Salima

Salima is a single stay-at-home mum. She was diagnosed with lupus in 2018 and is registered disabled.

She suffered a late-stage miscarriage followed by the death of her daughter Saliha at three days old.

“When my first daughter was born, she had meningitis. They said there was a possibility she wasn't going to make it.

I made it clear to the paediatric team that I wasn’t going to hold my daughter. I’d go visit her, I’d be there, I just couldn’t hold her.

I remember my ex-husband pleading with me. But I thought, if she dies it’ll be a lot more work to heal from that trauma if we have an attachment. At that point in my life, I was very much in survival mode.

I was so exhausted with losing people and opportunities and privileges. I was always losing. I thought, if I don’t touch her, it’s one thing I don’t have to lose. I was so petrified of loving and then losing her.

She died three or four days later without her mum holding her.

That’s what fear does to us. It had me in shackles.

In my journal, I can be raw and unadulterated. Say it like it is. Own my baggage and breakdowns.

Once I’d have been ashamed of saying I had a daughter and never held her. Now I own it. When I started journaling, I had to look at that and forgive myself.

I did the very best I could do with the knowledge I had. It’s ok.

I used to feel like I was in this rat race, in these cycles of overdrive and overreaction. But my journaling helps me to park things up; it takes the load from me for a little while.

It’s shown me where I have a lot of fear and where I lack integrity. It’s helped me put things in perspective and to hold myself to account.

I go with the flow, I get lost. And sometimes, getting lost is how I discover myself again.

“Something happens, I pick up my journal. It’s my best friend, my therapist, my go-to place.”

My journaling started after I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lupus.

I deteriorated so quickly. I had to have chemotherapy, which doesn’t usually happen with lupus. I hit rock bottom; I really thought I was going to die.

I remember very distinctly walking into my living room and thinking “What have I got to lose now? I might as well do something different.” And that’s where my self-discovery began.

It was a gradual journey. I began writing down three good things every day. Not “the weather” but “the feeling of the sun on my skin.” And as I got more specific, the more my brain started to seek out things to be grateful for.

Now it’s evolved. Something happens, I pick up my journal. It’s my best friend, my therapist, my go-to place. I’ve even burnt parts of it. For me, that signifies that I’m letting go.

She’s become my companion. I say “she” because we’re in this together; she’s almost a sentient being. For some people, that’s too woo-woo. It would have been for me at some point, too.

I’ve lost so much through death and my disability. But it’s been a blessing, too.

It’s resuscitated this deep love I have for reading. I’ve found myself, my true strength, my courage. I wear it as a badge of honour.

Now when I’m feeling cynical, I ask “How did that happen? Where did it come from?”

And when I feel scared or anxious, I think ‘What if I stepped into that? What if I did it anyway?”