Month: November 2017

I am thankful for…

That’s what Thanksgiving is all about, but this Thanksgiving, it was hard to answer that question.  Of course I have a lot to be thankful for.  I have an amazing husband, supportive family and friends, stable finances, and a job I love.  There is a lot of good in my life.  But this thanksgiving, it is not the first thing on my mind.  I am torn apart by the loss I have experienced.  This was suppose to be the Thanksgiving where I had a lot extra to be thankful for.  I would have had the growing child inside me to be thankful for.  What an excitement!  What a joy!

Today, I don’t have that.  Today, I struggle to be excited about anything.

Are you excited for the holidays?

No.

It is difficult for me to admit that to myself, but I am not.  The holidays are so centered around family, so it is a blaring reminder of the family I have lost.  It is a struggle to be around others with so much more joy and excitement about their families, their babies, their pregnancies.  They should be excited!  But it still hurts me.

I had prepared myself a lot for Thanksgiving.  I knew it would be difficult.  It knew there would be a lot of family, a lot of babies, and a lot of pregnancies.  Each experience really was difficult in its own way.  Some days are easier than others.  Some moments are harder than others.  One day with my nephew didn’t hurt as much as another.  One day holding my niece hurt less than others.  I do what I can to try each day knowing that it is okay if it hurts too much.

The worst question of Thanksgiving was “How are you doing?”  It was always said in a knowing tone, but it never mentioned my child or my loss.  I guess that is a way to enter the conversation and allow me to bring it up if I wanted.  Most of the time I did not bring it up.  Most of the time I answered in a somewhat positive way.  It is a difficult question for me to answer.

But know that it is also okay to mention my child.  I miss him.  You are not reminding me of my loss; you are acknowledging my child.  I like that.  I cannot forget him (nor do I want to).  It is nice when you do not forget him either.

So many things have happened since my last entry, but it is difficult at times to sit down to write, even if I want to.  I have been leaning into my grief a lot, and overall I have been doing better.  I also am choosing to be very open, so if you aren’t interested in hearing all the details of my story, it might be time for you to stop reading.

Counseling has been helpful.  I found a counselor who has not only struggled with her own miscarriage, but she has also run a miscarriage and infant loss support group.  There is nothing like the support of people who really get it.  It does not mean that others cannot be helpful, but it does really help me – especially when I already “know” how to help myself.  I had to remind myself that it’s okay that someone else can walk this journey with me in that way.  Counselors are not meant to be experts in our lives, but they are there to walk the journey along side us.  It’s what I tell my clients too.  It really does help when someone can walk with us.  I have started daily mindfulness among other helpful tools to help myself.  I have also been extremely validated by my experience, even when it means hearing that I don’t have to try so hard.

I also had my first period after the d&c.  There is no easy way for that to come.  I had a lot of cramps and pains, and I had to remind myself a lot that these pains were normal.  It felt like torture to experience these pains again.  What a constant and real reminder that I am no longer pregnant.  Again.  As difficult as it was, I also know that it’s a necessary step to get through if I want to be pregnant again.  But the fears are also very real.  What does it mean to be pregnant again?  Will it take a long time again before I can get pregnant?  Can I get pregnant again?  Do I have to go back to the stress of trying?  Are there other ways?  What are my options?  What does pregnancy mean for me?  Those hormones were definitely miserable; could I really put myself through that again? Am I crazy to want to try again?

So here I am.  Choosing to try again.  Feeling crazy as anything.  But I have most definitely weighed all my options.  It was a long and miserable battle to get to this decision, but I am here.  I hope to be pregnant again soon, but I don’t plan to be pregnant again soon.  That is a subtle difference that I am trying to get use to in order to prepare myself.  There are a lot of pieces to that that I won’t explain today.

Today I prepare a place on my brand new stocking mantle for my child that was never born.  That hurts.  It won’t stop hurting.  But I hope to prepare another place in my heart soon for another child.

My grief has not been so overwhelming this week. I feel like I can carry on my normal life. I’m not sure what normal means, but it feels more like that. It doesn’t hurt as much to go through my day. I don’t burst into tears at every second. It’s also a weird balance. I still miss him. I miss carrying him. I miss what he could have been. I miss the idea of holding him. I miss being excited for him. But the pain isn’t as visible everyday. 

