It's ok to know what you need (and what you need to avoid).

This past weekend was the second Edel Gathering. It looked fun and lovely and inspiring. This year was the second year I didn't go. Both years I could have gone. We could have made it work financially. My husband was very supportive of me having a weekend away. I wanted to go. There were so many ladies I wanted to see (and meet) that would be there. I'm sure I would have had a great time. But for two years in a row, the timing would have made it too painful.

Last year, I knew several women who were going and bringing along their couple month old babies. Our Francis would have been a few months old. I also knew several ladies who would be seven months pregnant. I would have been seven months pregnant with Julian. The miscarriages were still so raw then and it seemed like the reminders would have been too plentiful for me to have enjoyed myself.

I had planned to go to Edel this year, up until a week before the tickets were released. I got a positive pregnancy test and with the due date being next week, it was quite impossible to attend the conference ten days before a baby was set to arrive. And then I miscarried and I could go, but once again, it seemed like going would be too painful knowing that the only reason I was there was because my baby died. Due dates are pretty dark times for me and having two less than a month apart has cast a long shadow over this June and July. It's possible that going to Edel could have been exactly what I needed to lift me out of this funk, but it's just as possible that I would have been emotionally miserable the whole time. It wasn't worth it to spend so much money and make arrangements for childcare without knowing which way it would pan out.

I'm 100% sure I made the right decision. I used to try to force myself to events or else feel guilty for letting my losses "get the best of me" and dictate what I do. But now I'm pretty confident in my decisions. While I can force myself to go to events, I can't force myself to enjoy them and there is no triumph in going to an event only to be miserable the whole time. And staying home does not mean that I've let my losses rule my life, it means that I'm wise enough to know what I need (or what I need to avoid) in the healing process and that I've given myself the permission and grace to heal.

Now, when it comes to the events of others - a baby shower, meeting a new friend's baby, a get together where I suspect a pregnancy announcement will be made (and I'm right 99% of the time), the birthday party of a child who would be about the age of one of my lost littles, etc. - I do force myself to go. I completely support others who decide to stay home from similar events, but I know my weaknesses and the truth is that I can all too easily get tied up in my own pain and self pity if I let myself focus only on me. It's important to me that I force myself to take part in the joy of others and that I do not allow myself excuses to let my personal sorrow overshadow others' celebrations. I will not let the death of my children prevent me from celebrating the gifts of life around me, even if my celebration isn't always heartfelt.

I've found that the only way it gets easier is to go through these events anyway, kind of the whole "fake it 'til you make it" thing. Eventually they get easier, after so many times of going to celebrations for a particular child (and crying at home afterwards), it's no longer painful to be around her - she'll still remind me of the child I lost with a similar due date, but the feelings of intense grief don't show up every time I see her little face.

So I do always go to others' events in order to force me outside of myself, but when it comes to events for me like Edel, or going to moms' groups or play dates or girl's night out, etc., I no longer worry about what I "should" be doing. I listen to what I need and then a unapologetically allow myself to do just that. My miscarriages are a part of my life, now and forever. I can pretend they never happened and force myself to live as if they hadn't, but it's much more beneficial to acknowledge them and find a way to incorporate them into my life. Sometimes that means staying home, missing out, saying "no". And that's ok.

This is what I imagine Edel was like. 

It's not jealousy.

This post originally appeared on my now defunct blog on February 20, 2014, while I was waiting to for my second miscarriage to begin.  After two more miscarriages, I've been thinking a lot about my relationship with friends and family who are pregnant or have babies.  It's hard.  So hard.  I hate that I cry when I hear pregnancy announcements or simply a mention of pregnancy or babies.  I hate that I can't put my feelings aside and feel only joy for the expectant parents.  I struggle to hate only these feelings and not myself for having them, so this post was good for me to reread. The thoughts and feelings I put in this post are still as true after my fourth miscarriage as they were after my first.  

Before I got pregnant with Lucia, seeing pregnancy announcements or bump photos or babies was hard.  That was jealousy.  I wanted to have a baby and begrudged those who either were in the position to have a baby (married, out of school, stable job, whatever) when I wasn't or those who had babies even though their positions were less than desirable.  In fact, I can't say that I could even feel happy for those who were having babies while I was not.  All I could see was myself - my desires, my fears, my anger, my hurt, my jealousy.  I wanted what they had and if I couldn't have it, I didn't want them to have it either.  I don't feel good about admitting that.  Those feelings came from a less than charitable place.  That jealousy was sinful and soul-eating. 

