"Praise the water under bridges, the time they say will heal"
I'm writing this tonight thinking, "Really, Kristen? A second post about the miscarriage? Might that be a little excessive?"
I have those feelings. That people think I should just get over it. (Or maybe I think I should just get over it.) Or, in better words, deal with it in a healthy way.
Yesterday someone asked me, "So are you still sad about the baby?" I was quiet for awhile. It was such a loaded question, and there was no good way to answer it. No? Can someone say that? It wouldn't really be true, but it might mean something more true to the person who asked it, if that makes sense. Of course I'm still sad, but to say "yes" to this would be to appear desperate and highly emotional and.... like I am wallowing.
And those things are kind of true, too. I think most of my hesitance to answer was because this person is not a safe confidant. I can't trust my words to be taken for what I mean them to be. This is the same person whose initial response when told about the miscarriage was: "Well, are y'all just real, real sad about it?"
I know that no one means to hurt your feelings when you're in the middle of miscarrying a baby, but they do. I know there is no malicious intent, I know they mean the best and want to help and speak out of ignorance. But it still hurts.
Besides this exchange being with someone less-than-ideal when it comes to being vulnerable, a miscarriage is just hard to put into words. For starters, the vocabulary behind it is confusing and feels foreign to the tongue. Every time I said, "I lost the baby," I felt like I was betraying my true emotions. "Losing the baby" always brought up images of me leaving the baby behind at Wal-Mart, lost on an aisle, forgotten. Or being buried beneath a pile of laundry. And I felt like it put the responsibility of loss on myself. I lost it; My mistake. Sometimes I feel like a better way to say it would be, "My baby was ripped away from my body in a bloody, painful battle for no apparent reason."
Even "miscarriage." I misstep. I misspoke. I made a mistake. I miscarried. I carried that baby... wrongly....? It feels odd to say.
And even more difficult to work out than the words are the emotions. I am feeling a lot better. I feel like I'm on the upswing of things. I don't know if it is just time or the progesterone cream, maybe both. But I feel a huge relief--physically and emotionally. I sleep better when I'm using the cream. I can tell that my hormones are leveling out. My stomach and uterus aren't wracked with cramps. And it's strange that this is comforting, but my nails are brittle again and my hair is thinning out, like normal. I can tell it's doing something. But I still have bad days. Yesterday was one of them. After a run of "normal" days, I collapsed into tears at the end of it and felt like I was twelve years old in the middle of puberty. I sometimes feel like my life is fragmented-- losing patience with the kids who can never entertain themselves for long enough, dirty dishes in the sink, half-written email, emotions unprocessed due to simple lack of time. Part --err, most-- of it is my fault: multi-tasking too much, not doing the things I know will make my day simpler (like waking up earlier). But, some of it is still residual grief.
I was okay until someone asked how I was feeling about the miscarriage. It's a reminder, but it's more than that. It's just hard to think/talk/write about. It's a missing piece of a story that can't be unwritten, even though I know the ending is good. It's a loss. A... setback??
Sometimes I feel like I am living in limbo. Like I'm waiting for the kids to be in school or out of the house so I can start living again. I don't like thinking that way. I have been excited to dream again--about the near future. About Seth going back to school and me learning things via proxy. Helping him with Greek vocab and proofreading his papers. I'm excited about the future that this degree might enable. I'm excited about being involved with the boys' school and about maybe, one day, opening a children's consignment shop. Branson desperately needs one.
But sometimes it's hard to be excited about getting up and making breakfast and washing faces and being the referee of fights. Reading the same storybooks over and over and trying to think of age-appropriate answers to Asher's many questions. I like to do fun things with them, I love to see them learn, I like my work (when I have it). But I guess there's nothing that has--or can--replace those expectations I had--to be a new mom all over again, to have a newborn baby, to see our family become complete, as we had planned it. No grand expectations are coming to fruition right now. It's funny, I feel like I need to plan a vacation. And it's probably why I am actively working on Christmas presents right now.
My counselor has reminded me with a smile, "Man plans; God laughs." Yes, I know. She's right and it's true. It's just hard. It is also a relief and an easy burden. Right now I struggle with the decision to have more kids or not. And if we have more, what kind of time frame will we want. I can easily be overwhelmed with anxiety over this. I told a friend of mine that I just felt such pressure to make a decision! And she gently reminded me that no matter what I thought I was deciding, the decision wasn't mine. There's nothing about these circumstances that I can control (obviously). And while I could hope and plan, it was ultimately up to God. And the sooner I accept that the sooner I can have peace.
I'm trying to remain flexible. I'm trying to take some time. Sometimes I feel complete and utter urgency to decide one way or the other. Some days, like yesterday, I feel like a positive pregnancy test will be the only thing that makes it all make sense. And some days like today, I feel like a family of four will be so quaint and easy, so nice for the future. I guess my emotions are still not in a place where I trust them completely, and I don't want to make any decisions at the moment.
"Praise the water under bridges, the time they say will heal,
Praise the fonder that still grows on the absent heart and fields"
-Josh Ritter.... and probably the only applicable lines of this song to my current situation. :)
I have those feelings. That people think I should just get over it. (Or maybe I think I should just get over it.) Or, in better words, deal with it in a healthy way.