As I walk through my grief this week, I’ve been trying to figure out how and where I can grow from this. Not intentionally, but as a way to find hope for my future. I listen to stories from my clients, and I think of how it hurts to hear them talk, but that maybe that can still make me a better therapist. Maybe feelings and connections and going through such an incredibly painful loss can help me to help others. I think about how I felt desensitized when beginning this field just because of my own life experience. I didn’t cry or have much of a visible emotional reaction when hearing difficult trauma. I always viewed that as a benefit; a reason that maybe I was good for this field. But maybe it’s not a bad thing if it hurts to hear that a baby died or was abused or faced neglect. Those things are sad. It’s human to be sad. So I’m focusing on how those emotions can improve my therapy, even when I feel it in my gut to hear. I’ve been focusing a lot of how grief is a normal process that the body goes through and needs. It’s important it allow myself to process. These past couple weeks, I’ve felt the need to find distractions because the grief was so overwhelming. But really it meant that if I could just find a way to not think about my loss for two seconds, I had to find that space because my entire existence was filled with my loss. I was facing it at every turn. In every moment. I face children and families daily at work. But the world is filled with families, so the reminders are everywhere. My house is even full of reminders of what I no longer have. I have been working so hard at working with my grief and even that is overwhelming. 

But today it does feel more manageable. I saw a counselor. She was validating. The part that stood out the most was that the word “bereavement” literally means “to be torn apart.” That describes exactly what I feel. She gave me a book, which I highly recommend, called Healing Your Grieving Heart After Miscarriage: 100 Practical Ideas for Parents and Families. With the help of that book, and because I’m not already crying everyday, I have been leaning into times everyday for intentional grief. I think about my child in some way. I practice saying his name more. I have actually already done some of the ideas listed before starting the book, but I look into other ways to help my grief (internal) move to mourning (external). I realize I’ve been mourning a lot. I guess that’s good, or at least necessary. 

Today that grieving process looking like getting the pictures from our family photo shoot. It was at the photography session about six weeks ago that I told my siblings that I was pregnant. I was so excited for that opportunity. As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I knew that this was the way I wanted to tell them. The photographer (toward the end of the session) said, “Everyone say, ‘Natalie’s pregnant!’” It took a minute for everyone to understand it wasn’t a joke. It was such an exciting moment. Then Bryan got the onesie was had gotten – Baby Heinz May 2018 – out of the car to take pictures with. We also have an excited picture with the whole family around the onesie. These pictures are special, but they hurt. I will always be able to treasure them, but it’s really painful. Bryan and I looked through them together. “Back when we were happy. It’s such a distant memory.” I wish that wasn’t so true. 

This week has been full of pregnancy announcements. At this point, those aren’t even bittersweet; it’s just difficult. My reactions have been different to each of the three I’ve come across this week on Facebook based on proximity. It makes it no less of a struggle. One announcement was announcing the sex as a boy. I’m not close to these people, but every boy announcement hurts a little more. I wanted my son. Maybe the most difficult feeling is how to continue my friendships in the same way when those are extremely painful. 

I’ve been trying to figure out what it means to keep up my normal job in the same way. I’ve been so worried – at work and at home – that people won’t treat me the same. I want them to be just as honest, just as forthcoming, just as intentional. I know I hold high my expectations of myself, and I don’t want the image of where people do expect me to be to slip. I don’t want to feel fragile. I don’t want people to not tell me things because they are afraid how I will take it. 

As my husband so longingly told me, “You are fragile.” So while I still want things to be like they were before, I’m learning to walk in the space of both truths. 

I’ve been feeling so alone in my grief. No one seems to care as much anymore. Most people don’t ask me how I’m doing anymore. Not that I ever knew how to respond, but at least my pain was acknowledged. Now it’s like no one cares. Even the people close to me. It’s been a month since we found out about the loss. It’s been almost two weeks since the d&c. Maybe people think it’s starting to hurt less. I think that hurts more. Everything hurts more. I don’t know what it looks like to live my life anymore, but my friends all seem to move on. 

I wish people would ask me how I’m doing. I wish people would check in. I reach out a lot, but almost no one reaches out to me. That’s how it feels at least. Even people that seemed to reach out more in my life previously. It’s hard to know how to keep going anymore. 

I try to find comfort in quotes I find. Those seem to describe and acknowledge my pain in some way.

