To you who read our pages, because you have met on your way the monster called Perinatal Mourning and you try to survive every day, without crumbling. And to do something good with it, if possible.
To you, who wonder if this is the place for you, because you, they tell you, lost your baby so soon.
To you, who already have other children, and, they tell you, you shouldn’t suffer so much for what happened and be content instead.
To you, who do not have children yet, but would like as many as an open embrace can contain. And even more.
To you, that you don’t want children, because it’s enough for you to be a daughter, and you just don’t understand how you can suffer from a “pregnancy gone bad”.
To you, who struggle to have children, and, even if you don’t know it, you fight not to be crushed by the weight of a diagnosis that day after day tries to shatter your identity as a woman. Perfect in itself. As such.
To you, who have a son and have lost his twin, and every day you go up and down from earth to heaven, to be a mother in both places.
To you, who hate your body, who allowed your baby to go.
To you, that everything flows the same day after day, because you got lost in the tunnel of mourning and you don’t even know it anymore.
To you, who think you exist only as a mother, and you forget that you are a mother after you are a woman. And that you exist, anyway, and you are so beautiful.
To you, who think you do not deserve any joy, because “a woman without children what a woman she is”, they say.
To you, who are all around only strollers, and nothing more. And you would like to disappear.
To me, and to all of you.
To our wonderful bellies, even to the treacherous ones. Even the silent ones. Even to those who were there before and are no longer there today. To those cut and trimmed.
To what we are, regardless of what we have or we haven’t had, regardless of what happened to us.
To our body, which always deserves respect, listening, care.
To our beautiful dreams, and to us who manage to make them despite everything.
To the little girls we’ve been.
To our infinite shades, to what we are today, and we may still be in the days to come.
To the beauty that enlightens us when we manage to say: “I’m fine, just as I am”.
To my mom who taught me to be a woman and to be proud of who I am, and never put my head down as I am.
To my sister, who teaches little women and little men about self-reliance and sharing.
To Cinzia, a doll girl who comes directly from the Little Prince asteroid, I know.
To my grandmother Marta, and her love for beauty.
To all the women of CiaoLapo, special mothers of traveling children.
Happy 8 March
Don’t forget to dance your wonder, for the women you are.