When All That Is Left Is You

I had a terrible dream.  The kind that bothers you all day and forces your brain into overdrive to discover the hidden meaning in your psyche.

In the dream I had a baby, who was nothing but chubby cheeks, blonde hair, and big blue eyes, exactly how I would picture a baby of mine to look.  It was adorable, and instead of being a doting mother, my dream self was completely ambivalent over it.  My mom was doing most of the care-taking, and I would try, here and there, to spend time with my child and bond with him or her.  Yet, I felt very little connection to this tiny human, and I knew there was something wrong.  I would hold the baby, feel good about myself for doing so, feel somewhat emotionally connected, but then in due time I would be ready to hand him or her back to my mother.  I knew that this wasn’t right; that I should be feeling more than I was for my own child, but I kept coming up emotionally short.

When I woke up, I recalled the dream and felt very unsettled.  After my miscarriage in December, I still ache for the baby I will never hold.  So why was I so disconnected from the baby in my dream?  I have tried analyzing it, but still come up with nothing.  All I can say is that I hope this was not some kind of foreboding of my future attempts at motherhood.  Maybe there was no meaning to this dream, and I can just chalk it up to some misfiring neurons during my sleep.

Then again, the dream got me thinking about what we think we want versus what we actually want.  In the dream, I knew I should want this baby, and I would try to convince myself that I wanted it, but it wasn’t clicking the way it should.  The events of the past five months have taught me that hopes, dreams, and desires can take on a much different look when real life happens and you are forced to confront these things in a way that perhaps you never thought you would.  I always knew, in a very abstract way, that I wanted to have a family of my own.  When I came face to face with that desire, it was in an entirely different way than I had imagined.  I had to ask myself if that was what I really wanted, and then when I lost the baby, I realized how much my heart longed for those things.  I had to lose it all to understand how much I really wanted it all.

Just as the pregnancy loss and breakup forced me to confront the truth of my heart’s desires, recently I had to confront another desire of mine, which was to get back together with T.  For the past five months I have been trying to give him everything that (I thought) he needed.  This included a lot of space, encouragement, kindness, and love.  Even though the words I spoke aloud told the world I wasn’t waiting for him, deep down the truth was the opposite.  I thought that if I was patient and gave him what he needed, he would eventually see that I was the real deal- the “girl who didn’t know the meaning of quit” -and return to me.  What can I say?  I am a hopeless romantic and I wear my bleeding, broken heart on my sleeve for the world to see.

I held on to this silent conviction up until about two weeks ago.  The last few conversations I had with T forced me to confront some stark realities.  I began thinking about what it would look like if my desires came true and he returned to me, ready to start anew.  I thought about how it would make me feel, how we might repair the damage done, and what our life would look like.  When I began really examining the possibilities, my eyes were finally opened to the truth that I had so long been denying.

Yes, I wanted T to come back, but his words of late (which I will not post here) made me realize that what I want will never come to pass, at least not in the way it should.  Despite his protests, I have been trying to convince him that he wants to be a husband and father, that he has what it takes to make that happen, and with me by his side, we could make a good life together.  When I finally opened my eyes, I saw that he does not want to be a husband, nor does he want to be a father.  At least he does not want those things with me.  This revelation allowed me to come to terms with the fact that I cannot coerce or bully T into a life he does not want to live.  I cannot compel him to feel emotions he does not feel, or make choices he does not want to make.

And that is when I realized that if he did come back, I would always fear that I am not good enough for him.  Let me pause to make note that this is not a self-esteem issue.  I know what I am worth, and I know what I have to offer.  By good enough, I mean that I fear he would always be looking for greener grass.  That our relationship and the life we built together was not enough for him to be happy.   If T came back, I would be faced with the very real possibility that I would spend the rest of my life sleeping with one eye open in fear that he was sleeping with one foot ready to start his run out the door.

That is no way for anyone to live.  Not me, and not T.  So, I did the hardest thing I have had to do in some time.  I finally gave him exactly what he wanted: I set him free.  I told him I understood we do not want the same things, and I would no longer by trying to convince him otherwise.  I told him to be happy and enjoy life, and that he wouldn’t hear from me again.  That was two weeks ago, and while the truth of his feelings has not become any easier for my heart to bear, knowing that I did the right thing by walking away from a man who does not want to share a life with me is what allows me to keep moving forward.