“Grief is isolating, but it never leaves you alone. In the moments we wake up crying, the car rides with tears streaming, grief is our companion. When everyone else moves on, forgetting our loss, grief remembers.”

It’s so difficult to be in this place. It’s so difficult to leave the room to cry because being in this place is always painful in every direction. 

Bryan and I got a massage yesterday. The massage was relaxing, but waiting in the ladies lounge was not. There were two ladies there chatting who worked in obstetrics in a hospital. They talked about birth, delivery, pregnant ladies, and babies. They talked about babies born early and fighting for the lives. They talked about awful deformities that doctors missed. They talked about a mom on meth who left her baby in the hospital because she didn’t want them. 

I wanted my baby…

As I was sipping my water after the massage, another group of ladies were also painful. I’m not sure there will ever be another way but to be in pain all the time. These ladies were talking about how amazing it is to have their children home everyday after beginning to homeschool. I left early. I cried when I got home. I don’t even really know why. I cried a lot that day. I cry a lot everyday…

I was watching Grey’s Anatomy yesterday, and this quote can through. 

Do you know how hard it is to stand by and watch someone else live the life that you want? The life that you’re willing to give up everything for? -Teddy Altman, Grey’s Anatomy 

This describes a lot of what I feel right now on top of all my grief. I don’t know what to do with this hard feeling as everyone else in my life moves on and continues. The people in my life that get to continue their pregnancies just hurt. I can’t be happy. Even being in the same room with them is too painful. So I leave the room and cry. I feel like no one acknowledges my pain anymore. That’s what hurts. 

I don’t ever know what it means to keep moving. Everyday the place I’m in is harder than before. It doesn’t get easier.  

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds. It just puts more space between the times you remember the events that gave you these wounds. There are some hurts that never some hurting, no matter how faded the scars.” 

I’ve learned this to be true very quickly. This is one of those things that won’t ever go away. Time won’t fix this one. 

“Parents don’t just grieve the loss of their precious baby, they mourn never having the chance to hear them speak, teach them to walk, and see them grow. Every new day reveals something that they will miss out on. This is why parents grieve as long as they live.”

“There is no word to describe a parent that loses a child. That’s how awful the loss is.”

“The hardest part about losing a child is living everyday afterwards.”

“Long nights up with a baby are better than long nights up alone crying for your lost baby.”

Sometimes there are no other words. Today, my child, I only miss you when I’m breathing. 

After find out we lost our baby, I poured into research of what might be helpful. I looked through all kinds of information, says, and symbolism. I decided that I really wanted a necklace. I was on a search for a necklace that had a lot of meaning, but wasn’t so obvious. I had clients, and I don’t want them to ask about it because it wouldn’t be appropriate to self disclose that information. Nothing really felt right or stood out. 

I did finally pick a necklace after a lot of searching. It felt meaningful. The necklace came with a card that said “a piece of my heart has wings.” That was important for me. The necklace is in the shape of a heart and on one side the heart is made up of a single wing. The description said it could be for losses, not just a miscarriage. I planned that if anyone asked about it that I didn’t want to explain that I could just say that I lost someone close to me. 

It was actually really a strange feeling when the necklace arrived. I felt weird about wearing it. I surprised myself to see it in the mirror when I walked by. In some ways it felt important, but in other ways it just felt strange. I guess I don’t really know how to describe that feeling. 

I was surprised that no one commented on the necklace even if they knew about the miscarriage. I think I’m learning to take it as apart of me. That this jewelry symbolizes my child in some way. It’s okay that no one else recognizes that. In a lot of ways others don’t recognize my child like I do anyway. So it’s okay. Now this jewelry allows me to carry him with me. He has become apart of me. I like that some. I’ll continue to wear the necklace. I’ll continue to carry him with me. I will find some small bit of comfort in knowing that. 

It’s an odd feeling to keep moving. I know I have to, but it’s not exactly what I want. But I keep at it. Is that a sign of strength? Okay. Today it’s the only direction I’m allowed. 

Work has been so crazy this week. Tuesday (Halloween), I was still dealing with the same crises from Monday because the on call worker now needed someone to take over. I could not do it. At the time it felt like weakness, but today I see it as a positive limit that I needed in my life. I sat with this client all day on Monday. It was not my intent to have Monday be so crazy. I had planned to take scheduled breaks and go slow since it was my first day back to work again. Instead I walked into a crisis the moment I got in the door. I dealt with that the entire day. I was okay, but it was everything I had. I went home after a ten hour day and was so drained. That was the night that was most definitely the hardest. 

