Yesterday, our counsellor said to me, there is a saying.
Something that sounds a bit like this.

When a child is born, two people are born.
The child and the mother.
One person dies, the woman as she was before she became a mother.

I balled my eyes out. I’ve never cried quite like that.
Seriously. I had my palms curled into fists and I just cried.
The room was silent for a minute or two while I let it out.
I mourned.

For the woman I was.
The heels I wore.
The wine I drank.
The travel I did.
The dresses I fitted into.
The unplanned days.
The late nights.
The empty fridge.
The working weekends.
The movies.
The fights.
The Audi TT Coupe. Yes. Yes.
The heavy bracelets.
The nail polish.
The long nails.
The bras that fit.
The last minute plans.
The place I had in the world.
My feet firmly on the ground, always flying well above it.

I mourned that woman.
I know one day, she’ll be back in full freaking form.
She’s already on her way back.

But – she was a force to be reckoned with.
Referred to as inspirational, a maneater, a woman who took the bull by its horns.
All these things and more.

That woman had confidence.
Sass. Independence. Assurance. Rage.
All these things and the gaps that come with them as well.

I know my life has transitioned into another stage.
I know I should be grateful, happy, calm, loving and feeling loved.
But I know how I feel.

And I know, I have to allow myself that.
To just feel.