Tag: miscarriage

On Grief & Beauty

Flowers from the garden at our house.

In the midst of grief, it seems odd that there is still beauty in the world. Sometimes blue skies and the sun and flowers and laughter all seem to exist in vain. How can the world keep turning when it feels like it stopped? How can beauty exist amongst so much pain? I’ve grappled with this more than I care to think about. We live in a broken world, one full of sorrow and pain. God doesn’t promise us a life free from these things, but He does promise two things: 1) He’s right there with us in the midst, He never leaves our side, and 2) For those whose hope is in Jesus, we can look forward to a Heaven where there is no more sorrow and pain.

I’ve learned that grief, while incredibly difficult, is the result of love. And love is the greatest thing that will remain, now and forever. I’d rather be found in love.

“The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.”
Psalm 121:5&6

God is with us every second of every day and knows our hearts. He will never, ever leave our side. And therein lies our hope.

Lose.

As soon as the new year hit, I was BOMBARDED with ads on Facebook and Instagram for weight loss programs. When I watched TV, every other commercial was for a diet plan, gym membership, or piece of workout equipment. I get it, I’ve fallen into that “new year, new me” mentality before. I’ve fallen into thinking that the new year was somehow going to bring new focus, new drive, new motivation. And then I was sorely disappointed yet again to figure out that I was still me. A turn of the calendar page did not mean anything. This year was the first year I think I was actually aware of what is going on. I mean, yes, I’ve always known that the big weight loss push happens at the first of the year, but I hadn’t truly ever thought about what it meant. It means that the majority of us are unhappy with our bodies for some reason or another, and it means that we fall victim over and over again to big corporations trying to cash in on our unhealthy relationships with our bodies. I’m not saying that weight loss itself is a bad thing, but it really irks me that we “need” all this help. Why are we not taught practical ways to care for our bodies when we are kids? Why is junk food, fast food, and convenience food pushed on us? So that we will need to buy that diet plan later. And we have all these things that make our lives easier, but sometimes all it does is make us have to move less. We are so sedentary. And then we have to schedule out even more time to work out, we have to buy equipment for it, it’s a whole thing. And now I sound like a crazy conspiracy theorist, but it’s a gross cycle.

As I sat and watched TV the other day, I felt physically ill seeing all of these commercials. “Before” pictures showing unhappy, (sometimes) overweight individuals would fill the screen. One in particular I saw three times in one sitting and I couldn’t get over it. It showed this woman who was talking about how she didn’t like her body anymore and “didn’t recognize” herself, so she had to buy this program. I KID YOU NOT, I swear they bought her the same track suit from her before picture in a bigger size so it would look like she had lost weight. If you really focus on her, she doesn’t look any different. What in the world are we being fed?

I understand the need for our society as a whole to be healthier, I really do. But I absolutely know that these “miracle” programs are not the answer. And the fact that every other ad that is pushed into our faces tells us that our bodies need this or that before they are acceptable is bull. I am as heavy right now as I was when I was nine months pregnant with my daughter, and I’ll be honest, when I realized that, I was freaked out. I weigh so much that it is entirely possible for me to fit a whole [albeit small] other person inside me. I felt the initial shame, disgust, and general unhappiness with my body that the world tells me I should feel. But over the last several months, I’ve come to terms with my body. This body of mine has carried me through every single day. It has held me as I’ve had my weakest, most emotional moments over the last couple of years. It has hugged and hugged and hugged some more. It has laughed, it has cried, it has ached. It has stretched and it has held another human being. It has nourished our daughter and held her as she cried. It is the perfect body that God made for me, and I am done hating it. Now, I’m not saying this is where I need to live forever, that I couldn’t improve. I could definitely be a better steward of the blessing of my body that God has given me; I could do a better job of taking care of it. However, I will not be shamed into thinking that I have to be a certain size or eat a certain meal to be worthy of some arbitrary praise. My body is mine, and I won’t be shamed into hating it anymore.

One of my very favorite wedding photos, taken after the ceremony. I was so completely overwhelmed with emotion and my sweet husband was comforting me.

[My husband just asked me what I was “over there blogging about,” and I told him. He said, “Well, I love your body.” Ladies, find yourself a man who will not only appreciate your body no matter the size, but love it unconditionally. I am definitely not the same size (or shape for that matter) as when we first met, or even when we got married (although I stress ate for like a full month before our wedding and did gain a ton of weight 臘‍♀️) Anyway, all that to say, my husband is the sweetest.] We need to love our bodies, right here right now, no matter what they look like.

