A new year, new dreams, new possibilities, new life.
I write this sitting on my couch listening to Friends drone on the T.V. for the fourth hour straight as I heal from the worst burnout I’ve experienced yet.
I write this remembering the cold January snow hitting my cheeks, free of their summer freckles. I remember the frosted windows and the warmth inside my womb I imagined how 2021 would unfold.
When 2021 began, we planned a trip to our donor and planned what days to take the ovulation inducing medication. We planned what their name would be, what kind of parents we’d dreamt of being. Soccer Mom? No. PTA Mom? Hard pass. Mom who’d teach her kid to follow their own path in a world of too much the same? Yes. So much yes.
A few days after insemination, I had an interview for a job that I was sure I was PERFECT for. Leading a team. Analyzing their strengths, weaknesses and helping them grow. Analyzing stats, behaviors and inspiring the team to reach their full potential, together.
I completed each interview while waiting to know if our insemination had worked. If life was, in fact, brewing in my belly.
I remember thinking to myself “after 2020, I just need one good thing. Job, or baby. I don’t need both, and if I had to pick it would be baby. But, damn, if I can’t have the baby please “God”, give me the job.”
But, “God” laughed. “God” slapped my wrists and I cried when I learned that I didn’t get the job. Not knowing, I’d be given the baby, only to have them taken away.
Days later, we discovered that we were pregnant. And, suddenly, the job meant nothing. I was so happy to be carrying life. And instantly began imagining what that life would look like. How our lives would change and for the first time in a year, I felt hopeful.
Anyone who’s been following the blog, knows we lost our baby to miscarriage. We named them Mars. And Mars is a huge part of my heart now.
After the miscarriage, I hit a bottom I had only dreamed existed. The bottom that only exists after loss. The bottom that surfaces at the worst of times. Sending you into full blown panic at the dinner table, in the car, on a walk. The bottom that welcomes you to the bathroom floor to shake, to cry, to try to breathe.
But, I picked myself up. With the help of friends, family and my partner, who’s been my lighthouse during this loss.
3 months after the miscarriage, I was back at work, I was working on a side hustle and I felt on top of the world. I felt like no one could touch me, I had finally healed and no one could take that away.
Until, I began waking up in cold sweats, with pure panic. Fight or Flight – constantly. This is when I truly understood that healing, and grief, are not linear. My grief was demanding to be felt, and who was I to tell it no?
I could drink.
I could stay busy 24/7.
I could deny.
I could pretend I was over it.
But, when I woke in the morning with sleepy eyes, my grief began climbing into bed with me, and held me there in a state of pure terror.
So? What do you do when rock bottom starts hitting back? You fucking listen.
Listen to what the grief is telling you. Listen to the way your body responds to the life you’re living. Listen to the little voice in your head that says “you need more time to heal.” Listen to your therapist when they tell you something has to change. Listen to your inner instincts telling you to slow down.
To feel the pain,
To stop drinking it away.
To stop acting like I’m not still destroyed.
Because in destruction, comes a chance to rebuild.
So… Rock bottom, I’ll see you on the bathroom floor soon, I’m sure. And…