And perhaps that was what my dream was really about: the realization that you cannot push a person into a feeling, life, or choice they do not want.  If we had reunited and became a family, there may have been times that T felt okay about his choice, and that he was doing the “right” thing, just as I did in my dream by trying to bond with my child.  However, eventually the ambivalence would return and he would long to be free of our life, in the same way that I would pass the baby back to my mother.  Love isn’t about chaining a person down, but rather giving them the freedom to make the choices that are right for them.  And sometimes those choices don’t include you.

I would have moved the moon and the stars for T, and I tried to many times.  I finally accepted that he does not want that from me, and so I became resolute, and turned around and walked away with the determination to instead move the moon and the stars for myself.  I said earlier that everything was taken away from me.  But the thing about life is that when everything has gone away, what is left is you.  Just you.  And that can be enough if you let it.

Until next time ~ B

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Lessons from Glisan Street

I just completed a three-month tour in therapy. I’m not ashamed to admit I sought mental health counseling, especially after such a terrible 2013. It ranks up there in the top five worst years of my life: my living and working conditions were difficult, I was emotionally manipulated by a smarmy politician who broke my heart, then found love with someone new, then I got pregnant when I wasn’t ready for it, miscarried said baby, and then experienced the absolute worst heartbreaks of my entire life- losing both baby and baby daddy.

To say I wish I could have an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind experience and erase that entire year from my memory is an understatement.

But since that is impossible, and I have to live with the events of what transpired, I sought help that couldn’t be provided by friends and family. Tuesday was my last session, and in the spirit of moving on and healing, I thought I would share the lessons I learned from that big comfy chair on Glisan Street.

 

1.  Your emotions are temporary.

This means that the way you feel at this moment is not how you will feel forever. Emotions ebb and flow. Even when it feels like your feels as if it has been wrapped up in barbed wire, even when the pain feels far too difficult to overcome, those feelings eventually will pass. It’s okay if it takes a while to move forward, but just know that you will move forward.

 

2.  Allow yourself to experience your feelings.  It’s the only way to get past them.

I learned how deeply I could bury my feelings so I can quickly move forward. I was still holding on to pain from years past, and that pain was seeping into my life like a toxic sludge, poisoning my actions and relationships. This was completely unhealthy, and I suffered the consequences.

No matter how much you want to avoid it, your feelings must be fully experienced in order to move on. This includes pain, anger, hurt, and sadness. No matter how far you try to push those emotions to the side, they won’t grow legs and walk away. Instead, they will become squatters on the periphery of your life, festering in silence, growing putrid and rank, influencing you in negative ways without you even realizing it’s happening.

You can try keeping busy, burying yourself in work, or dating new people to distract yourself, all in the name of “moving on.” It’s fine to be busy, but you still must face your emotions and allow yourself to just feel them. It’s okay to feel hurt, to be sad for what you have lost, and it’s even okay for you to cry it out. Each day is going to be different, and you need to go easy on yourself as you work through painful experiences. The key is to recognize and feel the emotion, and then let it pass.

 

3.  Your emotions do not define you.

This is an important part of working through pain. You may feel like this is a permanent part of who you are, but it’s important to remember that there is a difference between what you feel and what you are. I told my therapist, “I am damaged. I don’t know how to move forward.” She was quick to point out the language I used, and talked about how that negativity will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I tell myself I am damaged, I am setting myself up for failure.

“You feel hurt, you feel pain, but you are not hurt and pain. You are not damaged. How you feel is not who you are.” This taught me to be very aware of the language I use in describing how I feel and who I am.

 

4.  You’re actions don’t define you, unless you let them.

Just like your emotions do not define you, you’re actions do not define you either. That is, unless you allow them to. We all stumble and fall, make poor choices, and sometimes hurt the ones we love. When this happens, we must atone for the grievance and seek forgiveness. We must also remember that we may not be granted forgiveness, no matter how much we try to make things right. Therefore, and this is extremely important, we must learn to forgive ourselves.

