Involves new hairstyles, eating my feelings in sugar form, and buying my kids matching clothing.
I haven’t been sure what to write about here anymore. I feel like I’m 32, surely I shouldn’t be publicly journaling and sharing my thoughts, right? I’ve grown past that. Need to keep those thoughts and feelings private.
Here I am. Sharing and being open – because so much good has come out of my sharing here in the past. So many friendships. So much understanding and connection.
In the wake of my world being shaken and tossed upside down (not to mention, a week after the election!), I wasn’t sure how to share here. Do I write some pithy post about why we’re homeschooling Gabe or my favorite productivity tools when most of my mind is being preoccupied with figuring out who I am and where I am going and how to be this new version of myself in the world?
Not quite yet. Soon.
In the meantime,
I’ve been rebuilding my life in the aftermath of a year that held unimaginable pain.
I’ve been connecting with people who get me. Who get what it’s like to be broken. Who are able to share pain and struggle and be real and honest and vulnerable. No more fake people who pretend everything is great and under control. As a result, my relationships have deepened.
I’ve been busy trying to find my roots in our new community and where we want to be in the future. We absolutely adore where we live, though struggle with some aspects of it. I’ve been wrestling with what that means.
I’ve been continuing to work and have been so thankful for my work. So thankful for the opportunity for creativity and problem solving and connections that come through this job that I’ve created for myself. I feel like I’m really good at what I do – both the actual work and the relationships with my clients – and it’s been nice to feel that sense of confidence and normalcy amidst everything else.
I’ve been doggedly pursuing medical answers as to why I had two 20-week stillbirths last year. As my friend says, people rarely die without an explanation, so why don’t we have more explanations for why babies die? So far, the answers haven’t been encouraging, but it feels good to talk to smart people about my incredibly complex reproductive history. (Recurrent pregnancy loss – both early AND late? I’m a medical mystery for real.)
I’ve been seeking answers for what it looks like to end fertility with two traumatic losses. There’s many blueprints for having “hope” after loss, for that “rainbow baby.” Society loves a happy ending. But there are very few stories about people who had babies die and then just stopped having babies. What will that mean for me? What will the path look like and how will I be healed with a newborn baby I so craved and wanted in my arms? Will I be able to shake the messages I grew up with that “just” having two kids is selfish?
How do I exist as this broken, hurting person in a world where people are constantly celebrating pregnancy and babies and siblings and families?
I’m not sure, but I am finding inspiration and hope in hearing about other people who have endured hardships, who have struggled, who have experienced horrific losses – but manage to survive and thrive. I don’t want to be told how strong I am. I don’t want to have to be strong.
So, that’s where I am.