I'm a little overwhelmed this morning. I look around and see the remnants of my friends and family celebrating my sweet unborn child. The, "It's a boy!" balloons in the corner and the ultrasound picture of him on the mantel. Last night Alex and I had a "date night in." We ate cheese and crackers and had our wine substitutes, pomegranate green tea for me and sparkling water for him. I couldn't help but end the night in tears. Probably for multiple reasons. My out of control hormones, Tom Cruise reciting poetry to Elizabeth Shue at the end of Cocktail on the TV, my baby boy kicking his dad's hand on my belly, and the snapshots I had tucked away from my day of celebrating new life.
Since my miscarriage it has been nearly impossible to separate my grief from my joy for this second baby of mine. I feel both simultaneously and they each multiply the other. I feel such deep appreciation for my body's ability to carry a pregnancy again, and this time to full term. And yet I still feel such deep grief now knowing more than ever what I have lost. A baby I will never know.
I've wrestled so much with what to share on social media. Do I share my overwhelming joy or my grief? If I only share my joy will other women mourning their own loss resent me?
In the beginning I felt a lot of guilt for being pregnant so soon after my miscarriage. So many women wait years or longer, or maybe never conceive again. Or they conceive and are faced with loss again. It felt unfair that my friends had lost multiple babies and waited countless years, and here I was pregnant again after four months. I still don't think it's fair. But I also had to come to terms with the fact that, even though these women had suffered longer and probably harder, I had to celebrate the precious life growing in my belly. I've tried hard to be sensitive on social media, remembering the life of my first while honoring the life of my second. And it's been a constant battle within me to try not to feel like others may think I'm seeking attention for my grief.
I know that many people don't like to share the hard stuff online. It's personal. And it's vulnerable to share those things, or some may even think inappropriate. But something I've come to learn about myself is that I can't help but be honest about who I really am. I'm a broken beat up mess most of the time. I don't want it to look like my life is put together, because it's not. Sometimes I have terrible fights with my husband. Sometimes (or, let's be real, probably most times) I am selfish and self centered and want what is most convenient and comfortable for me. I'm a brat on Valentine's Day. Not the kind that expects presents, but the kind that scoffs at those that do.
I say all this, not to take pity on myself or beat myself down, but to be real. I cannot accept my strengths without knowing that I have flaws. Big gaping flaws. But here's the deal... I think that is the joy of life. Suffering and sharing our suffering, then coming together to support each other in those moments. My grief is not for me alone. I know that others are out there saying, "Yeah, me too. I'm suffering and there is no one that could possibly understand this pain."
That's why I share my story and am honest with my grief, even during this time of celebration. Because there may only be one person out there who is going through something similar, and if sharing my story helps in any way, then that is more than worth it to be vulnerable with perfect strangers on the internet.
My point is, me and my life are not perfect, and that is what makes my life so beautiful.
