The water pipes froze on the upper levels of the house, so we have to use the toilets in the bar if we want the central heating system to work. Oof! The other day I bought a strappy black poplin midi dress online, of all things, compelled by a dogged hope for a summer that feels like it will never come. Winter’s long shadow extends into all extremities: past roots, feet and fingers, the far dank reaches of the mind.

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Swallowing two Nurofen Plus after getting my period, I think of Narcissa’s post the other day:

“to suffer through these cramps at this level of pain from age of 12 (THIRTY YEARS), but never use my reproductive system. bah. I manage that grief now, I don’t dwell on it, I accept it like we accept all the things - what choice is there. but it’s hard enough without adding this insult to injury.”

Every period reminds me of the child I'll never have... But, yeah, I can manage that grief. It took years, and I had to do it on my own, until I could go about my day without thinking about it, to the point I'd forget for days, even weeks. There is enough to distract me. Writing about it helps ... and reading about other people's similar struggles also helps. If only modern Western society was more open about the grief that sometimes accompanies childlessness, rather than treating it—that particular grief and childlessness itself—like a shameful situation. It just IS, isn't it?

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