When people say ‘just move on’
God, I’m so tired of hearing this. My sister said it to me yesterday after I mentioned missing Emma’s soccer game again. “Rachel, you need to just move on. Focus on your own life.”
My own life? She IS my life. She’s been my life for nine years.
It’s always the people who tuck their kids into bed every single night who tell you to move on. Like I should just accept that my daughter thinks I abandoned her. Like I should be fine with missing her school plays and birthday parties and the way she used to run to me when she scraped her knee.
“At least she’s healthy,” my mom keeps saying. Yeah, physically. But what about the fact that she flinches when I try to hug her now? What about how she parrots things that sound nothing like the sweet kid who used to ask me to read just one more story?
And don’t even get me started on “you’ll see them when they’re older.” Will I? Will Emma even remember who I was before all this poison got dripped into her ears? Will she remember that I taught her to ride a bike and made her favorite pancakes every Sunday morning?
I spent $3,000 last month just to get two supervised hours with my own child. TWO HOURS. And people act like I’m being dramatic when I can’t just “move on” from that.
The worst part is the loneliness. Nobody gets it unless they’ve lived it. They think grief has an expiration date, like I should be over it by now. But how do you move on from loving your child? How do you move on from watching someone systematically destroy your relationship with the person who matters most?
I’m not moving on. I’m moving forward, but I’m not giving up. There’s a difference, even if nobody else understands it.
Oh Rachel, this landed like a punch to the gut. I’m sitting here at 2am reading this and just… yes. Every single word.
I’ve been living this nightmare for four years now with my two, and the “just move on” brigade nearly broke me in year two. My own mother — my own mother — told me I was “wallowing” and should “focus on the positives.” The positives? My eight-year-old son won’t even look at me during contact visits, and my daughter asked the supervisor why I made her daddy so sad. But sure, let me focus on the bloody positives.
The loneliness is suffocating, isn’t it? I remember standing in Tesco watching a mum and her little girl picking out birthday cake decorations, and I had to abandon my trolley and sit in the car park crying because my daughter’s birthday had come and gone without me again. People see you falling apart in public and they think you’re being over-dramatic. They don’t understand that grief isn’t linear when your children are still alive but unreachable. They don’t get that every milestone, every season change, every small thing brings fresh loss.
Your sister means well, I’m sure, but she gets to kiss her kids goodnight. She doesn’t know what it’s like to pay solicitors thousands just for the privilege of supervised handshakes with your own flesh and blood. Keep moving forward, Rachel. That distinction you made — it’s everything. Emma will remember those pancakes eventually. I have to believe that, for all of us.
This cuts so deep. I’ve had the exact same conversation with my mum about the twins - she keeps saying I need to “accept it and build a new life.” A new life without my children? How is that even possible?
The supervised visits thing especially got to me. I remember those awful sessions at the contact centre, watching Josh and Mia sit across from me like I was a stranger. Two hours every fortnight if I was lucky, and their dad’s lawyer was always finding reasons to cancel even those. The way they’d look at the clock, counting down the minutes until they could leave - that still haunts me.
You’re absolutely right about the difference between moving forward and moving on. I’m four years in now and I still set aside money each month for when they come home. Still keep their rooms ready. People think that’s unhealthy but it keeps me sane. It’s not giving up, it’s staying ready.
Same here with the ‘just focus on yourself’ nonsense from family. Bhai, she IS myself - how do they not get that?
Oh Rachel, this hits so hard. Five years in and I still get the same comments about my grandchildren - “surely you’ve accepted it by now” as if love has a sell-by date.
The moving forward versus moving on distinction is everything. I refuse to accept this is permanent, but I’ve had to learn to live alongside the grief rather than waiting for it to end.