After my miscarriages, it's often very, very hard to see pregnancy announcements or bump photos or babies.  But it's not jealousy.  In fact, my feelings have very little, if nothing, to do with the women who are making those announcements or in those pictures or holding those babies.  For them, I feel happiness.  I feel joy at the beauty of new life.  Having Lucia, I know the immense blessings of motherhood and I am so happy that other women get to experience it.  I truly wish motherhood was available to all who desired it; infertility breaks my heart and I cannot begin to imagine the pain carried by the women who suffer from it. 

The reason these things cause me pain is not because of jealousy.  No, I do not begrudge other women their babies.  And I don't want their babies for myself.  I want my babies.  The ones I lost.  The unique human beings that I carried in my womb.  They have their own souls, their own personalities.  Their own DNA.  They cannot be exchanged for another's child.  Those announcements and pictures and sweet little babies simply remind me of what I lost.  What I can never have.  Even if I get pregnant again and the child makes it to birth and I get to hold that baby in my arms and I get to hug and kiss and raise it, that baby will not replace the ones I've lost.  

And I imagine if the day does come when I get to birth another baby, that too will cause me pain.  That too will be a reminder of the moments that I'll never have with two of my children.  And it doesn't mean I'll love that child less or that that child herself will be the cause of my pain.  Again, the feeling will have little to do with her.  For her, I will feel joy and love and the million other complex emotions that come with motherhood.  But it will still be a reminder of what once was and what could have been.  

One of the most important things I've done for myself in this healing process has been to acknowledge that these feelings are not bad.  Unlike the jealousy I felt years ago, these feelings don't come from sin.  These feelings come from grief, loss, pain.  They are not cruel or angry or hurtful.  They simply are.  I know not all women who've had miscarriages struggle with pregnancy announcements or visiting new babies.  We all grieve in our own unique ways.  But I do struggle.  And that's ok.

Not all pregnancy announcements bother me, nor do all newborns.  I've had several friends announce pregnancies or have babies since my miscarriage in October and I was unaffected by the news.  The most difficult reminders have been the ones that are the most obvious reminders - those who have due dates similar to mine.  Watching their bellies grow throughout pregnancy is kind of like watching the ghost of my pregnancy.  What would have been.  What will never be.  I imagine as we near my due date and those babies are born, it will become even harder.  I often wonder if I'll see those children five, ten, fifteen years down the road and still feel sadness, still imagine what would have been, still try to imagine how my child would have been similar or different.  Only time will tell.

In addition to acknowledging that these feelings are ok, I've also allowed myself to block the reminders that have caused me pain, at least for a time.  I've unfollowed the blogs of women who are due within a month of my due date and hidden friends from my Facebook newsfeed for the same reason.  I've left groups where pregnancy talk was too difficult to bear.  At times, I've left Facebook and stopped reading blogs altogether for a period.  At first, I felt that I was allowing myself to be weak.  Or letting my weakness rule me.  Now I'm starting to realize that we need to honor our feelings and protect ourselves.  Maybe it is weak to not be able to see cute bump photos.  Weak or not, right now, that's what I need.  I know it won't be forever.  

I'm coming up on a difficult time - one of the pains of miscarrying so early in a pregnancy is that as a general rule, people don't announce pregnancies that early.  So in a few weeks, I'll start seeing announcements that correspond to my due date.  And not long after that, the due date of my first miscarriage will be here.  And if it ends up being too much, I'm not going to force myself to be strong.  I'm going to turn off my computer and let myself cry.



Right now, I'm facing my first close friend/family member with a due date close to mine and the feeling are even more raw and the pregnancy impossible to ignore (and I don't want to ignore it anyway). I can't just turn off my computer anymore. The pregnancy is right in front of me as will be the baby. I'm struggling to not let the sadness of our loss overwhelm the joy I feel for our new little family member. 

On top of that, with the number of losses mounting, it seems like there is a difficult date around every corner. February - first anniversary of our second miscarriage; May - first anniversary of our first miscarried child's due date (when our Francis would be turning one!); June - due date of our third miscarried child, Adrienne; July - due date of our fourth miscarried child, Christian; September - first anniversary of our second miscarried child's due date (when Julian would be turning one). There are other dates in there too - dates we conceived and when we got positive pregnancy tests and, for two of our babies, the days we found out they were no longer alive in an ultrasound. Those dates are imprinted in my mind, but for now, I'm trying to only remember miscarriage and due dates. It's too much of a burden when I'm trying so very, very hard to focus on the future in a positive way and stop longing for the What Might Have Beens.