PREGNANCY LOSS

In 2000 I published Small Sparks of Life, a book about my journey to motherhood through miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy.

I am sad to say that thirty years on, the pain of pregnancy loss remains a hidden grief. There is the unacknowledged sense of despair, jealousy, loneliness and trying to mourn someone who never fully came into being. Not to forget the hopeful fear that accompanies any future pregnancy.

The book is now to longer in print but you can download a free copy here.

Latest Healthy Neurotics Blog

The genius of the book is that it distils hard inner work into two simple words—let them—a bit like counting to ten before we lash out. But the work does not stop there. The phrase is followed by a far less catchy companion: let me. Let them be who they are. Let me choose how I respond. And that brings us to the real question: who, exactly, is responding?

Who are you talking to?

In the 90s I was on the board of the European Association for Counselling. We met all over Europe under the guiding hand of a formidable chairwoman. During one meeting at a labyrinthine Greek university, she sent me to the front door to collect latecomers. Ten minutes later, I returned with a group of lost German colleagues.

“Next time, try to be on time,” she snapped at them.

Feeling unjustly lumped in, I snapped back: “But you told me to go outside and wait for the others.”

Calm as ever, she replied, “I’m not sure who you are talking to right now, but I don’t think it is me.”

Thankfully, a hundred hours of therapy kicked in and I burst out laughing. “No,” I said, “that was my mum.”

Her comment, not even directed at me, had triggered the unjustly accused little sister still living inside me. And the little sister lashed out, something she would never have dared do in front of her actual mother.

In that fraction of a second, the chairwoman recognised that my reaction wasn’t about her. Her humour, and her refusal to engage defensively, taught me something invaluable.

It’s not about you

Imagine a workplace conflict. Sally and Mary have descended into a damaging back-and-forth, mostly by email, but also in person. It’s upsetting for them and uncomfortable for everyone else. This didn’t come out of nowhere. It was the exploding cherry on a deeply frustrated cake.

Sally habitually dots i’s and crosses t’s on everyone else’s work, while contributing very little herself. When t’s that have already been crossed are re-crossed again and again, it can trigger a feeling of being unjustly questioned in one’s integrity. That is exactly what made Mary explode, leading to a week of churned-up thoughts and hurt feelings.

Had Mary been my client, I might have suggested that Sally’s nitpicking wasn’t personal. An internal “this is not about me” might have saved Mary a lot of strife. But when I suggest that to clients, they immediately fire back with “where is the justice in that?”

A few weeks later, it was John’s turn. He was presenting a project for final sign-off when Sally suddenly began questioning the entire premise. I’m sure John’s defences flickered. But he had long ago decided which battles were worth fighting. He wasn’t emotionally or egoically invested, so he recognised Sally’s pattern and stayed relatively neutral.

Ironically, this seemed to frustrate Sally even more. Her black-and-white repetition became that exploding cherry again. And yes, it was annoying. It wasted John’s time. But it wasn’t personal. John stayed in the impersonal zone.

Taking care of our triggers

We all have triggers, old wounds that may have healed but still flare up when someone presses the right button. In that first split second, our nervous system reacts as if it is happening all over again.

The chairwoman, an authority figure, touched my “it’s not fair” trigger. I defended. Had I taken one breath, I would have realised her comment, literally, wasn’t about me.

Some triggered parts are asking for more inner work: the perfectionist, the toddler, the artisan, the teenager. When they are activated, they can hijack us, emotionally or mentally. Some people lash out. Others disappear into analytical tailspins. A few resort to physical aggression.

When we believe we are under attack, the gloves come off. And it is usually our least integrated parts that respond first, creating more hurt and very little resolution.

If Sally were my client, I would know she is deeply insecure, and intelligent enough to know she contributes little beyond criticism. Used wisely, that critical eye could be invaluable. But if the motivation is to look useful or to protect against feeling inadequate, then the criticism will sting. The question becomes: which part of her is speaking?

Who is directing the response?

In the conflict between Sally and Mary, both reacted from wounded parts, hurting themselves as much as each other. John felt irritation too, he dislikes being misunderstood, but he didn’t have to act from it. He knew he had done his job well. His ego was not invested. The discussion was about a project, not about John as a person.

This is the subtle but powerful shift behind “let them.”

Let them question.
Let them criticise.
Let them be who they are.

And then: let me decide who responds.

But what about justice?

Is Sally just allowed to get away with it? Was I allowed to get away with my defensive outburst?

No.

John did not give an inch on the project. He simply didn’t engage emotionally. And in my case, the chairwoman held up a pedagogical mirror that taught me about projection.

It is the child in us that sees the world in black and white, my fault or your fault. The mature adult sees complexity. Neither victim nor perpetrator, we take a breath, count to ten, soothe the inner child, and then assess.

“Let them” does not mean roll over. It just means, don’t let your wounded parts run the show.

If people are willing to reflect and change, you will notice. In those cases, a heart-to-heart conversation can be deeply valuable. But often we find ourselves alongside people who repeat the same patterns. And yes, that can be extremely annoying. But still, it is not about you.

So next time someone pushes your button, pause and ask yourself: am I being targeted, or am I being triggered. And in doing so, am I volunteering to carry someone else’s unfinished business?

If it’s just the way they are, are you really willing to donate days of your mental and emotional energy to it?

Can you step back far enough to recognise that something in them is hurting, unresolved, unintegrated, and refuse to make it your responsibility?

Can you respond not from the wounded child who wants to win, defend or prove, but from the adult who calmly, confidently draws lines in the sand where they need to be drawn?

Or, and this may be the real question, is it time to stop rearranging deckchairs on the same beach and find somewhere else to lay your towel?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have you experienced a moment where you realised, “this isn’t about me”? Or are you still wrestling with a Sally in your life?

Join the conversation on Substack or send me a personal note