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…

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.

There is an ebb and flow to grief. This twenty-first week without Lucy was full of grief flow. There were many factors that teamed up to create the perfect storm as far as my mood and coping abilities went. After having quiet time to allow myself to peacefully deal with my grief, the return to work from the holiday break had me treading some pretty rough emotional waters. Though I’ve said this before, sometimes I am still shocked and frightened by how much darkness can accompany my grief over Lucy’s loss. I was in SUCH a dark place, and it was such a struggle to get through each day. I just didn’t have the energy to put on the whole “I’m okay” mask, and it felt like I just couldn’t do all of the things that both work and grief demand of me. But, in spite of the temptation to quit, I kept going, and I made it through. Barely. There are many times lately when I have to admit to myself that I’m not doing as well as everyone thinks I’m doing. In fact, recently I’ve been feeling as though I’m taking some steps backward in my grief journey, and that the waters have been pretty rough and choppy. Depression has grabbed ahold of me with its harsh claws, and sometimes it makes me feel absolutely hopeless. And that is such a scary feeling.

I’m still seeing my therapist every couple of weeks, and those sessions seem to help and continue to reassure me that I’m not crazy. I explained to her how rough the past week has been, and how defeated I’ve been feeling. She mentioned that perhaps I should consider taking time off from trying to conceive to possibly take some antidepressants. I’ve never disagreed with any of her advice before, but I had to disagree with her on that. I see no shame in taking antidepressants, I am just afraid of skipping over some necessary healing (as difficult as it is to live through that sometimes) by taking some pills. Chris and I are also in the mindset that we want to have another child as soon as possible… we want to be able to give our love to a second child as well as Lucy. Conceiving another child won’t eliminate the hurt and grief, but it would be wonderful to be able to experience happiness alongside forever missing our Lucy. We refuse to give up on that hope, and we must keep trying. Delaying it won’t help us maintain that hope. Hope is what keeps us going right now. So, my therapist and I decided upon more frequent exercise as a helpful solution. The weather has been downright awful and I haven’t been able to take Waggs for long walks like I used to. I also used to work out frequently (I’ve always been a fan of Jillian Michaels and her workout videos!), then late pregnancy and then grief and depression got in the way. I have had zero motivation to exercise, but in the past it has always, always improved my mood. For that alone, it’s worth doing. I’m going to start small, aiming for at least a few days a week, then I’ll go from there. I just need to get back at it by setting an attainable goal, and hopefully that will help improve my emotional and mental states.

I have missed my baby tremendously these past several days. I wander into the nursery more frequently, stealing moments to sit in the rocker and cuddle her stuffed elephant. I continue to draw little hearts here and there, representing her name. I’ve been wearing as many pieces of my “Lucy jewelry” as I can each day to feel closer to her… always something to make that connection, to incorporate her into my daily life. Because that’s all I can do now. It’s helping me get through each day, one day at a time. I am surviving, and perhaps one day will be thriving again. I will keep Lucy with me every step of the way though, no matter how rough the waters get.

My Lucy trinkets…