There’s no convenient time to be depressed. Someone needs you to fasten a doll’s skirt, finish the presentation, find their doll’s shoe, think five steps ahead of your manager to try to anticipate what will be needed next, remember it’s free dress day, hand you their water, do research on business as a platform, find a lovey, remember it’s a half day, make dinner, try to be a good wife, and oh have another miscarriage. Lately my dance card has been a balancing act of executive meetings, attempting to be a good mom, and secret physical and emotional agony. Cramping and other horrific things that happen when you miscarry, have to be secondary because people need you to keep your shit together. No 8 or 5 year old wants their pancakes with a side of mom sobs.
So just when I thought maybe the anger and emotional roller coaster might skip me this miscarriage, I found myself putting waffles on the table, while Eric has been out of town, and running upstairs to sob to my best friend in my closet. A short while later, I come down and put on my brave face and try to forget for the day. But when the sisters try on their bickering pants, I am crying behind my sunglasses. “Naps for everyone I exclaim!” As I crawled in bed yesterday, I finally admitted to myself that I might be losing the parenting battle.
This is Eric and my second loss. My third miscarriage all together. The cycle for these last two has been a quiet sadness, when I first think something bad might happen, followed by short breaths as if I possibly move less or live a quieter life that I can make it stop. When this does not work, and this hope for another child is gone, it’s accompanied by the inevitable, intense physical pain, and then two to three weeks of emotional fall out. I intend the last part to be dramatic on purpose. I fully fall into depression as my hormones plummet, and I’m parked there as we speak. This is an I-don’t-want-to-get-outta-bed sadness and when someone asks if I’m okay, I can’t even fake it. “No, not yet,” I say or in the case of this morning: “No, my husband is out of town, and I need to workout and I still look pregnant” style of unloading I did on my poor friend at Pure Barre today. Sorry Lauren.
Who has time to be depressed? I feel like it has to fit into my trips to the bathroom to change the incredibly ridiculous pads I have to wear. I remember when I’ve struggled before, way back pre-Landon in my twenties and even then it still seems like a selfish waste of time. Back then when a completely different type of loss surrounded me. I recall talking my dog to the park and losing my shit on a bench overlooking Sheep’s Meadow. People scurried away from us and Kingsley licked my salty tears for an hour. I could just sit there as I had all the time in the world to feel as sad as I wanted to. Now, in this life I’ve wanted for so long, it feels even more insane to be depressed. I read one of those quotes this morning that while it rings true, it’s also kind of annoying at the same time…
Okay, yeah I get it, I remember. Thanks Instagram. I have a loving husband who says all the right things, and also actually really cares. I have two beautiful girls who love me and love each other (most of the time). I have a naturally born daughter who has made me the absolute best version of myself. I have a great job, and am recognized daily for what I contribute. I have a family who is considerate and wildly helpful every day- thank you Nunu x 1,000. And friends- mostly far away who love loudly and comfort me even when I’ve woken them up with my phone calls. This loss isn’t dismissive of the beautiful things in my life. It’s simply a loss that cannot be ignored. I learned last November, after a full month of grief, that it absolutely takes time to heal your head, heart and body. What you have doesn’t heal you, it’s patience, love of others and mainly love of self. It’s my therapist, and quiet moments with this blog. It’s walking on the beach and crying into the ocean. It’s telling your tribe that you are not okay and letting them in. It’s all of these things and more, since I learn more about what grief is each time this has happened. So while this weekend’s emotion has surprised me, even when it really shouldn’t, I’m trying to just be gentle on myself. Depression is what it is, and I can’t find my way out by pretending it’s not happening.
I say this each time, but I mean it each time. If you have experienced loss, I see you and love you. I also cherish your lost due dates and feel your pain when you see other happily and easily pregnant women. I understand the roller coasters and am here to say, “me too” to not feeling okay. I’m in it now and I am accepting that depression does not wait for a convenient time in your life. When it arrives, you can try to welcome it and handle it with patience and love.
Onward dear friends. Hoping to see you on the up and up very soon.