After a solid 7 days of relief and healthy coping, this week’s gloomy weather led to another dip into sadness and anxiety. My imagination was not a good friend to me. It’s incredible that the same brain that produces lyrics and poetry and blogs to help me cope can stab me in the back and produce the most painful hypothetical situations. This miscarriage has not only robbed us of the future of our child; it has also tainted our ability to view future pregnancies with pure joy.
In the shower one thought leads to the next and before I’m fully aware of where my thoughts have taken me I’m smack dab in the middle of daydreaming about being pregnant– seven or eight months pregnant.
Not only am I seven or eight months pregnant, I’m getting an ultrasound and the doctor is telling me that there’s no heartbeat. The doctor is telling me that there’s no heartbeat and I’m debating whether I would scream and cry or if I would groan and try to hold it together until I got home.
Yeah…that’s how toxic my daydreams have been this week. I try to brush this unsettled feeling to the back of my mind so I can focus on getting ready for work. In the afternoon I confess to my first graders that I’m a 2/5 in terms of my mood and about half of the class tells me they feel the same. I make it my mission to cheer all of us up with smiles and music and dancing. By the end of the half hour I truly do feel much better. It isn’t very long, however, until I feel the threat of tears catching in my chest as I force them away.
My saving grace time and time again as been community. I’m so very thankful that I’ve had people to talk to and cry with this week. Friends who have encouraged me not to cry on my own and who have prayed for us faithfully. People who have reached out through messages to check in with me. Every person makes such a big difference. I still struggle with feeling like I shouldn’t talk about this publicly anymore, especially when there are people who are suffering in much more tangible ways and need more attention and support. But I’m fighting this insecurity so I can do something that is healthy for myself and (hopefully) for other mothers who feel alone in this.
Reading the Bible has been hit or miss lately–either very encouraging or causing me to put up a wall. One of the encouraging passages from this week has been in Isaiah 41.
For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”
Isaiah 41:13
He’s holding my hand. He isn’t ‘just’ present or watching and listening. He’s holding my hand and He isn’t letting go. He’s fighting with me for my joy. There’s nothing more moving and touching than that.
Drops of Jules 