Forgiving yourself doesn’t mean that what you did was okay, but rather it means that you have made peace with yourself. It means you won’t hold on to the pain and regret of your actions. It’s far too easy to get lost in the past. If you walk around thinking to yourself, “I really screwed up and acted pretty terribly. This means that I must be a terrible person, and will continue to screw up in the future. I will hurt every person who tries to love me. It’s just who I am.”

No no no. Do not let your past actions define you as a human being. Take the time to acknowledge what you did, take action to right the wrong, learn from the mistake, and then forgive yourself. It’s the only way to move forward in a positive and healthy manner.

 

5.  Your future is not governed by your past, so stop living in it.

One of my current biggest fears is that I will always be haunted by my dad’s abandonment, and will push away every man who tries to get close, as I have been doing for the last twelve years. This will only come to pass if I ignore everything on this list, as I have been doing up to now, and marinate in the negativity.

Nothing can change the past, and nothing can predict the future. All you have is the present. What can you do today that will change your future? What can you accomplish that will throw off the shackles of the past and allow you to be free and focus on what is happening now?

I have been stuck in the past before, and it’s not a fun place to be. I realized that I’m doing it again- living in the past, piling regret upon regret, thinking to myself, “If only I had said this, or if only I had not done that.” Does that make a Delorean appear in front of me to transport me back in time? No. All that does is further my frustration.

My future is what I make it to be, and so is yours. Will it be one that continually looks backward, allowing those shackles to hold you back? Or will it be one that steps forward into a new journey, a fresh start? Choose the latter.

 

6.  99% of the time, other people’s actions have nothing to do with you.

I realized in therapy that I have been hinging my self-worth on my dad’s actions, and the actions of every man I have encountered since. There has been a feeling of worthlessness, that I wasn’t enough for my dad to stick around, so I won’t be enough for any man to sick around.

Except, that’s not true at all. My dad’s actions were his and his alone, and do not reflect upon me at all. He is an emotionally unavailable man who wants things on his terms, and when he doesn’t get his way, he tries to bully you into doing what he wants. His issues are his and his alone. My mother raised me to be a different kind of person than that, and I can recognize that my dad’s career choice was perfect for him. It allowed him to be both physically and emotionally distant, and this has nothing to do with me. He disappeared because he was a coward, not because I wasn’t worth enough for him to stick around.

Do you have someone in your current life or your past life who has made you feel like you aren’t good enough? Let that go. Even if you haven’t always acted right, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be put through a proverbial wood chipper. It’s always good to self-reflect and learn what kind of role you have played in a relationship, but if someone makes you feel like you have no worth, that reflects upon him or her, not you.

 

7.  Learn to draw boundaries.

Are you a “yes” person? Do you do things you don’t want to do, just because you think you should? Do you spend time with people you don’t want to see? Do you let someone at work push you around? Do you let the ghost of the past infiltrate your present?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, it’s time to start drawing boundaries. For me, one boundary I had to draw was with friends who are pregnant. One was about to give birth, and I told her I couldn’t go to her baby shower because it was too painful. The other friend was only three weeks behind me in conception, so looking at her is like looking at where I should be in my failed pregnancy. With her, I had to say that it was okay to talk about her health and how she was feeling, but to just be mindful of how much she said, and to please not show me all the baby stuff she was buying. For example, she found out the sex of the baby, and I asked her what she was having. She talked about it for a bit, and when I gently changed the subject, she understood and we talked about something else.

Drawing boundaries is important for your mental health, because you have to take care of you. If you are too busy trying to please everyone around you, you risk neglecting your needs, which are valid and important. If someone reacts negatively to your boundaries, that is a reflection of them and their insecurities, not you.  So learn how to set boundaries in your life by saying “no” or voicing your feeling and concerns. It will be like a weight is lifted off your shoulders.

 

8.  You have to love yourself before anyone else can love you.

This is a biggie. Perhaps this is the most important lesson on the list. If you don’t think you are good enough, then no one else will, either. You can try to hide your insecurities, but eventually they will pop up like a bloated dead body down in the river. Gross imagery, right? Think about it. We all know someone who is so insecure it makes the people around them uncomfortable. We’ve all had that friend or significant other that puts himself or herself down, can’t take a compliment, is so clingy you feel like you need a gallon of Downy to break that static down. No one wants to be around that guy, right? Right. Just like no one wants to be around a dead bloated body.

