I am tired.

I am tired of putting on a brave face and a smiling when I don’t feel that inside.

I am tired of being silenced about how I feel to make other people feel comfortable.

I am tired of being fragile, and how the smallest things - things that never did before - can throw me completely off course.

I am tired of educating people about grief.

I am tired of giving feedback on how to support me where I am.

I am tired of crying.

I am tired of being disappointed.

I am tired of justifying that the person I was before is gone too.

I am tired of my feelings being invalidated.

I am tired of platitudes. No, my son did not died for a reason. No, his death was not God’s will. No, I am not strong.

I am tired of feeling 'othered' as a woman and a mother - infertility and now child loss.

I am tired of waiting.

I am tired of wondering what milestones my son should be hitting and new things he would be doing.

I am tired of missing my son, when he should be here.

I am tired of everything in my life continuing exactly the same as before, as if nothing happened. As if everything didn’t change.

I am tired of my son being dead.

I am tired of being a bereaved mother.

I am tired.