sharing is caring

"While all women experience physical changes in their bodies after a pregnancy ends affecting her mood, a woman who has lost a baby through miscarriage faces another risk factor for serious postpartum depression. Not only must a woman endure the physical and psychological stresses that occur due to hormone changes, but they do so without any of the rewards that come with bringing their baby home. She is trying to cope with not only her postpartum changes, but with the loss of their baby as well."

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The last two nights, I've gone to bed as soon as Babydaddy has gotten home. Then, tonight I thought I could do better but completely broke down during supper. With all three kids looking on, unquenchable sobs billowed out. I had to leave the room. They were already alarmed, and I couldn't make it stop. I didn't want them to see me cry that way...for that long.

My husband had just gotten home from work, so I let it all out. Tonight letting it out was a bit more than irritability or fatigue. Everything built up to the point that I thought I would burst. I realized I wanted to burst, because I was dealing with postpartum depression. The following thought came to my mind before I could stop it: this isn't so hard with a baby to hold. And that's when I fell apart.

It's been hard from the start to allow myself to be sad. I don't know why. It sounds ridiculous. And it was hard to let myself begin writing about it. But I opened the gates....at the same time my body began reeling from a hormone earthquake.

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I've always felt sympathetic toward friends who have lost their babies early in pregnancy. So, why would I expect to feel 100%-back-to-normal hardly one month after my own miscarriage?

Well....why would I have also expected I would be able to bounce back, having no lag immediately after having each of our three kids?

Why do I stake myself to such impossible standards?

Why am I so afraid of falling short of.....perfect?

~~~

Two days later I have not managed to pull myself up by my bootstraps. I've tried so hard, which made the fall all the more disappointing. But fall I did. And fall I will. (Yoda I am not.) Realizing that this cloud would not dissipate at my demand, I was talking over the game plan with my husband. Our game plans tend to boil down to the question at the root of it all. Obviously, this question and its answer will not and, medically, cannot cure me or anyone of depression. But asking the question usually lends a very helpful piece of self-reflective information.

This is what we came to: I expect myself to have it all together, because it seems that everyone else has it all together. And that's the nature of the beast. We don't broadcast our emotional breakdowns; we don't "facebook" financial failure; rarely do we converse about the deep, dark struggles of life.

~~~

So. I'm here. I'm sharing my struggle. I'll talk about the darkness and the sadness as well as the yummy meals and happy days. And I won't cower with fear. Love casts out all fear, and I am loved. I am loved by fickle humans who I fickly love with all my heart. But most importantly, I'm loved by my Father. And no matter how disconnected I feel in my loss, He sees my tears. He hears my weeping, and knows the silent ache of my heart. I believe He does. Even if I don't feel it.