Learn to love yourself. There is only one of you, and that person is pretty great if you give yourself a chance.   Work on figuring out who you are, what you like, and what makes you awesome. And when you are comfortable with who you are, when you genuinely like yourself, that glow will shine out like a lighthouse, attracting all kinds of ships.

 

9.  Focus on the good things that you have, not the things you don’t have.

If you keep thinking about what everyone around you has that you think you should have, you’ll never move forward. This is something I am terrible at. I look at my age and current life status, and get angry with myself for not doing things differently. I’m the last single friend, I don’t have a home of my own, I’m not financially secure, and I don’t have a career. It’s hard when everyone around me has the things I so deeply desire. So I end up letting my self-esteem take a beating by comparing my life to theirs.

It’s not easy to reframe an entrenched way of thinking, but this is what you have to do. Ask yourself: What are the postive things in my life? What do I have that is good? What do I have that makes me happy? Start a gratidue journal and write down three things that made you happy. It can be as simple as “The sun came out today.” The more you do this, the more your brain will begin to focus on the good and not fixate on the bad.

I tell myself “it’s okay that I am starting over at 31. I can do this.” I’m starting to believe it, too.

 

10.  You’re stronger than you think.

I promise this is true.  I know it’s hard to believe it sometimes.  It’s hard for me to believe it sometimes, especially when things get overhwhelming.  The last three months have not been easy.  In fact, they’ve been some of the hardest months of my life.  Yet, I’m still here.  I’m still standing.  When I look back at some of the things I’ve experienced in my 31 years on this earth, I see that I somehow manage to keep moving forward.  I don’t crawl into the fetal position under my covers and hide from the world.  Well, maybe I did once or twice.  Sometimes we just need that downtime.  But I didn’t stay hidden under the covers.  I eventually got up and faced the world.  And you can, too.  Find your inner-strength and channel it, even on the days you don’t want to.  It will begin to make a big difference in your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those are my ten lessons I learned on Glisan Street.  My time in therapy was valuable, but by no means am I healed.  I still feel hurt.  I still feel lonely.  Last week I had my first OBGYN visit and it took courage to return to the clinic, my first time since I lost the baby. And this morning I broke down in tears in front of a nurse practitioner in immediate care because she asked me what sources of stress I’ve been experiencing lately.  It is still incredibly pain to say the words I had a miscarraige.  And I know it will be for a while.  And I also know that’s okay.

I still have a lot of work to do.  One of the reasons I wrote this list was to remain mindful of the work I have done, and to have a place I can return to when things start to feel bleak and hopeless.  I can read this list and be reminded of how far I’ve come, and that I have the ability to keep going.  I have the ability to heal.  And so do you.

Until next time ~ B

 

Single After Miscarriage (The M Word, Part VI)

Miscarriage.  Such a terrible word.  Three months later, and I still have a hard time with the reality that it happened to me.

Pregnancy loss is one of the hardest things a woman will ever have to experience, particularly if the baby was wanted.  I never knew how much I wanted to have a child until I lost mine.  It still aches in deep places when I think about what happened.  It’s a profound sadness that will never go away.  It may lessen over time, but it will always be with me.

What is hitting me particularly hard lately is that my baby dreams are on hold.  I am envious of couples who have grieved together, and that envy runs especially deep knowing that can try for another one when they are ready.  I have read stories of women who got pregnant as little as a few weeks after their loss, and carried a healthy baby to term.  I do understand that I am generalizing here, as many couples struggle with fertility and multiple miscarriages.  There are also couples who simply don’t know when will be ready to try again.

Part of my jealousy stems from not having a partner to plan another child with.  I don’t have a future baby daddy in my life.  The father of my lost baby grieved on his own.  It kills me to think that we conceived a child and yet grieved separately.  It also stings deeply knowing that I have no idea when I will ever have the opportunity to plan for a child with someone I love.  I don’t have that to look forward to.   Not only am I dealing with the horrific pain of losing a baby alone, but I can’t even look forward to trying again.

