Almost Me

By Quraisha Dawood

Almost Me by Quraisha Dawood is a personal journey through miscarriage,postpartum depression and motherhood.

This book is for you, the one who cannot find the words. To you, the one standing alone in the crowd. You, the one with your heart in two worlds. You with the lump in your throat. You, the smiling one with the invisible ache. You, the one who is tired of one more day.

You, resilient one.

 

PREFACE

The idea for this book did not come to me in a moment. It was gathered over time, slowly etching itself into being, much like the beginnings of life described at the start of Chapter 18 of the Qur'aan. From the depths of one's soul, to a heartbeat, to love and loss, to becoming the woman I am. I remember these verses from Arabic class - that moment when my teacher explained the meaning to us. For some reason, it stuck with me. Life really does come full circle sometimes. Anyway, I suppose this book started much like that, in stages, and I am now at the stage where I can talk about my story. Through this journey filled with pain, heartbreak, moments of joy and anger I have had to relearn who I am, somehow learn to love myself and not let anyone try to unnerve me. I am still learning.

My hope is that you feel less alone, find some understanding, or even laugh at my silly moments.

Thank you for reading and being patient with me.

 

REVIEWS:

"'Almost me' is a raw, unfiltered and much needed book for mums and dad's to read. It breaks barriers of what motherhood is and what mums are expected to be. I love that Quraisha shares real life experiences and I know many mums will relate. Post natal depression is very real and very much a taboo subject in our community. Many mums experience the trepidatious journey of pregnancy after loss, myself included. Mental health is so greatly highlighted in this book and I hope that this gives mums the courage to seek out professional help.

"The moment a child is born, so is a mother. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is absolutely new."

Sumaiyya Karim

Mothers Intuition

 

"Quraisha succeeds in taking us into her confidence as she recounts, with sharp, unflinching detail the anguish of miscarriage and the blight of post-partum depression.These are honest reflections on loss, grief and the emotional and spiritual disconnects that so often underpin motherhood and the lead-up to it. 

It will resonate deeply with anyone grappling with fertility and the questions around what having children means to their own experience of womanhood.

Quraisha documents her emotional reactions with precision; we live through all her dejections, her triumphs become our own.

This is the kind of sincere self-exploration that demands to be amplified. It is only in writing that which is not spoken about enough, that we will all feel less alone."

Saaleha Idrees Bamjee

Zikr

 

Published by Yiz House Publishing

• Language: English
• Publisher: YizHouse
• Release date: Sep 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393942870

Quraisha Dawood

Dr Quraisha Dawood is a South African sociologist and writer. She has been published in the anthology, Belly of Fire, the Readers Digest, Irtiqa Magazine, the Al-Qalam, the Sunday Tribune, the Al Ummah, Riding the Samoosa Express and more recently, Saffron: A collection of narratives from Muslim women. In 2016, she received her PhD in Sociology from the University of Kwa-Zulu Natal, which led her to launch Write on Q, an academic editing business that also sought to enhance the writing skills of high school learners. She is currently a research manager for a private higher education institution. When she isn't writing or reading, Quraisha chases sunrises on the Golden Mile, and does Netflix marathons with her family. 

Book preview

Review

"QURAISHA SUCCEEDS IN taking us into her confidence as she recounts, with sharp, unflinching detail the anguish of miscarriage and the blight of post-partum depression.

These are honest reflections on loss, grief and the emotional and spiritual disconnects that so often underpin motherhood and the lead-up to it. 

It will resonate deeply with anyone grappling with fertility and the questions around what having children means to their own experience of womanhood.

Quraisha documents her emotional reactions with precision; we live through all her dejections, her triumphs become our own.

This is the kind of sincere self-exploration that demands to be amplified. It is only in writing that which is not spoken about enough, that we will all feel less alone."

