A post that I hope
becomes a series about the hard stuff because being brave and being
vulnerable and being real is good and healing. And because writing helps
me.
I
was always the girl who could make a joke at any time. I think because
my dad passed away when I was in junior high I learned early on to ease
the tension with a few (I think very well placed but I’m sure others
might say different ;) ) overall observations or jokes. This was for me
how I learned to cope with the sadness and grief. And then it just
became second nature.
As
I’ve taken counseling classes and been counseled myself, I’ve learned
so many valuable things about myself and how I view the world and how
that affects my feelings and thoughts and beliefs. One thing I’ve
discovered is that while this “joke” mentality has been my default, it
hasn’t always helped me process hard and difficult and sad things in my
life. It’s a blocking mechanism, a way that I’ve now realized I used to
kind of push others away, to send a message that says “I’m okay and I’m
laughing, see? Don’t pity me. I’ve got this. I’m fine.” But often times
I’m not fine. I’m sad and I’m grieving and I’m angry and yet I still
feel this need to put on a face for the world that I’ve got it under
control.
What
I’ve learned through counseling is that many of us develop these
blocking mechanisms but they look lots of different ways. Maybe we over
exercise to cover our sadness or over eat or drink to excess or choose
to small talk with our friends instead of talk about the real stuff, the
hard stuff. There are a lot of ways can choose to drown out, ignore,
numb, force down, or cover what is really going on.
But
in the end, these blocking mechanisms, they don’t work. The feelings
are still there and in a healthy emotional world we need to find a way
to process what’s really going on.
One
thing I’ve also learned in counseling is that one way we can figure out
what’s really going on with ourselves or others is if there are things
that aren’t matching in our words and actions or body language. For
example, we might laugh while crying because we feel embarrassed. Or we
might say "I don't know why I am crying, I never cry" or "I am not
supposed to cry". We pretend to be strong. Or we might say “I forgive
you” but our hands are clenched in a fist and the anger is still there
festering. As a counselor, we look for these types of things that are
incongruent and if it’s appropriate we might call them out to our client
to help them uncover what’s really going on. Sometimes we can’t see
these inconsistencies ourselves and we need help (I was obviously in
this boat and needing help seeing my joke default).
On a Thursday
in late March, Tony and I found out we were pregnant. We were so
excited because we have had the best year learning to parent Jemma and
it has brought us so much joy. We were also trying to plan a pregnancy
around Tony’s work and the possibility of him being gone for awhile and
so the timing of the pregnancy was perfect. I had started tracking the
size and saw that he or she was the size of a sweet pea. I was already
starting to get excited thinking about Jemma being a big sister. I
ordered those pregnancy reveal items to tell the grandparents and
aunties and uncles. I was already pinteresting and etsying (do you like
my verbs pinteresting and etsying?) nursery ideas and getting excited
wondering if the little one was a boy or girl. I was planning a Texas
trip and was excited to tell my sister and mom and friends from back
home. Don’t we always have perfect plans in our mind? ;)
On the Monday following that Thursday,
I was experiencing symptoms that were concerning and decided to go to
doctor to get checked out. As the doctor did the sonogram, she gently
told me there was no heartbeat. Man, two words that I wish no one had to
hear. Little sweet pea was only with us for six short weeks.
It
was a shock and with tears and hurt I had to relay this message to Tony
and our families. I had to reschedule my trip due to needing to
recover. The doctors also asked me to go in for blood tests to track my
hormone levels and see if any other procedures might be needed.
It’s
not easy to share. It’s hard to even say out loud. It felt wrong, like I
was weak. Like my body failed. A little one had died in me. I started
thinking about all the things I could have done to cause it and blaming
myself. I started wondering who that little sweet pea was and what God’s
purpose could possibly be in this.
I
wanted to say something to fix it. I wanted to be strong. I wanted it
to not have happened. I tried to revert back to my joke default and my
“fake joyful face” when I talked about it. Not gonna lie, I’ve gotten
pretty good at this. My sister in law Holly called me out. She reminded
me that it’s okay for it to just hurt and just not be okay. I didn’t
have to wrap it up in this perfect bow of processing and present it to
the world with the Christian answer. I’m a “counselor in training” and I
knew all this and man I still needed that reminder. I didn’t have to
say “It’s hard but _____.” It’s okay for it to just be hard.
Sometimes
I didn’t want to talk about it because it was just easier that way, to
not say it out loud, to not have to then engage the topic and thus prick
my wounds further. It felt like pushing people away was easier
sometimes. Isolation is easier. Silence is easier (hmm another blocking
mechanism possibly?). It hurt and it felt better to talk about anything
then what was actually going on.