I lost everything.  I am rebuilding my life right now, brick by brick, and it feels like an eternity before I will ever see a positive pregnancy test again.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just want the baby.  I want it all.  I want someone to come home to.  I want a home of my own.  I want a career.  I’m slowly putting the pieces of my life back together, but it’s a long, difficult process.  I’m searching for the light at the end of the tunnel, but right now all I can do is run my hands along the wall and blindly feel my way there.

I no longer have hCG running through my veins, but some days it’s hard to believe that.  I still feel like it’s there when I see babies, especially one that may have looked like mine.  I feel like it’s there when I see pregnant women.  I feel like it’s there when I pass the baby section in a department store.  The strong, driving urge to nest and procreate feels as though it remains at the same level it did when I was still pregnant.  Will this ever dissipate?  Will I forever see young families and feel myself burning with envy inside?

And by god, when will I stop picturing T when I think of a future family?  Somedays I wish I could wipe him out of my brain.  Well, that’s not true.  Rather, I wish I could wipe the idea of him as part of my life out of my brain.  No matter how many times I tell myself he doesn’t want you, you need to move on, it’s like my brain is hardwired to reject those thoughts and keep him in that picture anyway.

I would like to think that I’m just being too hard on myself.  It’s only been a little over three months since the worst day of my life.  Things are slowly improving.  I finally found a job, which I start next week.  I had two men on two consecutive days give me their phone numbers, so I must be putting some kind of positive vibe into the universe.  Spring is here and the cherry blossoms are blooming, which always makes me feel like renewal is just around the corner.  Am I finally on the upswing, and this relentless pain of my blank, partner-less and baby-less future will begin to fade away?  Will this soon be nothing more than a far away memory that I look back on with respectful melancholia?

There is nothing sadder or more frustrating than a miscarriage.  I know that I am strong and will make it through these dark days.  I also know that I am only 31, and there is hope for me yet.  There is still time to find someone to build a life with.  Someone to have children with.  Someone to grow old with.

Sigh.

Miscarriage.

Such a terrible, terrible word.

Until next time ~ B

Miscarriage Milestones and Bodily Betrayals (The M Word part V)

Tomorrow I would have been five months pregnant.  Big enough to find out the sex of the baby with an ultrasound.

Would it have been a boy or a girl?  Would she have had my eyes?  Or maybe he would have had his daddy’s smile.  Would we have been collecting things in blue or pink?  Would his middle name have been Michael?  Or maybe her name would have been Sophia.

This milestone, or lack thereof, really sucks.

My coworker is pregnant.  She was only a couple of weeks behind me in pregnancy, and she has a nice round baby bump.  Today at work she was showing it off with a fitted t-shirt.  It took all I could do to not just sit and stare at it.  I tried desperately to avert my eyes.  Is that how my belly would like right now?  I felt transfixed, and when she finally walked away, a relief flooded over me.   Every day I see her at work is like a slap to the face.  A reminder of what I will never have.

My baby died.  Hers survived.  Would you like to know why?  Because the universe does not play favorites.  Mother nature is not a warm cuddly maternal figure, but rather a cold, biological, unemotional entity that doesn’t care.  There is no god or higher power.  The world owes you nothing.

Sometimes when I see a woman holding a baby, my arms physically ache knowing I will never hold mine.  When I see a father holding his child, I see T holding ours and feel the acute pain knowing that will never come to pass.  When I think of pregnancy milestones, by body hurts.

Our child would have been beautiful.

I have never, in 31 years on this earth, known how much I want to be a mother until I miscarried my baby.  It was easy to get pregnant, but I have always known there was a chance I would have reproductive troubles.  I worry that my miscarriage was not a chromosomal abnormality, but rather my body being fucked up inside and unable to carry a baby to term.  I wonder if I will end up like those women who have miscarriage after miscarriage, only to have it all end in a divorce, because the relationship couldn’t survive all those years of broken dreams and failed pregnancies.  My relationship certainly didn’t survive an experience that, in such a heartbreaking way, brought out the worst in both of us.  We couldn’t survive the grief.

