I’m Rachel, a 39 year old professional actor, producer, facilitator, and Company Director.
I was born and raised in Norris Green in North Liverpool. The oldest of 4, 6 of us, (including my mum and dad) were crammed into a small typical 3 bed ex-council house. It was busy, loud, with lots of laughs. When my mum and dad separated when I was 15, me and my younger sisters and brother rallied together to become each others biggest support, and best mates. Yeah, we fought like cat and dog, but we’d end each spat with a hug. Showing each other our raw, unfiltered emotion, good or bad, was our way of showing how much we loved each other… what can I say, we’re scousers from North Liverpool – its how we do it!
In 2004, I stayed in Liverpool for Uni and did a BA Honors degree in Drama. After my mum got over the disappointment that I wasn’t going to be a doctor or lawyer (love you mum), my choice came to no surprise to anyone. I’ve always loved the limelight, and had a natural flare for acting and music. And to be honest, I wanted to do something which made me happy.
When I graduated, I was lucky enough to get off to a good start, becoming a regular jobbing actor/musician, whilst using a part time call centre job to get me by when I was between gigs. But I wanted more control over my own career. It was in 2010, I started my first theatre company. This taught me a lot about the type of projects I wanted to deliver, what artists I wanted to work with, and the audiences I wanted to engage. In 2014 I started No Place Productions – a theatre and digital arts company dedicated to creating & delivering creative experiences, performances, & programs for people within the Criminal Justice System. The story of why and how I came to that decision is a tale for another day. But safe to say, I absolutely love my work. I felt at my best there. Leading, being creative, brave, and passionate about the transformative power of creativity for those who are experiencing difficulties.
Fast forward to 2019, the business was thriving. We were working across 8 European countries, I was in a profession where I was happy and fulfilled. It was then, that after difficult years of trying to have a family, with no success, that me and my Husband (then partner) were finally granted IVF on the NHS. The treatment was hard, but to our complete surprise and elation, we fell pregnant first time. After years of infertility, this was an absolute dream come true for both of us. Now, after all that time, we were finally able to buy the baby clothes, the moses basket. I could do the cheesy social media announcement. We could shop for prams!
Our lives where shattered when in March 2020, our beautiful son George, was born premature and still born. We had known George was ill for a few weeks previously, and the journey towards the inevitable was indescribable. There really are no words to explain the pain of baby or child loss. And that’s what makes it so isolating.
2 weeks later, I was cut off from all of the usual support when covid Lockdown was announced.
In the first month or two, I was in such intense emotional pain, the grief was the only thing I could feel. I was completely numb to everyone and everything else. I was hospitalised numerous times due to a severe infection I had developed following the labour, but I was in such a dissociative state, I didn’t even realise the physical pain and symptoms I was experiencing. It was my amazing Husband who took me to get medical attention, and ultimately save my life – in many ways.
The loss of my son had completely changed me. I didn’t know who this new person was. I became afraid of everything. Someone who once thrived leading teams of professionals in international arts projects, was now frightened if the doorbell rang. I lost friends – some that I thought would be lifelong disappeared as they couldn’t cope with this new, fragile, changed me. I had no hope.
Looking back, the final straw for me was a family bbq, funnily enough. Lockdown rules were easing and it was announced we could have small outdoor gatherings from different ‘social bubbles’. Straight away my dad arranged for a little get together in his garden for him, me, my sisters and brother and our partners. Usually, I would have been chomping at the bit to see my siblings, have a few drinks, laugh at something stupid that happened 15 years ago, you know, the usual. But I was immediately paralysed with complete overwhelming anxiety. That was the old me. How would the new me react now? How would they now react to me? I was completely afraid to see my sister and brother, the very people who had been my greatest supporters and best friends for my whole life.
It was then I knew I needed help. This was a huge step for me. In most of my relationships, I have always been ‘the fixer’ listening to others and helping solve their problems. And to be fair, I’ve always enjoyed this role. My independence, and maybe stubbornness have meant I’ve always struggled to ask for help from others. But things were different now. I needed professional help. I didn’t want to live in fear anymore. I wanted to fight back.
I reached out to our IVF clinic, who put me in touch with their resident councillor and psychologist. He gave me a clinical understanding of what was happening, and why I was feeling the way I was. At that time, that was exactly what I needed, as I felt like I was losing my mind. I began to understand, this was my brain and my body’s way of trying to process a type of loss, child loss, which we are not biologically wired to experience. Feeling safer to further explore my feelings, I then contacted an absolutely amazing grief counselling charity in Liverpool, which in exchange for a donation, provided me with weekly 1 to 1 counselling sessions for 6 months.
I can honestly say, it was completely transformative. It didn’t take away my grief – that is with you forever, but I started to learn how to live with it, alongside it. Little by little. I began to see and feel tiny flickers of life again… Catching myself singing along to a song on the radio, wearing a new dress, arranging home date nights with my husband. It felt good.
When I had to go back to work, I really didn’t want to. Being honest, I felt sick thinking about it, but as an arts business trying to survive covid, I was left with no choice. I was completely dreading it. For the first time in my career I felt myself rolling my eyes at the thought of being part of the creative process. I had much bigger problems. Our first post covid project was recording creative writing workshops for people in prison and their families. As soon as I sat down in that first planning and recording session, I began to feel more ‘me’. I began to feel more confident, bubbly, hopeful. The thing that I thought I had been too broken to do again was piecing me back together.
When we felt emotionally strong enough, my husband and I decided to try IVF again. The next time was unsuccessful. We fell pregnant from the following attempt, but sadly suffered a miscarriage at 8 weeks. We then fell pregnant again from our fourth and final attempt, and I gave birth to our beautiful daughter, Olivia in August 2021.
I am writing this on the eve of her graduation from nursery school. She starts Primary School in just 6 short weeks. She is funny, caring, creative (of course!) and fizzes with energy. Every single day we appreciate how lucky we are to be able to love her and watch her grow. I know there are others who have had similar heartache, who do not get that chance.
George would be 5 and a half now. He is missed every day. He is very much a part of our family. We talk about him all the time, and Olivia knows her big brother George ‘lives in the sky’. There are days which are tougher than others. When you lose a child, you don’t just lose them once, you lose them in everything that should have been. His first smile, putting him to sleep, starting school, playing with his little sister. Greif is complex, changing, and deeply personal, but child loss, baby loss and miscarriage effect so many of us. This is why I have tried to be a proud advocate of breaking the stigma which surrounds it, in order to reduce the isolation, increase understanding and create community for parents, siblings, family and friends who have experienced or are supporting someone who has experienced this heartbreak.
My son has given us many gifts. He has taught me to be kinder to myself. He brought me and his dad even closer. I have been shown beautiful support from my family and friends, old and new. And he has reignited my passion to create a positive difference.
Most of all, he has created a better me… just a little more battle worn.
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