Yesterday someone asked me, "So are you still sad about the baby?" I was quiet for awhile. It was such a loaded question, and there was no good way to answer it. No? Can someone say that? It wouldn't really be true, but it might mean something more true to the person who asked it, if that makes sense. Of course I'm still sad, but to say "yes" to this would be to appear desperate and highly emotional and.... like I am wallowing.
And those things are kind of true, too. I think most of my hesitance to answer was because this person is not a safe confidant. I can't trust my words to be taken for what I mean them to be. This is the same person whose initial response when told about the miscarriage was: "Well, are y'all just real, real sad about it?"
I know that no one means to hurt your feelings when you're in the middle of miscarrying a baby, but they do. I know there is no malicious intent, I know they mean the best and want to help and speak out of ignorance. But it still hurts.
Besides this exchange being with someone less-than-ideal when it comes to being vulnerable, a miscarriage is just hard to put into words. For starters, the vocabulary behind it is confusing and feels foreign to the tongue. Every time I said, "I lost the baby," I felt like I was betraying my true emotions. "Losing the baby" always brought up images of me leaving the baby behind at Wal-Mart, lost on an aisle, forgotten. Or being buried beneath a pile of laundry. And I felt like it put the responsibility of loss on myself. I lost it; My mistake. Sometimes I feel like a better way to say it would be, "My baby was ripped away from my body in a bloody, painful battle for no apparent reason."
Even "miscarriage." I misstep. I misspoke. I made a mistake. I miscarried. I carried that baby... wrongly....? It feels odd to say.
And even more difficult to work out than the words are the emotions. I am feeling a lot better. I feel like I'm on the upswing of things. I don't know if it is just time or the progesterone cream, maybe both. But I feel a huge relief--physically and emotionally. I sleep better when I'm using the cream. I can tell that my hormones are leveling out. My stomach and uterus aren't wracked with cramps. And it's strange that this is comforting, but my nails are brittle again and my hair is thinning out, like normal. I can tell it's doing something. But I still have bad days. Yesterday was one of them. After a run of "normal" days, I collapsed into tears at the end of it and felt like I was twelve years old in the middle of puberty. I sometimes feel like my life is fragmented-- losing patience with the kids who can never entertain themselves for long enough, dirty dishes in the sink, half-written email, emotions unprocessed due to simple lack of time. Part --err, most-- of it is my fault: multi-tasking too much, not doing the things I know will make my day simpler (like waking up earlier). But, some of it is still residual grief.
I was okay until someone asked how I was feeling about the miscarriage. It's a reminder, but it's more than that. It's just hard to think/talk/write about. It's a missing piece of a story that can't be unwritten, even though I know the ending is good. It's a loss. A... setback??
Sometimes I feel like I am living in limbo. Like I'm waiting for the kids to be in school or out of the house so I can start living again. I don't like thinking that way. I have been excited to dream again--about the near future. About Seth going back to school and me learning things via proxy. Helping him with Greek vocab and proofreading his papers. I'm excited about the future that this degree might enable. I'm excited about being involved with the boys' school and about maybe, one day, opening a children's consignment shop. Branson desperately needs one.
But sometimes it's hard to be excited about getting up and making breakfast and washing faces and being the referee of fights. Reading the same storybooks over and over and trying to think of age-appropriate answers to Asher's many questions. I like to do fun things with them, I love to see them learn, I like my work (when I have it). But I guess there's nothing that has--or can--replace those expectations I had--to be a new mom all over again, to have a newborn baby, to see our family become complete, as we had planned it. No grand expectations are coming to fruition right now. It's funny, I feel like I need to plan a vacation. And it's probably why I am actively working on Christmas presents right now.
My counselor has reminded me with a smile, "Man plans; God laughs." Yes, I know. She's right and it's true. It's just hard. It is also a relief and an easy burden. Right now I struggle with the decision to have more kids or not. And if we have more, what kind of time frame will we want. I can easily be overwhelmed with anxiety over this. I told a friend of mine that I just felt such pressure to make a decision! And she gently reminded me that no matter what I thought I was deciding, the decision wasn't mine. There's nothing about these circumstances that I can control (obviously). And while I could hope and plan, it was ultimately up to God. And the sooner I accept that the sooner I can have peace.
I'm trying to remain flexible. I'm trying to take some time. Sometimes I feel complete and utter urgency to decide one way or the other. Some days, like yesterday, I feel like a positive pregnancy test will be the only thing that makes it all make sense. And some days like today, I feel like a family of four will be so quaint and easy, so nice for the future. I guess my emotions are still not in a place where I trust them completely, and I don't want to make any decisions at the moment.
"Praise the water under bridges, the time they say will heal,
Praise the fonder that still grows on the absent heart and fields"
-Josh Ritter.... and probably the only applicable lines of this song to my current situation. :)
I think the hardest place to be is that in-between… the limbo, the non-decision-making. It's so frustrating to not be able to say one thing or another definitively! Those couple of lines sum it up nicely though. This time next month you'll be in another place entirely. This time next year, who knows! Seems preposterous. And usually not very comforting :-) I can definitely see in myself a major shift this year. Every childless month is less desperate & more routine. Less painful. Not that I've given up, but I think I've moved on in a good way. I know it's a different issue entirely - there was a possibility of a new baby in your family and now that possibility's gone. But maybe there are some thin cords of similarity between us… if nothing else, the damn hormones. :-)
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