Miscarriage feels like a failure.  It feels like your body has betrayed you.  As a woman, this is the one thing that I am biologically programmed to do, and instead of successfully carrying out that task, my body malfunctioned.  On Christmas Eve, one of my favorite days of the year, the cramping and bleeding began that tore away the lining of my uterus, taking my baby with it.  The ultrasound scan displayed a now empty uterus.  Where I once saw a heartbeat, I now saw a blank screen.  This was visual proof that my body’s pre-programming system had failed.

Seeing my pregnant coworker makes me ask What is her body doing right that my body did wrong?

Miscarriage makes you feel like damaged goods.  Defective.  Insecure and self-consious. I can’t imagine telling this story to someone new without them running off into the hills.  What man is going to sign on for all of this?  Who is going to want me now?  Because it’s not just the issue of my defective body, but also because of my lingering abandonment/commitment issues.  I’m like a giant walking red flag.  I actually hid on the Max the other day because an attractive man kept looking at me and I was afraid he would walk over and start talking to me.  I hid behind a group of obnoxious teenagers.  Talk about a low point.

But that is the majority of my days now- a smattering of low points amidst moments of joy.

I am on the road to healing, but I will never forget this loss, and I will never forget these emotions.  This was my baby.  My little nugget.  A treasure that I shared with another human being, who would have been an amazing father.  An amazing father to our baby.

No, this will be with me always.

Until next time ~ B

 

 

 

 

 

Bitterness And Avoidance: My Life After Miscarriage (M Word Part IV)

I am so, so bitter.  So bitter, in fact, that I cannot bring myself to share in the pregnancy joy of others.  I don’t want to hear about it, I don’t want to know about it, I want to pretend their pregnancies don’t exist.  I feel awful for admitting that out loud, but each time my friend brings her pregnancy up to me, it feels like any progress I’ve done to stich my heart back up is unraveled.  I know two pregnant women, and I had to block them from my FB newsfeed so I don’t have to read their updates and see their pictures. 

How long is miscarriage grief supposed to last?  When will I be able to see baby bumps and not feel a lump in my throat the size of an orange?   When will I walk past the baby section of a store and no longer fight back tears?  When will I see a young couple with a baby and no longer imagine what my family would have looked like?  When will I see a man holding a baby and not flash to the image of what it would have looked like with my ex holding our baby?

I do my best to compartmentalize my life so I can get through each day.  I spend one hour a week talking about my loss in therapy, and then the rest of the week I shove the pain into a box, only to be reopened at the following session.   While I think about my ex all the time, it’s somehow easy for me not to think about my miscarriage until I am triggered.  I don’t know why that is.  Perhaps it is because there is no bringing my baby back, but my ex is still walking around living his life.  Details on his life are just a social media click away.

I would have been four months pregnant on Saturday.  I told someone how sad that made me, and they said, “don’t be sad about that.  You just need to live your life and move forward.”  If healing my heart and moving forward was that easy, I would.  Believe me, I don’t like feeling this way.  I don’t like reaching milestones that will never be realized because the baby died and feel an ache reverberate through my body.  I have to choose my words carefully these days, because it’s like I can’t even be sad anymore.  People either say, “oh, don’t be sad, just move on,” or they say, “Oh, well, maybe you should go to counseling/talk about that in counseling.” No one wants to hear about what I’ve been through.   

Because no one wants to talk about dead babies and lost loves.

So, So bitter.  I just want to fast-forward to a time when this no longer breaks my heart over and over again.  I need something, anything, to go right. 

Fuck.

Until next time ~ Bitter B

The M Word, Part II

I’m here to talk a little more about the M Word.  The M Word that is miscarriage.

I don’t let myself think about it too often.  Usually just once a week in therapy, where I cry and admit out loud how sad I am, and how much I wanted this baby.  Someone told me that it was just a fetus, but to me, to me it was a baby.  A child I imagined holding in my arms, bathing, experiencing the first laugh, first crawl, first steps…

Yes, it was a baby.  If it was a girl, we were going to call her Sophia.

I recently deleted the list of baby names I had saved on my phone.  My mother returned the baby purchases she had made the day before I miscarried.  I deleted the pictures that the father had generated on what the baby would look like.  What our baby might have looked like.

