I had a day to myself yesterday. A day away from chaos, a day away from people. A day to feel, do, and be whatever I needed to be. The solitude was exactly what I needed to disconnect from my obligations and constantly racing brain, and instead connect with myself, and most of all, Lucy. It was calming and therapeutic. I took care of myself, talked to Lucy, took a chilly walk down the tracks with my dog and let the sunshine and cold air kiss my face. I wrote Lucy’s name in the snow. I soaked in a long hot bath, listened to calming music, ran the aromatherapy diffuser, drank chai tea, colored a butterfly for Lucy, got lost watching “Z: The Beginning of Everything”, cried, spent time in the nursery, and enjoyed not needing to fake it for anyone all day. It was the nicest thing I’ve done for myself in a long, long time. I didn’t even engage in the self-loathing I’ve been so immersed in as of late. I was able to just “be”.

I was told by my very wise massage therapist on Wednesday (I had an appointment with her after a long hiatus) that what she read from my energy was that I was on the verge of emotional collapse, which I could not disagree with. I am often on the verge of emotional collapse these days. I spend each work day wearing a mask to hide my pain, I take care of everyone who walks into my classroom as well as I can, but I am in pain and I need to take care of myself too. I have not been taking care of myself, and I am miserable. I have not been tending to my grief. After leaving my massage the other day, I was still holding a lot inside, and it was trying desperately to get out by whatever means possible. Chris knew I wasn’t okay, and he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and told me that he loved me and that he saw how much I’d been struggling. I buried my face in his chest and just sobbed. Another hopeful, drawn-out cycle (34 days) had come to a very disappointing end that morning, and I was so low. I think I was worse than maybe I’ve been on this whole journey of losing Lucy. I am fighting hopelessness. I am fighting the ugly thoughts of never feeling or getting better, or worse, never having something to truly look forward to again. We’ve both been clinging to the idea of a rainbow baby, another reason to feel something other than overwhelming sadness and despair. No, it won’t solve everything, but it gives us hope. Until the hope has to be delayed once again for yet another month. Unrealized hope is truly the most crushing thing. I am angry at myself and furious with my body because it simply won’t cooperate. I feel trapped in a body that continues to fail me in all of the most important ways right now. I suppose I forget sometimes what my poor body has been through, and that she is also doing her best to heal and find a new normal. I have said the meanest, nastiest things to myself. I used to have issues with that in my past, but I’d reached a point where I’d accepted myself and had nearly conquered those evil voices within me that always whispered that I wasn’t good enough or didn’t deserve this or that. Then we lost Lucy, and my natural reaction has been to blame myself somehow. All of those voices have become louder and louder, and I think I feel worse about myself now than ever before. It’s impossible to ignore. On top of that, every month brings with it new disappointment, new hurt. Sometimes I worry that it’s all just too much for me to handle.

This past week, I’ve tried to be more honest with people when they ask how I’m doing, which is actually very tough for me. I’ve wanted everyone to think I’m okay and that I’m doing better, because I don’t want to make anyone else feel bad or think there’s anything they can really even do to help. The truth is, I’ve never felt weaker and I’m not always okay. This grief is not getting easier as time passes. I finally shared more of this with my best friend Aimee… she has continued to reach out and do what she can to let me know that she is here for me. I have kept my distance a bit because I love my friend too much to want to drag her through more of my pain when she has so much going on in her life that is good. I have done the same with many of my friends and family. In doing this, it has become lonelier and more difficult to navigate through the grief because I am not always completely honest about how shitty I feel. It’s so hard to figure out what is best for me and often, I just don’t know what’s best for me. My mom has gone out of her way to make sure I know that she is also there for me… it pains me so much to know that she hurts because of how much I am hurting. I can imagine how crushing it must be for her to feel so helpless about her child’s situation, to know there’s nothing that can be said or done to fix it. I know this now because I have also been in that situation, helpless. I have been as raw and honest with her as I can about how I’m doing, which is hard for me because I know how much it hurts her to know the way I struggle. Often, with friends and family, it is easier for me to sugarcoat things because I don’t want to cause anyone else additional grief or sadness. Here I am, trying to put myself in their shoes, when I can barely walk in the ones I’m wearing. Lately, the grief is just so heavy, and it’s getting harder and harder to fake it through the day, both at work and in my personal life.

I’m trying to listen to my mom, Chris, my massage therapist, and my grief therapist about being nicer to myself and taking better care of myself. They’ve all said I need to stop being so mean to myself, and I know they’re right. It’s easier said than done though when you’ve become your own worst enemy. I try to remind myself that grief has no timeline and that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s tough, but it’s what I need to remember. As a loss mom, I know I really ought to be proud of all that I do accomplish each day. And that I should also cut myself some slack here and there. Yesterday was a start. I will keep trying, and I will stop hesitating to be honest with the ones who love me most.

Lucy’s name in the snow in our yard.