Breaking the Silence

Recently I sat around a table surrounding a group of women and the subject of infertility and miscarriage was raised. Days prior, I walked into an unwelcomed conversation regarding my own struggle with infertility and my most recent loss.  Both of these experiences triggered very different emotions. While listening to another woman openly share her experiences with infertility and miscarriage, the room suddenly fell into a deafening silence. I felt uncomfortable. But not because of the content of the conversation; I was uncomfortable with the silence that took over the room and with how the woman with the open heart who took a risk must have felt. Here's the thing about this. You either talk about it, or you don't. Whether you are fighting or are a survivor of the infertility battle, suffering from the excruciating pain of miscarriage or other loss, the listening ear or the silent one, you are on one side of the fence or the other. I am not typically the silent griever but when I was approached by a woman only known as an acquaintance days prior, silence filled the room. Suddenly my open heart closed up to the unsolicited comments and advice coming from the woman who believed that she was serving virtuous counsel to her receiver. 

I walked away from both conversations which took place just days apart with a heavy heart. I am, and always have been dismayed at the two very differing perspectives that surround these heavy topics. But I learned something. In a world full of unique, we cannot all possibly share the same idea on the journeys of life and how we are supposed to approach them; infertility and miscarriage included. But for those of you who are like me; who openly, and even silently, grieve your losses and battle with the unpredictable journey of infertility: I get you.  And maybe that's all we need to hear someone say. I offer you my story today because I understand your journey.  I have been a pilot on this same voyage and to be completely honest, it is quite unstable. The particulars and the conditions of my story may differ but I have felt your pain.

Five years stand between two of the biggest losses that I have ever endured in my 29 years of life. My second pregnancy was unexpected and my third I fought like hell for. I was as equally elated for the two miracles that I had been blessed with, even under such differing circumstances. After 17 weeks into my second pregnancy, however, another unexpected twist of fate surpassed my elation and I gave birth to a sleeping baby boy. I remember being wheeled to the operating room just hours after a difficult labor to have a procedure done.  Tears streamed down my face as I processed what had actually happened and what was about to occur in the room next door. To this day, I remember the demoralizing words that were uttered from the attending nurse just before going under. Oh, hunny, don't be scared. You're just crying from all of the hormones.  From that day forward I grieved my loss in silence. I was afraid to talk about the tiny little human being that grew inside of me for 17 incredible weeks and then was gone without warning; my son that only in my dreams I would come to know. I assumed that by being silent I was sparing everyone else's feelings. And if I did talk about him, I expected that people thought I was foolish for identifying him as person that deserved to be acknowledged. So, I rarely mentioned his name and pretended as though I was a mom of one. Eventually the dark moments got a little lighter and with time the nightmares faded into pleasant dreams. A genuine smile replaced the tears that had stained my face and I allowed laughter to fill a once dark and quiet room. I tucked my memories away into a drawer and never visited them again.

Life began to unfold the way I dreamed it would when things were hard. I found love again and together we pursued the journey of conception. Only, we soon discovered that it wasn't as easy as we hoped. After two and a half years of routine date nights, one surgery, a misdiagnosis and several different medications, we gave in and found ourselves at an infertility clinic pleading for the chance to have another child. Our despairing desire to have another child came at a cost. Our entire lives were on a fixed schedule and one that, for once, I did not create. We took three hour road trips sometimes twice a week and then attempted to do our jobs as parents and in the work realm with bags under our eyes. My emotions were on a roller coaster ride from all of the hormones I was taking and there were days when a car commercial could bring me to tears. I felt so out of control of something that I should have been able to govern on my own. Meanwhile, friends and family struggled to find the rights things to say. Your time is coming. Don't worry, you'll be next. It will happen when God wants it to happen. You're still so young. At least you have your daughter. I had to remind myself that they didn't understand this journey. To be fair, I don't even think I did.

