A pause, some reflection and an invitation
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You may have noticed it’s been quiet around here the last few weeks. As writers on Glow in the Woods, we take turns posting, with the goal of publishing a new post every second Monday. Sometimes the words come easy for us, and the posts are all on time, and we don’t miss a beat. Other times, the words are harder to find, our “regular” lives keep us overly busy, and we miss a post or fall behind schedule. When it was my last turn to post, I thought I had something to say but I couldn’t get myself to sit down and write it. And then I realized we’d come to the end of our regular posting schedule and it was time to set a new one, and I hadn’t done that either, leaving us with an unplanned pause on the front page of the website.
It's been quieter around Glow for the last few years. Comments on front-page posts are infrequent and fewer people are posting to the forums. I will admit when I realized I had nothing ready to post and nothing in the queue, I wondered if anyone would notice. I asked the other writers if they ever wondered the same. I asked them if they thought it might be time to have conversations, again, about the future of the site. Their responses were clear and convincing: this site has mattered too much, been a safe refuge to too many, for too long, to let it rest. We took a look at the site analytics, and it’s clear people are still coming here, still finding us, still needing the refuge, still looking for – and hopefully finding – a space where they find their experiences reflected back at them. Find people who know what it’s really like to be the parent of a dead baby. The site numbers were clear and convincing, too. This place still matters. This place still bears tending to. And we will keep doing that. Making space, keeping time, seeking connection.
And also…extending an invitation: have you ever wanted to write for Glow in the Woods? If so, we would love to hear from you. We would especially love to hear from folks who maybe are earlier or later along in the grief process than those of us who have been writing here for a while, as well as fathers, and non-binary parents and/or LGBTQ2S+ and/or queer parents, any parents who maybe haven’t seen their own experiences reflected back here. There are so many ways to grieve, so many experiences to share.
Glow in the Woods has always been a place that has welcomed and acknowledged all sides of grief, including the raw and ugly sides. We value honest writing and we know that sometimes what you really need, when your baby has died, is a place where you can rage, and be unconstrained in your grief, where you won’t be judged for grieving the wrong way, for being angry, ugly, too sad, too anything. We know sometimes black humour is the only way to get through a day, even though it might shock some of those who aren’t ‘in the club.’ We know sometimes you’re happy, too, and it doesn’t mean everything is better for the rest of time and phew, we’re past all that now, hopefully, right? Here, you can be happy and we’ll know you still miss them; we’ll keep saying their names with you.
It was the writing of so many contributors before me who helped me see all my feelings were ‘normal;’ it was the space that writing created, the community that grew around it, that sustained me through the worst days and months and years of missing Anja.
If you’d like to add your voice to that sustaining chorus of Glow in the Woods contributors, we invite you to submit a Guest Post through the form on our guest submission page. Submission guidelines are also included on this page. We’d love to hear from you.
And if you prefer not to contribute, to just read and nod along, we’re glad you’re here. The internet has changed a lot since Glow in the Woods began way back in 2008. That was at the height of babyloss blogging, and there was a culture of commenting and connecting that I, personally, have been sad to lose. I know that some of that commenting and connection has moved into new spaces, on Instagram, Reddit, TikTok. But the numbers don’t lie: people are still coming here. Still finding us. And we’ll stick around. A glow through the trees. Waiting by the fire, waiting to welcome you.