I need to get over the idea of our baby.  We are not having a baby, and we won’t ever be having a baby.

One thing I have not deleted is my baby board I made on Pinterest.  It is a private board that only I can see.  It sits next to the wedding board that also only I can see.  I feel like those two boards just mock me.  As if I am just another 30-something cliche, mapping out my future on the internet, a future that gets farther and farther away from materializing.  A 31-year-old singleton who quotes Sex and the City, shops for men on the internet, and plans for a future that may never exist.

I saw the father last night, the first time since our relationship dissolved two weeks prior.  “How did we get here?” I asked.  Then I laughed a little.  “Well, I know how we got here.  But really… how did we get here?” 

Seeing him was good.  I tested the waters, bringing up the possibility of starting over, going on a date.  He declined.  He doesn’t think we are compatible.  I accept his decision.   There is a certain sense of situational irony in this scenario.  Two weeks ago he said he was serious about going on a date and starting over.  In an emotional huff, I rejected that idea, rejected him, and gave up on the relationship.  After some soul searching, I realize he was right, our relationship was broken, and moving forward in a kind of going-back-to-the-basics style would have been good.  I don’t known if we would have ended up together, but I thought it was worth another shot.  I still do.  Although I am disappointed, it will help the piece I am working on right now, which is chemistry versus compatibility in a relationship.  I’m still fleshing it out in my mind, but I will start working on it this afternoon.

It is hard to not only accept the loss of the child, but also accept the loss of that particular future I was building.  In a way, the miscarriage allows each of us to move forward and find a suitable partner to possibly build a family with, whatever and with whomever that looks like.  When I was pregnant, our relationship became extremely stressful, and I know I did not behave in the best manner.  I freaked out and took everything out on him.  I was really scared.  I pushed him away, he pushed me away, then we would pull back together, and just when we got to a point where things leveled out, I lost the baby.  It’s like a big cosmic joke.  The universe giving us the giant finger.  Mother Nature, the original honey badger, who truly does not give a shit.

Last night he said, “I felt like that was a snapshot on what our life was going to be like.”  I told him I disagreed.  I firmly believe that things would have been entirely different had our circumstances been different.  We weren’t ready to be parents together.  Not after four months.  We were still in the fun dating stage, and that was taken away from us.  Then everything got serious and scary.  I don’t think it’s fair to say that is how we would have been in the future.  If this had happened a couple of years down the road, married, or even not married, that relationship foundation would already have been built.  We both wanted to be a parents someday, but we wanted it when we were emotionally and financially prepared for it.  People said to me repeatedly, “Is there ever really a perfect time to have a baby?”  Perhaps the answer is no, but there are certainly better times to have a baby than others.

He would have been a great dad.  You can’t say that about every guy.  And I know someday he will get the chance to be that “kick-ass husband and father” he talked about when we first met.  He is always so worried about everything, but I know he is going to be okay.  I believe in him, even when he doesn’t believe in himself.

As for me?  Sigh.  Preparing to start over once again is a very depressing and scary thought, but I know in time I will be okay.  I have to believe that there is a family in my future.  The loss of this baby and this family will be with me forever, but it won’t feel so acute forever.  There will be moments where I think I’m doomed to be old and crazy and yell at the pigeons in the park, but I am going to hold out hope that my future will different.

New life plan:  I’ll continue to work on myself, work through these losses, and hopefully find someone that I can grow old with.  I know there is someone out there that I can grow old with.

Until next time ~B

Shhh… It’s The M Word

This blog is raw.  It is real.  It is not for the faint of heart.

Miscarriage, or spontaneous abortion, is estimated to occur in 25% of recognized pregnancies.  There are various reasons for this awful heartbreaking medical incident that no one talks about.  50-60% of miscarriages are chromosomal abnormalities of the fetus.  The rest is a mix of something wrong with the mother, or something happening to the mother while she is pregnant.   When I got pregnant, I was shocked to read the statistics of loss.  No ones talks about the shattered hopes and dreams of miscarriage, because who wants to talk about dead babies?  Who wants to talk about their loss?

Well, I want to talk about it.

Continue reading