We were fortunate enough to have met our victory after three long years. It had been the longest three years of my life but we knew there were those who would have traded positions with us any day. We had something incredible to look forward to as a family. Each ultra sound and every listen of our baby's heartbeat was an infinite reminder of how grateful we were. However, we soon discovered that this journey, too, would regrettably end for us sooner than we hoped for. My former nightmare had come right back as preterm labor came creeping in and tore my baby from his safe haven. A pain had washed over me that I had never met before. I was grieving the time that it took to create him, the love that I had, have, for him, and who he should have grown to be. I grieved the empty bedroom we began preparing for his arrival and the never ending medical bills that poured in that we would have been glad to pay had they been a result of the son that we got to bring home. I grieved the empty rounded belly that I looked down at each day and every single time someone else noticed that it was empty.

Weren't you just pregnant? 

No, I lied.

Are you sure? 

Pretty sure.

Really, because I could have sworn you were?

I had no choice but to give in. I gave her the short version and spared her all of the heartbreaking details. I even offered a sympathetic smile to the relentless and unwitting woman sitting in front of me.

Oh. Followed by a blank stare. At least he didn't suffer. At least you don't have to watch him suffer. 

There was a part of me that wanted to tell her how beautiful my son was. That he had his daddy's nose and my round face. I wanted her to know that we didn't want him to suffer - but we would have suffered if that meant we got to bring him home. Instead, I changed the uninvited conversation about why I didn't look pregnant anymore and asked about her plans for the upcoming holiday.

Time seemed to stand still for months after we left the maternity ward. I questioned my body and it's capability to do what women are naturally born to do. I questioned my existence, my faith, and God's plan for me. I was dangling on a thread of hope that my husband and daughter had provided for me in those dark, silent moments, but the dark days were lonely days. People that I felt closest to left me to grieve alone and those that stayed didn't know how to comfort me. The silent ones caused me to question the significance of my grief. And then there was the well-intended listening ear. Everything happens for a reason. You should be grateful that you have your daughter. You're so young, you'll have more. Maybe you're just not meant to have more kids. God has a plan for everyone. I didn't believe that this was all a part of God's great plan for my life; it just happened. And, of course, grateful had taken on new meaning when I looked into the big, beautiful brown eyes of my daughter, but being grateful didn't make my arms feel any fuller or my heart any less tender.

I'm not really quite sure when I did start to pick up the pieces but when I did the once shattered fragments of life that fell to the ground slowly began to come together on their own. I laughed again. I danced in the car and belted out the words to my favorite country song. I talked about him. I talked about both of them. I said their names in the presence of others. My two sons, Brody and Kade. It didn't matter what anyone else thought anymore. I stopped referring to their birth as a result of miscarriage because it shortens their lives and the impact they made on mine. Because no life is too small to leave an impact on the lives of their creators. I stopped allowing the opinions and my assumptions of others opinions to dictate my own feelings, emotions and grievances. I no longer hide behind the silent ones or run from the well-intended listening ear. It has taken me a long time to recognize that the intentions of the acquaintance, friend and family member only come from the bottom of their hearts. And that those who stay silent do not deliberately misunderstand. That the silent grievers deserve the right to choose. To those who left, well, what can I say. I realized that we are not all equipped to manage life the same just as we are not all destined for or deserving of one another.

Today, I acknowledge my sons because the only thing that matters to me is keeping their memory alive while they dance the skies of heaven. Today, I do not hide my pain in attempt to spare the feelings of others. And today, I realize that pain is felt differently by each of its receivers. My wounds are still healing but they will always leave a scar. I have discovered that to heal from these wounds I must acknowledge them. I must feel them, mend them and give them time to heal. And once they become scars I will let them be a constant reminder of who I am because they are a part of me. And when someone notices my scars, or when they are on display for the world to see, I will wear them proudly.