The miserable feeling then continued the next morning when I was asked to take over. I could not do it. So I said no. I needed that. I’m so glad I said no. It took me awhile to come out of my miserable feelings that day. I saw my client with the newborn. It wasn’t as bad at the first time. I had another client and a meeting before I started feeling a little better. I had been feeling such a lack of confidence going through my day and worry that I just wasn’t as good at my job. The expectations are always high and in some sense I knew I was falling short. My coworker asked me at the beginning of the day if I even wanted to see that first client. I cried. I just felt like I had to continue with my life. I didn’t know how else to do it. I knew I needed to keep going but I just didn’t know what that looked like anymore. I don’t know what it means to be normal anymore. 

I kept going and was able to get to that place of a bit more confidence as the day went on before I went home to Halloween festivities. 

On Wednesday morning, I was able to get caught up on all my notes before heading to work. It felt like a great day. I felt super confident with all of my clients. I had a packed schedule, and I didn’t care. I would get to it all. I was up early so I was tired by the afternoon, but I made it through my long day and felt great about it. But I was definitely ready for bed as soon as I ate dinner. 

I almost made it through the day. My friend texted me to warn me about how she would be announcing her pregnancy on Facebook and planned to tell me the sex on Saturday. I didn’t anticipate crying just to hear that, but it was very hard. I wanted so badly to be happy for her, but it just hurt. I should have been right there with her finding out the sex of my child soon. Instead I’m here without my baby, not pregnant, and over a month out before that possibility even remotely exists anymore. 

I encountered another crisis on Thursday. I was at home attempting to figure out my EAP, mental health benefits, insurance, in network providers, and offices. They don’t make it easy. I was on the phone with a lot of different people and didn’t get anywhere. I thought about not sharing that here, but I don’t care anymore. It’s not a sign of weakness that I’m going to see a counselor. It’s something we need to make more acceptable (and easier my goodness!) in our society. I didn’t get anywhere that day and instead of being a counseling office that was calling me back, it was a school principal. So instead I went to pick up a client and spent the rest of my morning with him instead of catching up on my Wednesday notes. 

Friday didn’t go exactly as planned, but I was able to make some progress and finally got scheduled with a counselor. It was so difficult to make that first call, and when it got hard I thought I might give up. The other office never called me back. In the end, I was able to schedule with someone that I found that specializes in miscarriage support. I’m glad about that, and I hope it’s a good fit. 

After a doctor’s appointment to discuss my crazy blood pressure during this time, I tried to do notes, but the system wasn’t working right and I wasn’t able to finish. But I was able to move up my last appointment, which meant that I would be able to just make it to date night at my church. I was so glad because I was so bummed that I had scheduled something and would miss it. We had still planned our date, but I really didn’t want to miss the short teaching. I’m so thankful for my church and how they are intentional about community and relationships. 

So we had a date night, and it was good. It was a little weird to go over our check in date night card while we had dinner and feel like there weren’t a lot of times in our life that were really good and fulfilling. But we knew how much we loved each other. We reflected on how weird this process has been for our relationship. It’s been miserably hard; it’s a bad time in our lives. But it doesn’t feel like our marriage is in a bad place. We feel closer. This is our journey, together. And this past month, that’s been terrible. But we definitely have each other. 

I’m so thankful for our relationship. At date night we were celebrating our dating anniversary. I don’t know if other people do that, but it has always been special for us. We were probably dating for at least a month or two before it was “official.” I guess that’s what happens when you get together in high school. Things just look different. But ten years ago today, Bryan took me out behind the church we were at in front of a large fountain that was lit up that night and asked me to be his girlfriend. Here we are ten years later. We’ve been through three major job changes together, graduating high school, long distance dating before I graduated college, and so much stress that I couldn’t put into words. And we have stuck it out. He has always been there for me. Our lives are so much stronger together. Especially when it’s hard. Today we have also lost a child. That’s the hardest thing. But today our marriage is still strong. I am so thankful to have him. 