But
then sometimes I felt like I all I wanted to do was talk about it.
Remember it. Freeze the world so that this little life wouldn’t be
forgotten. Make the world stop continuing on because this little life
didn’t get to continue on and it’s not fair. Scream about it. Talk about
this little life and who they were and what they would have been like
and enjoyed. Were they a boy or girl? What would he or she have looked
like? Sometimes I couldn’t bear the small talk, like the world was
talking about all the wrong things.
With
my dads death and with the loss of little sweet pea, I’m reminded about
the grieving process and that it’s okay for it
to be hard and for me to know that some days will be worse than others. I
know with my dad I sometimes felt stupid for feeling sad many years
after. The more I learn about counseling though I’ve learned that
feeling sad at unexpected moments is normal and part of the process. I
go in and out of sadness and that’s okay. Some days it lingers. Little
reminders and memories and thoughts take hold and take over.
Things I struggle with:
Blaming (others and myself)
Wishing (that this wasn’t what God had for me)
Trusting (that God is still good in all of this).
I
also started just thinking about the big questions of life and the
theology behind life and the nerd in me wanted answers. I want to know
what the future holds. I want to know what to do next.
I wish I could say I had all of the answers figured out. But the truth is I don’t and I don’t think I ever will.
Back
to those inconsistencies. Back to those blocking mechanisms. Well, I
can know all the things I’ve learned in counseling and it’s still hard.
My default is really really ingrained in there. I want to hide the hard,
make it better somehow. I continue to want to put on a pretend face
that everything is okay. I have to continue to ask Jesus to help me be
real with myself and others.
In
all of this, though, here’s what I know about the hard moments: I can’t
trust my feelings to tell me what’s true. I have to cling to Gods
truth. And what I know is that God says even when it feels hopeless, we
always have hope. When we feel defeated, God always has a plan for
victory. And even in death there is life.
We
should be the most hopeful people of all because we have Christ. It
doesn’t have to be a fake hope. It can be a crying, screaming,
questioning hope. It can be a hope that wonders and grieves loss and
doesn’t know all the answers. To me, that’s the purest hope of all. Hope
in the hard.
One
of the craziest, most beautiful things that happened after my dad
passed away was that God turned death into life. He used the death of my
dad to bring me to life in Christ and to a life more abundantly full
and rich than I could ever have imagined. Through my dads death, He
changed the course of my life and helped me to see how much I love
helping and teaching and counseling others. I love middle schoolers
because that’s when my dad passed and I knew my heart was to teach them
about the Lord in whatever they might be going through. I could not ever
have imagined how God would use death and turn it into life for me. I
know and believe that the same will be true about this miscarriage. I
don’t know what it will look like and I know I would not have chose it
to be this way. But I believe with all that I am that the God I serve
will show His faithfulness and His love for me in this as He has done
again and again, over and over in my life in so many other ways.
I
can already see God showing me in this how loss helps you see life as a
gift. After my miscarriage, I held Jemma closer, I played longer, I was
more patient and more gentle. I laughed a lot at her silliness and
cried as I held her. I let her snuggle as long as she wanted. The
reality that life truly is short and the seconds are precious really
sunk in.
I was so thankful for Tony and God grew us together in this. We cried together, we grieved our loss.
I was so thankful for Tony and God grew us together in this. We cried together, we grieved our loss.
What
I also KNOW to be true but does not necessarily FEEL true is that
sharing helps ease the burden. Our tendency is to isolate and we think
it helps but what truly helps is allowing others in. Letting them bring a
meal, granting those who care the privilege of walking with you and
alongside of you in your pain. Saying out loud what you truly feel.
Letting others share the load.
To
remember little sweet pea, I ordered a gold necklace with the name
sweet pea and the date we found out about him or her on it. I don’t want
to forget. Right now, it is a reminder of pain and the loss of what
could have been. But my hope in time is that talking about the necklace
will bring a story of God and how He used pain and turned it into a
great story to display His goodness. (For anyone who might want something similar, I ordered it from an Easy shop called Gigimey: https://www.etsy.com/shop/GIGIMEY?ref=shop_name_search_sugg)
A verse my husband reminded me of during this time was:
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And
even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid;
you are worth more than many sparrows.” Mathew 10:29-31
I
love this truth and I cling to it as I am reminded that God cares
deeply for even the littlest life and loves the little life that we
never got to know more than we ever could. I hope that one day I can
meet our tiny sweet pea. But until then, I am going to trust little
sweet pea, and all that’s in my life right now, the pain and the worry
and the wondering and the scared and all of my future to the the creator
of all life, a God who gives me hope in the hard.
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