No matter what side of the fence you are reading this from, this is for you. Because I think that we all could use a reminder that every walk of life is treaded differently. Many times, myself along with those that stand beside me are misunderstood. But here I am, breaking the silence. I tell my story in hopes that you will be encouraged and empowered to share your own or to at the very least know that I will accompany you on your journey and assist you in healing your own wounds; because you are not alone.

Love, a mom of three.

Trading Your Burdens for Peace, Joy and Love

Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to help and inspire others that I forget to inspire myself. Sometimes I forget to find joy in life and sometimes I am lazy and feel like wallowing in my own mess.  I am a phony.  I don't always follow my own words of wisdom that I deliberately preach to the world about.  After I wrote my last post I uncovered a painful truth.  I've been lying to myself. Am I grateful?  Yes.  Have I accepted that life will happen?  Absolutely.  I am, without a doubt, a lucky woman.  But these last couple of weeks I haven't actually been considering why I am so lucky. Remember those sunrises I was telling you about?  You know, the ones I would gaze at while sipping my coffee in the morning and suddenly I would feel blessed?  Well, I must confess, I have not observed a sunrise in two weeks.  I haven't had time because my hand meets the the snooze button on the alarm one too many times in the morning and I regretfully settle for a cup of coffee on the way to work as I speed through traffic to get my daughter to school on time.  I have not even attempted to find joy in the smiling faces of my family or by the beautiful piece of art that my daughter had been showing off one day and had worked so hard on just for me.  I have been floating through life just trying to make it to the next day. My thoughts have consumed me.  My dog has been driving me up the wall and the thought of turning on the stove to actually cook a meal for my family sounds absolutely dreadful. I've lost sight of the joy's in my life and I've just been going through the motions. I sensed it as soon as it started but I did nothing to intervene.  And then it hit me last night while I rolled around in bed attempting to resume a comfortable spot on our king size bed.  

I wasn't just fighting for a comfortable spot on our pillow top mattress, I was trying to fight off the millions of thoughts running through my head that were causing me discomfort in my everyday life:

Gotta clean the dinning room chairs off that have suddenly become a drying rack for our wet clothes. The bathroom needs painting.  Actually I just want something different to look at - for the third time in two years. So, Aqua Blue or Blue Igloo? I've got to walk the dog or at least convince my husband to so I can finish writing a paper for my Children's Lit course.  That reminds me, the litter box needs cleaning. We're almost out of milk and my car inspection is due - in July.  It's not even Friday but you better bet I've got my top three dinner choices planned out along with how I am going to get it on the table by 5 pm so we can finish by 5:30 and then make it to soccer practice by 6.  Oh look, squirrel.  

You get this idea.  My mind is a racetrack and in my defense I think my thoughts have a mind of their very own.  I have been trapped inside my own mind.  I know I claimed otherwise, but I didn't even realize that I had been consumed by such a burden until that very moment.  We were shutting everything down and heading for bed by 7 pm.  I'd been skimping on dinner and ordering out or just barely mustering up enough energy to make sandwiches.  My hair hadn't met with the blow dryer in two weeks and my poor husband had been taking on the never ending piles of laundry.  I thought I was just tired.  I thought I was just trying to be more laid back.  Or at least I convinced myself otherwise just to avoid the truth but I wasn't actually any of these things.  I stopped looking at all of the little joyous things that typically had the ability to bring me back to life.

Shame.  Regret.  Guilt.  Sorrow.

All of these begin to consume me.  And then I remember those life changing words from weeks before: Today is the beginning of peace and reconciliation.  Right now, this very moment.  I am letting go of the burden.  I have been paralyzed by my own never ending thoughts, worries and concerns.  Some are senseless and some a real.  Regardless, these thoughts were powerful enough to suck the life out of me.  Joy, passion, peace, focus, connection and love - all missing from my soul.  I didn't expect to write this today  (I should tell you that I've also edited this 7 times since posting yesterday).  But I also didn't realize that I had even been missing parts of me to begin with.  I share my heart with you today because maybe you, too, are feeling lifeless.