At dinner, I was also able to vocalize how I feel a little different right now. Maybe it won’t last; maybe I’ll gain an amazing balance. But I feel more apathy. Maybe apathy is the wrong word. I care a lot less about what other people think about things in my life. I care less about the planning side effects of the things I need to do it my life. I care less about being on the go and can behave more peace sitting where we are at right now. I think it’s all positive. It is a little freeing. It still feels weird to have these feeling, but I’m learning to embrace it. At least where I am at right now. Everything in my life right now is so uncertain. And I typically like to have my entire life planned out, so this has been a difficult place to be filled with uncertainty about everything in my life. So I’m doing everything I can to embrace it. To be okay with my grief and what that looks like. To not know what my emotions look like on any given day. With the possibility that I might just burst out into tears at any given moment. To not know how much I can handle on any day. To know that everything is a lurking trigger and I’ll have to learn to deal with that. 

It doesn’t always feel good, but like everything else it’s where I’m at. I hope that this can be a place of growth because I don’t know that I could go through all this and be worse. I have to find something that I can take from this awful experience. Today I hope that looks like being more flexible and being more confident in my own decisions. 

Bryan and I are getting a couples massage today. I’m excited for it. I’m excited to do something to feel close with him again. I’m excited to try to feel a little normal in our lives. But I can’t help but be sad. I got a massage for the first time since our honeymoon right before getting pregnant. I had planned that the next massage would be a prenatal massage. But it’s not, so I’m trying to be excited for what it is. I love my husband so much. So today I will celebrate ten years of us. 

Halloween was difficult. The night before Halloween was the worst night I’ve had in this whole process. I had gone back to work again, and it was a long and stressful day. I cried a lot and had to call a friend. It’s a good thing she’s amazing and could help me. 

I don’t think we talk enough about what it means when things are difficult. That your thoughts scare you. That you can’t stop crying. That it hurts to keep crying. That you feel numb. That you feel like not getting up. That you feel like not moving forward. That you feel alone. 

Life is so hard. I know I’m not the only one going through struggles, but it’s hard not to feel isolated in this experience. Sometimes I feel mad that I work in a stressful field. I’m grateful for the support I do have, and the people that I work with that are creative in ways that they can help me. 

I feel like my entire life the way it was is a loss. I lost the current ability to be an amazing worker. I lost my ability to be caught up and on top of all my work all the time. I lost the ability to make sure all my kids are seen and well cared for. That makes it even more difficult when I can’t make it effectively though work. I want so badly to have that back.

I have to remind myself a lot that I really am a damn good therapist. It’s true, really. I provide amazing care for my kids and have great clinical opinions. But it took awhile to get to that place. It’s only in the last several months that I have felt more confident about the work I do. So it’s that much more difficult to feel defeated over my emotions and this loss.

I am still figuring out what it means to be a therapist in this place. I am doing my best to remember how this experience will shape me for the future to improve the work I am already doing. I know there will be improvements to my therapy that come out of this one day, but I hate that it comes at such a great expense. 

Yesterday was Halloween. Halloween was when I had planned to officially announce our baby. I had planned a photoshoot with my friends. I had the best Pinterest inspired announcement ideas. I had the cutest signs. I had already gotten a little pumpkin for the pictures. We had even already taken some pictures with the cutest onesie we had gotten for the baby. That’s gone. In an instant. 

I had also planned to announce it to my work. We were having a costume contest on Halloween (as well as a Chili Cook Off). I was going to wear one of those skeleton shirts with the baby skeleton. I had just planned to wear it that day and wait for people to notice. I had envisioned how excited and surprised everyone would be. Instead I went late to the party. I didn’t dress up. I felt alone and overwhelmed by everyone and everything. I tried to have a good time and forget about my losses. It was still difficult, and I was glad to leave a little early to get to a meeting. 

Then there are the kids. All the cute, adorable children in their costumes and trick or treating. I did not really want to pass out candy, but Bryan did. I did not pass out any candy, and some friends came over to hang out with us. It was still a good night overall hanging out with them. But I could not go to the door. It hurt to look out the window and see the kids and their families. It hurt to hear the cute little voices of kids getting candy. It hurt to see the parents all dressed up with their kids. And man, it hurt to see all the facebook posts of every single kid and family in their costumes. I stayed off Facebook most of the day, and scrolled past all the pictures the next day. I hope one day the pain isn’t so thick. 

Today I continue to be sad for my loss, but I’m also working really hard to find my new normal (even though I know more really hard days will come). I’m so sad that I can’t be in the same place that I was, but there is no back button. I keep moving forward, even when it’s everything I don’t want.