This post deals with miscarriage and might be triggering for some readers.
While each of us experience trauma differently, last year was one of the most horrific years of loneliness and despair I have personally experienced in my life.
In order to survive, I have drawn upon the strength of my womanhood, a strength I never knew the bounds of until now.
My husband and I have been married for three years, a milestone we were unable to celebrate in lockdown, along with many more, but that’s okay. We feel grateful to have each other. We are one of those annoying couples who have enjoyed spending more time together (silver lining), but there’s no doubt we’ve been tested.
During the first lockdown, at what could be described as the “start” of COVID in Australia, our anxieties were at their highest. My husband was working longer hours than ever, albeit from home. Having worked for the same accounting firm for 15+ years in a senior position under partnership, he had direct lines of communication with the bosses.
"We will be fine!" "We won’t be letting anyone go!" "Accountants will be busier than ever," they told him.
Cue a last minute Zoom meeting invitation, and his boss reading out a redundancy letter to him, effective immediately, with no conversation, justification or even eye contact.
He was completely blindsided.
My workplace was also stood down at the time and, to be honest, I thought being in the “volatile” industry of acting, that my job was soon to be lost too.