Mother’s Day

Everywhere you turn the second week of May, there is something about mothers. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful to celebrate mothers and all that they mean. However, for so many people, it’s merely a reminder of someone they’ve lost or a reminder of something they want but don’t have. Mother’s Day is a wonderful thing, but it can also be a painful time.

I feel like I have a special sensitivity to the complexity of Mother’s Day. I am so very blessed to still have my momma, and to be very close with her. My husband lost his mom when we were in high school. My best friend lost her mother shortly after she had her son several years ago. My husband and I struggled briefly with infertility, and then suffered a miscarriage a year before we had baby girl. Having these events take place in my life, and affect those around me, gives me such a deeper understanding of others’ potential grief.

Before I got pregnant with baby girl, after my miscarriage, I started following this girl on Facebook who was struggling with infertility. I had never followed a complete stranger’s blog before, and had almost looked down on people who needed “support groups.” But another woman on my friends list kept liking her posts, and I would see them and immediately feel her pain. Almost everything she posted made me burst into tears, because it felt like she was in my head. She knew the cry of my heart because she was there too. This was my first real connection to other people’s words. This was the beginning of this blog, I just didn’t know it at the time. She wrote a post yesterday that I literally could have written, except her journey so far has led her to adoption, and I have been blessed with baby girl. Does anyone else’s pastor recognize the mothers in the congregation by making them stand? Apparently both of ours do. She and I could both stand, we’re both mothers now. But, she says she’s going to stay seated, and I love her reasoning. Basically, she said it was because we are to mourn with those who mourn. She and I both have a unique perspective. We both understand sitting there while others stand, being recognized for the very thing we ache to be, longing to be able to stand and say, “yes, I am a mother.”

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to have a family, to be a wife and a mother. I can hear feminists everywhere screaming, but it’s true. Yes, I truly believed I could do anything growing up, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted to love a child, take care of a child, teach a child. I started babysitting at a pretty young age and never looked back. I started work at my neighbor’s daycare when I was 16, and worked there for eight years. When I left there, I was a nanny for a family for almost a year. Finally, after kids were no longer my “work” work, God told me I wasn’t done. I was asked to volunteer in the church nursery once a month, and loved it. Fast forward to now, and I’m in charge of said church nursery. Children have always been part of my life, and I am passionate about caring for them. Obviously, kids are my thing.

My point here (I kind of got away from it, sorry) is that we should take the advice of Elisha (link to her post in the comments- go read it, it’s so good!) We should rejoice with those who rejoice, yes, and celebrate mothers for sure. They are worth celebrating. However, we can’t neglect those who are mourning either. There are so many who no longer have their mothers. There are more than you think who are longing to become mothers, or who have lost a child. I’m not saying we have to walk on eggshells around all women, but we do need to think before we speak. That “harmless” question, “when are you and your husband going to have a baby?” can be so painful. I’ve laughed and shrugged my shoulders to that question so many times. “I don’t know” seems like the most honest answer when you’re trying, but there’s still no baby. Even now that I have a child, I hear all the time, “when are you having another one?” I cringe a little every time I hear it. And, again, it’s not that people are trying to be hurtful, they are genuinely curious or just making conversation. It’s just that after all we’ve been through, I’m not sure a) that I am ready for another one, at least not right now, and b) that if we try again, we will even get another baby. It wasn’t super easy last time. What if we struggle again? It’s so painful.

I think this is part of the reason for this blog: to share our pregnancy story, or lack thereof, depending on the year. Before I stumbled across Elisha’s blog, I felt really alone. The doctor told me that 1 in 4 pregnancies ended in miscarriage, and I honestly didn’t believe her. If that was true, why didn’t I know anybody that had experienced it? Why wasn’t there a plethora of support and shared stories for me to cling to? Nobody talks about it. After finally telling some of my family about our experience, I learned that my cousin had suffered a miscarriage before as well. Why does no one talk about this? I feel like just in the last year, spurred on mostly by celebrities, people have been more open about their infertility and child loss. I feel like it’s just now getting more exposure, and more women are talking about their experience. I want to be that support, to offer that solidarity. I want whoever is supposed to be reading this to know that you’re not alone. I’ve been through it. I’ve been the girl sitting in church, wanting to stand and be called a mother, but I don’t have a baby to show for my pregnancy that hardly anyone knew about in the first place. It’s terrible, it’s awful, it’s painful, it’s alienating, but it’s not just you, I promise.