It was an early loss. I was out doing the day job of taming everybody else’s brain weasels (I’m a therapist). I doctored my language around my loss, terrified to appear less pro-life, of triggering my sisters who’d made difficult decisions or offending those who’d been empowered in accessing a stigmatised form of healthcare. I felt as though it was my duty to take on the complexities of issues that weren’t comparable, like I was responsible for making everything ok. In my professional life, I’d call that a maladaptive coping mechanism…