Last week in a session, Julie, my therapist, stopped me mid-sentence and said to me, “Jessica, IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT.” I don’t remember what I had been saying immediately prior to her so directly and clearly stating this to me, but I stopped speaking and suddenly I couldn’t control the torrent of tears and sobs that escaped from me. It has taken me more than nine months to truly realize that Lucy’s death wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. Even though all evidence points to the fact that I did nothing wrong, I have been blaming myself for what happened to my beautiful baby. I have been carrying the unfathomable burden of grief AND suffocating myself with blame the whole time. Blame for something that just happened, with no warning, no reason. Though I’ve been hearing this from the doctors, from Chris, from Julie, and from everyone else I know, I have not been able to accept it. I’m not sure why I’m finally allowing myself to believe this, but it seems to have been exactly what needed to be shoved into my stubborn face at that moment.
Why have I been blaming myself? There is no straight, clear answer that I can come up with on my own. I have been trying to dig in and speculate. Throughout my adolescence and adult life, I’ve wrestled with feelings of failure and unworthiness. There are quite a few things that helped manifest those feelings, but that’s to be shared at some other time perhaps. For me, those feelings helped me to become my own worst enemy. The nagging voice telling me I’m not good enough, that I am unworthy of happiness or good things, has followed me for a long time. In spite of my successes in life, I have so often felt that I’m nothing but a failure. Even though there were strong voices cheering me on through my victories, it was always that negative voice that was the loudest. That’s a tough habit to overcome. So when everything went wrong with Lucy’s birth, naturally, I felt that I had failed once again and that maybe I just didn’t deserve her. That maybe I did deserve all of the unspeakable pain of losing a child. Grief has brought ALL of my old insecurities back to the surface and amplified the not-so-old ones, which has fostered the self-blame.
I’ve also held on to this blame because the terrible thing that ended my baby’s life happened in my body. I’ve been believing that I failed at the most important job I had as a mother, which was to protect my child. I couldn’t protect her from what happened. I couldn’t save her. I failed, I failed, I failed. My insecurities and skewed logic teamed up and told me that because I failed to protect her from what happened, it must be my fault. As a result of that, I’ve been absolutely cruel to myself and my post-partum body. There are so many conflicted emotions involved in the way I see myself, especially my body. On one hand, I understand how amazing it was to have grown such a perfect baby and I acknowledge that my body did that. On the other hand, I loathe this body that failed us. I feel ashamed of it, hide it from my husband, I cover it up. Sometimes it’s hard to look at myself in the mirror because all I see is failure. I have all of the physical badges of motherhood, but none of the rewards, and it is difficult to not hate what I see. I’m becoming more forgiving of this body of mine, but it’s tough to let go of those negative feelings.
Looking at all of this straight on has been difficult for me. Finally accepting the truth that what happened to Lucy isn’t my fault has been eye-opening. I’m still struggling with it, but I’m getting there. I didn’t want this to happen, and if love had been enough to save my daughter, she’d be here with me. I did nothing wrong, and in fact, did everything right. I took such good care of myself and my baby throughout our pregnancy, and I always put her first. Chris and I took all of the right steps on the night of her birth; we did everything we were supposed to do. It was not our fault, it was not my fault.
Giving myself permission to forgive myself and my body has taken at least one burden out of this grief equation for me. I am working on overcoming the many insecurities that have ruled me, though I am also giving myself grace. I have finally realized that I am not weak, though I may often feel that way. I have found myself admiring the fortitude and courage of all of the other loss moms out there who’ve shared their stories and persevered through the darkness of grief; I realize now that it is time I begin to see that I share many of the same qualities of those women I admire. I too am courageous. I didn’t deserve this and I did nothing wrong. I have the ability to continue on, to thrive, and to share Lucy’s light with others. If you’re a loss mom who finds herself reading this, I hope with all of my heart that you can also acknowledge your courage, strength, and beauty. This is not an easy road to travel. It is long, grueling, and scary. Don’t be afraid to give yourself credit for being a mother, for continuing to thrive even though you’ve walked through hell. Realize that the loss of your child is not your fault, it is not what you deserve. Love yourself, and know that nothing can ever diminish the pure, fierce love that you have for your child.I promise to keep trying, and I hope that you will too.
A mug I gifted to myself to remind me of my courage, and that I am always Lucy’s mom. (I ordered it from Society 6, through courageousmothers.com)