I invite you to ask yourself these questions:

What are you missing today?

What does it take for you to feel connected with yourself and the rest of the world?

What does love, joy and peace look like to you? 

I am missing me.  I was missing me and all of my little quirks because I allowed my thoughts to consume me.  To feel connected I need to be surrounded by those that I love most and to be conscious in each and every one of my experiences.  If I am capable of doing so, then I am better able to recognize when I am a little off.

Love is my fur child, Sadie waiting by the living room window for my return home.  Love is the passion I feel for my job when someone thanks me.  Love is in the kitchen preparing a meal for my family that we planned three days prior.  I miss doing that.  Love is eating a dozen Hershey kisses and then getting licked by my seven year old's chocolate covered tongue.

Joy is the game of hide and seek that my human child forces me into when I walk through the door and she is no where to be found.  And then again when she jumps out from behind the fridge, carelessly giving herself away as she anxiously fly's into my arms and declares how much she had missed me for the hour that I was at Walmart. Joy is the little moments spent with my family being silly, because that's who we are and enjoy being.  Joy is in my writing and in the words that I speak to those who listen.  

Peace is at the end of the night when my husband wraps me into his arms, even with a dozen pillows standing in his way, and then effortlessly falls asleep snoring in my ear.  Sounds a little ironic, right? I find peace in this moment because no matter what the day entailed, or what kind of mood I was in, my husband always finds me at the end of the night to remind me that he is still there, loving me every step of the way.

Maybe for you, sunrises and sunsets aren't the answer.  Maybe you don't find joy in being silly and in laughing until tears drown your eyes.  Maybe peace isn't through your husbands loud and abrupt snoring right smack dab next to your ear.  Maybe for you love consists of much more than it does for me.  But whatever it may be, I encourage you to find it.  I encourage you to choose peace, joy and love every single day.  I know that when I do not choose, I am instead unconsciously choosing regret, shame and sorrow.  And I am likely missing out on some of life's greatest moments. From here on out, the reminder is there in plain sight.  I refuse to let the burden of my worries and senseless thoughts suck the life out of me.

It's possible that you are not a relentless thinker like me.  I wish I was more like you.  But I am not. So whether you over analyze next Wednesday's dinner menu, or even tonight's.  If you just remembered you missed a deadline, or have one coming up in six months.  Or if something just rubbed you wrong today and is sucking the life out of you - ask yourself.  Prompt yourself to discover your own inner burdens and replace them with your definition of peace, joy and love.  

They are in the ordinary and if you choose to commit to them today, and everyday, the weight that you may not have even known was there will be lifted.  That is my promise to you.  And who knows, maybe you will inspire someone else to do the same.  

Replacing the Unknown With Perception

"Maybe you're fighting something you don't like today.  Why don't you have a new perspective?  God wouldn't have you there if you didn't need it.  It may not be good, but he knows how to use it for your good." -Joel Osteen

I slept fine the night before my surgery.  I even woke up with a smile on my face the morning of. Probably because I found my daughter lying next to me as soon as I rolled over at the sound of the alarm. Or maybe I don't give myself enough credit and forget that I am generally a very happy person despite these recent curve balls I have been thrown.  Either way, I was ready to face this head on and even more ready to move on.  My husband must have asked me a dozen times if I was OK  on the hour long drive to the hospital where my surgeon would be preparing for my procedure.  "Just fine" I replied almost instantly each time.  It was hard to tell if I was really just fine or if I was just in a fog due to a lack of caffeine.  I was not to eat or drink after midnight and I wasn't sure if I would undertake this instruction pleasantly.  I managed to have conversation with my husband but it was forced through a grumbling stomach and a cotton felt mouth.  Pre-op was scheduled at 8:30 in the morning and the actual surgery was scheduled for noon, but we knew better.  We had a long wait ahead of us.  We attempted to watch a Netflix series through our rather noisy neighbors combination of high pitched cackles and frequent complaints about how long it was taking for the surgeon to come get her.  If you've ever been in an outpatient center you get the idea.  Forget HIPPA and you can certainly forget trying to get any rest.  A nurse came in to change the the placement of my IV and then the surgeon's nurse came in to discuss the procedure.  I lost it.  Through teary eyes I told the story of what brought me to this room to begin with.  I do not typically cry in front of people, especially those that I don't know let alone have never met.  Let me tell you, the fear of the unknown is far more pervasive than fear itself .  I didn't know what to expect here.  I didn't know how my body would react to the anesthesia and I didn't know what the doctor was going to find during this procedure.  I was expecting and preparing for the worst.  How couldn't I.  I've been through hell a handful of times already so it's almost always my subconscious's immediate response when a challenge presents itself. It took some convincing but I managed to collect myself as I gently reminded my fears that I've already been through the worst of it.  I put all of my faith in the surgeon as he looked down at me in the operating room and simply said "I'll see you soon."

