Jo Roberts
On paper, I rescued her, but really, I think she rescued me
In 2018, sprawled on my bed in the Ugandan village of Ruhanga - papers strewn around me - I wrote the line …
It’s not time that heals us, it’s what we do with that time *
It was three years after the miscarriage of my baby-to-be, and I was attempting to write a chapter for an anthology, to help women believe in themselves.
It wasn’t going well – I just couldn’t find the way in for what I wanted to say … and the submission date was looming.
I’d come to Uganda, in part, to discover my way in a changed personal world. Immersing myself in school life, alongside adventure and travel, was my chosen way through into the type of life I once knew.
The community outside my bedroom window was bright and vibrant. The experiences whirling around in my mind, trying to make it onto the page, were anything but. It was just too difficult to place myself back in the trauma – and the chapter remained unwritten.
Eventually (back in the UK with a much-needed extension) the words became clearer and my chapter, ‘When the Globe Breaks’ was ready.
It’s easy (enough) to talk about this chapter now. But at the time of writing, it felt incredibly vulnerable. My life had been through some huge whacks and was still recalibrating.
Whilst it was good to have something of my story published, it also felt reassuringly hidden. It wasn’t my name on the book, and it wouldn’t have appeared in any searches for miscarriage, infertility, or childlessness.
It was a safe space to gain practice in sharing my story because I hoped that someday I would have a book with my name on the cover.
After writing When the Globe Breaks, I continued to journal and process my thoughts, and gradually the idea of being at a crossroads formed in my mind.
Because that’s how it felt. I was exploring other paths, including going to fostering and adoption events, but nothing was landing.
That is, until late December 2019, when Millie-Dog (a two-year-old Romanian Rescue) came bouncing into my life, catapulting me into the chaotic world of being a new dog-mum.
Saved from a kill list, Millie’s original adoption had somehow fallen through, and she was being emergency fostered. A few days before Christmas, single and childless, I’d walked into my neighbour’s house with no clue that my life was about to be turned upside down.
The atmosphere was calm, yet the buzz of festive excitement was in the air, with a beautifully lit Christmas tree sparkling in the corner.
As I lowered myself onto the sofa, Millie (then named Lily) laid her soft, warm chin on my knee, her deep brown eyes sinking into my soul. I didn't know it then, but our lives were about to change forever. Hers and mine entwined through some unseen destiny working its magic - two worlds colliding.
Adopting Millie wasn’t something I did lightly. I hadn’t been looking to ‘get’ a dog, and although my heart won, the time and dedication it took to help her settle into our new life was my complete focus for quite some time.
Tears and traumas resurfaced as we transitioned into being together, but I loved her from the start and I made a promise that I would do everything I could to look after her, keep her safe, and give her a good life.
However, neck deep in ‘parenting’ a furry toddler, it took me a while to realise that I was no longer at the crossroads.
Where I thought I’d been stuck, I was simply re-telling myself a story.
The reality was that my life had moved into a new chapter - in the most unexpected of ways.
Growing up, I’d assumed that motherhood would just happen. That I’d find the right guy at the right time and children would appear. In my twenties - focused on adventure, travel, rock climbing, and being outdoors – becoming a parent was not at the forefront of my mind.
But somewhere in my thirties, it started. A deep visceral pull to experience pregnancy, birth, and motherhood. I was forty when I had my miscarriage, forty-four when Millie came into my life.
An often-heard phrase on a fertility journey is ‘Don’t give up hope’ and whilst this was helpful at the beginning, it was my experience that hope also had the power to keep me captive and stuck.
It’s been incredibly difficult to ignore or reframe my yearning to birth a child, and I don’t know if it will ever fully go away, but becoming Millie’s caregiver gave me somewhere to channel my mothering energy.
I know Millie is a dog – that she needs to do ‘dog-things’. But within her canine body, she is a beautiful soul with emotional characteristics, wants, and needs. And it is my job to protect and provide for her. I love her with all my heart.
At the beginning, she needed oodles of patience, care, and attention. But as she has grown (in age and confidence) the nuance of how to be her ‘dog-mum’ has changed. An experience shared with parents around the world – whether that be for a child or four-legged one.
Being Mum to Millie has helped me redefine what it is to have hope – of accepting that life is a massive roller coaster. Of realising that it can leave us reeling in the wake of trauma, sadness, and pain, yet also bring us joy. If only we can let it.
My unconventional story of Motherhood – hovers at the fringes of parenthood. It’s for those of us looking in – imagining the lives we didn’t lead, viewing the grass that might have seemed greener.
However, it’s also about being with the time we have and choosing the direction in which we will travel. Not knowing where it might lead. But being open to the journey.
For, at its core, my story with Millie is one of love, loss, and learning to live again – which is, after all, a universal human experience, which shapes us all.
