I started this post sometime last week with every intention of finishing it, but this thing called life somehow got in the way. Which reminds me, though it doesn’t always feel that way these past seven months, I guess that means I’m still living my life. Somehow. I have said often in this blog that I want to live in a way that would make my baby girl proud of me, but so often, I feel like I’m just kidding myself and failing miserably in that pursuit. I feel anything but strong, and I worry I am letting Lucy down. Grief has changed me, and not necessarily for the better in many ways. Too frequently, I look in the mirror and I hate what I see, and seven months into this grief journey, I still don’t know who I am or how I’ve made it to this point. There is an ugliness to grief, and oh so much darkness.

I know that I’ve discussed grief and the tangle of emotions that’ve come along with it for me at length, but I am not always as real as I could be. I hesitate to truly express all that I think and feel, because honestly, it’s scary as hell. My ultimate goal is to honor my daughter through living well, but I’ve come to realize that in order to do that, I have to take care of myself first… I mean really take care of myself. That kind of self-care, the sort that I truly need to engage in, is messy, tough, and not necessarily something I want to share with others. Sometimes, though, sharing is important, because there’s the possibility that it could help someone else feel less alone, or at the very least, shed some light on what I’m dealing with.

I often haven’t given myself credit for being a mother. It has become more apparent over time that my motherhood is invisible to many others, and in acknowledging that myself, I think sometimes I believe it too. I discredit myself and my body for the amazing things that occurred during my pregnancy with Lucy; because I don’t have a baby in my arms, it is easy to do that. I have failed to admit to myself on many occasions that I exist within a postpartum body, one that went through quite an ordeal. As with nearly all new mothers, I have experienced quite a new variety of hormone shifts and changes; for me, it’s been a new plethora of emotions and mood swings. I’ve been proud of myself because during those mood swings, no matter how rough they are, I won’t lash out at other people. The problem with that is I’ve turned the blade of harsh words and thoughts toward myself. I read through the private journal I’ve been keeping since Lucy passed, and have come to the conclusion that I am emotionally at my worst when nearing the end of my monthly cycle. It should have been easy to figure out, but grief doesn’t always allow a person to see things like that very clearly. On those days, there is a darkness that enters my mind that is truly and honestly frightening. Before I realized that it was mostly the result of hormones, it was pretty damn scary. About a month and a half ago, as we were creeping up on Lucy’s six month milestone, I was at the worst I’ve ever been in my entire life. Oh, the things I said to myself… had any other person said them to be, it’s doubtful I’d even be here right now. Any awful thing I’ve ever thought of anyone else pales in comparison to the horrible things I think of myself. In my teens and early twenties, I wrestled with crazy low self-esteem and self-loathing. I struggled to see my worth and value as a human being, and the worst things I ever thought or said were about myself. The reasons behind that mindset are better left for another time. I eventually overcame most of those personal obstacles on my own, but it wasn’t easy, and I didn’t conquer all of it. I still apologized profusely for anything and everything and often felt I didn’t deserve whatever good found its way into my life, but I had come a long, long way. After we lost Lucy, it all returned with a vengeance. The vulnerability that accompanies grief has had a nearly disastrous impact on me. All of those hateful voices I’d managed to stifle have returned. It gets so intensely bad at times, and I feel buried under a landslide of negativity and self-hatred. I find ways to blame myself for what happened to our sweet Lucy, I tell myself I don’t deserve such a loving, supportive husband. I feel that I can do nothing right, that I’m not capable of anything. I say the most degrading things to myself and my mind is filled with self-loathing. It’s in those moments that I wish with everything I am that I’d left this world with Lucy. Those moments are as raw and real as it gets with my grief, and they are difficult to face. Sometimes just getting out of bed when I feel like that is a monumental, daunting task, and it takes all of my energy to face the day and simply get through it. It is hard to see the light.

Now that I’ve figured out when to expect that my hormones will shift, it’s been easier for me to identify my self-destructive thoughts and behaviors. Knowing that many of those terrible feelings have a lot to do with my hormones makes them seem less harmful and I feel like I can fend them off. I try to stop what I’m doing when I realize the self-loathing is raising its ugly head and counter it with something positive. My grief therapist, Julie, recommended this, and it helps. I tell myself something positive and then go do something that brings calm or relaxation. I write in my journal, do some coloring (seriously, the adult coloring books and gel pens are amazing!) or blackout poetry. If I can’t do something like that, I make myself a cup of tea or do some deep breathing . These things definitely help, but they don’t always fix it. However, I keep hearing what my therapist said at my last session, and I give myself a little grace. She told me, “You’re getting up, cleaning up, and showing up”… and that is more than something. So often, I forget to give myself credit for the things I do accomplish, even when the grief waves slam into me with renewed strength.

If I were observing another woman in my situation, I would be astounded and impressed at their ability and strength to carry on. So why I am I reluctant to be proud of myself? Sadness, depression, grief, and loss have all magnified my insecurities and vulnerability; my defense in the face of difficulty or fear of failure has always been to be hard on myself. I am working with all my might to change that, but, as the cliché goes, “old habits die hard.” I am making progress every day, and though I am still often stunned and surprised by how much the loss of Lucy still hurts, I continue to become a better navigator through this world of grief.

What my self-loathing sounds like… I needed to get it out of my system and onto a page. These are the terrible things I tell myself when I’m at my worst. I am working on loving myself more…

Countering the bad with good… working on the positives…