Lonely

The common question is: How are you doing?
I feel lonely. Even the stories of other miscarriages make me feel alone because no one has the exact same story. There’s camaraderie in acknowledging the shared heartache, but even the level of heartache and method of processing differs depending on the person. I talked about the love I have for my community in a previous post, and I don’t mean this in a way that diminishes what they do for me every day. Simply, despite all of the support, this is a personal obstacle I need to overcome on my own.

What does my loneliness look like?

At this moment, loneliness is wanting to be near someone, but also wanting to be alone.
It’s hoping for someone to understand what I need without asking. But I don’t know any mind readers and I don’t have the energy to reach out to them.
It’s wanting to be comforted, but sabotaging myself into thinking no one is available or compatible to me. (Sometimes it’s true and other times it’s pessimism.)
It’s looking for distractions to make myself feel better. But it’s also sitting in my thoughts to honor the emotions that are hard to explain.
My loneliness is viewing the future with hope and anxiety. Hope for a baby, like so many couples have successfully conceived after their miscarriage(s); Anxiety that we will forever be supporting and loving on our friends and their children, but never our own.
Loneliness is feeling left behind, even though my brain tells me it’s just a matter of timing.

In short, my loneliness is a mess of contradictions that makes me feel like I’m being dishonest when someone asks me how I’m doing. Sometimes it’s on vacation when they ask, but it always comes back. I suppose this is my attempt at letting you know how I’m doing today. So if you asked me–thank you for asking.