at least it implied there was a method. If you followed this detailed plan (involving thermometers, analysis of moods, all sorts of things etc.) you could get pregnant. It didn’t work.

At the back of the same old book are some notes I took after visiting a celebrated Tarot reader. I went to her looking for some secret insight into the future. I wanted her to tell me what was stopping me from getting pregnant. She introduced me to her cat that had a ‘broken womb’ and I took this as a bad omen. She told me that there was a child out there waiting for me in the space between ‘our earthly planet and the other sphere’. I should have left immediately. Instead I stayed as she went on to tell me that the reason I hadn’t had a child was because I was secretly resisting it. Some sort of emotional constipation was keeping my imaginary child at bay. She told me I had issues because my parents got divorced. She also told me that I would write for ‘Red’ magazine and live in a town called Frome. She was specific in her recommendations but nothing was tangible. All I could do was open up more and relax. I clung to her every word. The fact that I went to see her in the first place was a symptom of my desperation. I had moved from ‘orange –coloured vegetables’ onto pure quackery.

I had loads of medical tests and there was nothing wrong. There was a small lump that needed removing and I was a bit on the old side (late thirties) but nothing else to report. My partner was given the all clear. I no longer felt very grateful. I just wanted a child. It was hard to see a silver lining anymore.

I won’t go through all the rigmarole that happened next. Needless to say Nietzsche was wrong when he said ‘That which does not kill us makes us stronger.’ It didn’t kill me but I wasn’t stronger. I was the emotional equivalent of an empty plastic bag blowing in the breeze.

But eventually, aged forty, it finally happened. I had a baby.

A lot of my writing focuses on the challenges of bringing up my daughter. The fact that each week seems to bring different pressures. There is too much anxiety in the whole area of parenthood and we’ve created much of it ourselves. We set the bar too high and then feel miserable when we fail. We forget that parenting is not an occupation or something we have to compete about. It’s something instinctive, primeval and something we (more often than not) know how to get right. Above all we forget how lucky we are that we get the chance to do it. Having my daughter has changed my perspective. She drives me mad. She keeps me sane. She keeps me in the moment.

I have friends who have never got to this place. I think about them and how they feel. I know they will find fulfillment in a myriad of different ways.  I’m not suggesting for one minute that a life without children is meaningless. It isn’t. It’s different. It offers up different opportunities instead. But if it’s what you want and you can’t have it, it is one of life’s cruelest blows. Finding the notebook and remembering a time when ‘scallops for tea’ was the only thing to feel grateful for, reminds me of this. It reminds me to be thankful for what I’ve got.

And no I haven’t written for ‘Red’ magazine. And I don’t live in Frome either.

So I won’t be going back to that lousy Tarot reader again.

Anniki Sommerville

I'm Super Editor here at SelfishMother.com and love reading all your fantastic posts and mulling over all the complexities of modern parenting. We have a fantastic and supportive community of writers here and I've learnt just how transformative and therapeutic writing can me. If you've had a bad day then write about it. If you've had a good day- do the same! You'll feel better just airing your thoughts and realising that no one has a master plan. I'm Mum to a daughter who's 3 and my passions are writing, reading and doing yoga (I love saying that but to be honest I'm no yogi).

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