And so, it turns out that my body reacts gracefully to anesthesia.  Still a little off, but I'm here. And in even better news, the unknowns are now known.  What was found had no real cause for concern and it's no longer lingering.  We knew this would be the best case scenario. We hoped for this outcome but in no way did we think it was possible considering my history.  God is good.

I am diligently aware that my surgery was a simple one; one that is done almost robotically.  What I was not aware of was the outcome.  And that was enough to put my mind into overdrive.  Today, as I sit here with a much clearer mind, I realize that life is all about unknowns.  We don't plan to miscarry the baby that we had hoped and prayed for.  And we certainly don't plan to have difficulty getting pregnant in the first place.  We don't plan to have surgery because the doctor found an unidentifiable mass on one of our organs.  We unquestionably do not plan for our health to unexpectedly decline or for people that we love to leave us.  We don't plan to have a bad day and we may not plan to overreact about our given circumstances.  What I am trying to say is that life happens.  Bad things happen, every single day.  Finding a healthy way to cope with your given circumstances will be a huge turning point in your life.  For me, initially I have meltdown and I am probably more hard on myself than I deserve.  I look to my husband to tell me that everything is OK; that I am OK.  I don't always believe him at first, but I must say that he doesn't give up on me.  Once I am smacked in the face with reality, I am finally able to put things into perspective.  Here is what I have to offer to you today:

We are going to struggle and challenge will continually present itself throughout our short lives.  We will endure unexpected, or sometimes expected, pain and it will not feel good.  We are going to fall down and we will likely feel like we can't get back up.  But we will.  And the pain won't last very long.  These difficulties are trying to teach us something so look and watch closely as life unfolds. Don't miss an opportunity to grow.  I think that we must remind ourselves that everything that we endure in life, good and bad, is only temporary.  I often forget that when life comes crashing down, the pieces eventually fall back together.  Sometimes I allow myself to wallow in the broken pieces.  I feel so out of control and scattered that I want to crawl out of my own skin.  I forget just like you.  I am my own worst enemy at times, but eventually my own inner strength surprises me. Each new experience in my life provides insight and strength that I never knew existed.  I am learning to embrace the unknown, because life is full of it.  The world is constantly changing and tomorrow's are uncertain.  Time is ticking so why not just live in the now.  Live in the present moments today; the little moments.  We can cross the bridge when we get to it.  So for now, let the unknown provide us with new insight.  

I will tell you that if I had let my fear of the unknown consume me for the entire week before my surgery I may have missed a really great time during our family outing the weekend before and I certainly would have brought everyone else down with me.  Your negativity reflects on others around you, so be cautious of your attitude.  You cannot resist the inevitable; instead you must find the courage to face the inevitable trials that await you.  Our trials are not over.  But our most recent trials have become our triumph.  We can face anything and we are ready to take on our new journey.  I am much stronger today than I was yesterday.  It's amazing what one positive thought can do for the negative mind.  Keep reaching my friends, you too will be rewarded in the end.