Saaleha Idrees Bamjee

Zikr

Foreword

"'ALMOST ME' IS A RAW, unfiltered and much needed book for mums and dad's to read. It breaks barriers of what motherhood is and what mums are expected to be. I love that Quraisha shares real life experiences and I know many mums will relate. Post natal depression is very real and very much a taboo subject in our community. Many mums experience the trepidations journey of pregnancy after loss, myself included. Mental health is so greatly highlighted in this book and I hope that this gives mums the courage to seek out professional help.

The moment a child is born, so is a mother. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is absolutely new.

Sumaiyya Karim

Mothers Intuition

Preface

THE IDEA FOR THIS BOOK did not come to me in a moment. It was gathered over time, slowly etching itself into being, much like the beginnings of life described at the start of Chapter 18 of the Qur’aan. From the depths of one’s soul, to a heartbeat, to love and loss, to becoming the woman I am. I remember these verses from Arabic class - that moment when my teacher explained the meaning to us. For some reason, it stuck with me. Life really does come full circle sometimes. Anyway, I suppose this book started much like that, in stages, and I am now at the stage where I can talk about my story. Through this journey filled with pain, heartbreak, moments of joy and anger I have had to relearn who I am, somehow learn to love myself and not let anyone try to unnerve me. I am still learning.

My hope is that you feel less alone, find some understanding, or even laugh at my silly moments.

Thank you for reading and being patient with me.

Q

The scream

AT 5AM ON A FREEZING Saturday morning, a horrified scream shattered the silence of our one-bedroom beachside apartment. Was that really me? I didn’t realise I was screaming. I didn’t recognise that as my own voice. There I was, in the most undignified way, losing my baby on the toilet, tears streaming down my face. The pain was inhumane. That’s why I probably sounded like an animal. This quiet girl who was always poised and in control had to let go. After a horrible night of abdominal pain and ignoring the need to go to the bathroom, I couldn’t hold on any longer. My angelic husband, rudely yanked to reality from his peaceful slumber rushed to hug me while the most beautiful piece of us surrendered itself to the unknown.

It’s funny what your mind focuses on when you are going through a traumatic experience. I remember which pyjamas I was wearing (the brown and teal ones with the pink owl on it), the TV show we were watching the Friday night before (a British car show), the dream I had while under anaesthetic (about a close friend) and the news that day (Kim Kardashian had her first baby). I didn’t know what to do. I sat there, not knowing whether to move or rush to the hospital. Everyone tells you what to do when your water breaks or what type of labour plan is best, but nobody tells you what to do if you wake up one morning and lose your baby. I hate that term ‘lose your baby.’ It irks me. It implies some negligence on the part of the mother; as if you let go of your child’s hand in Makro and can’t find them amongst the endless aisles. I suppose the feeling of dread and guilt are similar, including the judgemental looks from other women. All in all, I don’t think ‘lose’ or ‘miscarry’ are very sympathetic words. Number one, I certainly did not let go; and number two, this was not a ‘mistake’ or a simple ‘mishap’. I did carry the baby, even though it didn’t last more than 3 months. Either way, I suppose we have to use these sharp, sterile words to mark such life-changing events so that others aren’t pierced by their shrapnel, or worse – become infected. After you lose your baby, some people disappear as if you have the plague and they need to protect themselves. They show up later on, when they think it’s safe, expecting you to be the same, bubbly person you were before. But if there is one thing I learnt, it’s that once you lose a child, not only do you mourn their loss. You mourn the loss of your former self.

I did eventually stop crying that morning, and after I composed myself in the bathroom, I went into practical mode. What does a girl wear while miscarrying? I threw on a plain black cloak and matching scarf. We Muslims seem to have it figured out. Funeral? Black cloak. Khatham?[1] Black cloak. Eid? Black cloak. Umrah?[2] Black cloak. While I love the elegance of my cloaks, today I wished I could borrow Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. Waddling around with three Always pads between my legs, their wings didn’t make me feel any lighter. I had to walk around just to not feel the pain grabbing at my groin or risk meeting Shiraz’s eyes in the mirror. We got my medical documents together and emailed my gynae. Off we sped with my mom to the hospital,