Little Loves Lost

Life hit me right in the gut last week. This week. Whatever week it is.

I've been feeling pretty good lately, which is nice because not so long ago, I was suffering from a pretty yucky depression. On top of feeling overwhelmed and anxious, I felt insane amounts of guilt for the suffering I had brought into the lives of the people I love the most. Someday I'd like to open up more about the subject of depression, simply because it's a reality for me at this point in my life. And also because I believe that mental health isn't treated as seriously as it should be. I certainly never truly understood depression, not until it affected me directly.

Now it's a subject I talk about openly whenever I happen upon the opportunity. Not because I like being the weird person at the party, but because the more it is discussed the more I would hope others around me might feel more comfortable to discuss their own experiences, their own feelings.

Talking about it is important.

But I actually have another thing to talk about right now, something I just need to put out there. It's ok if you're not comfortable reading about it, some people just don't think it's something that needs to be said. I'm not one of those people. My heart heals through open, honest communication. My hurts fade away as the words pour out. Not your thing? It's all good. Not everyone likes everything and I love it. Come back later for something less heavy and more snarky. I like snark. It's not here now, but it's coming another day. Trust me.

Anyway, I need to share with you about Miscarriage.

It feels weird just putting that out there. But I've tried to write it a few different ways and every single way feels weird. So let's just move on. It's a tough thing to open up about, sometimes. Much like depression, this isn't often treated with the care and attention it truly should receive. And as much as I would like to just move on and pretend this doesn't affect me, as much as I would love to fill up a page with something funny or inspiring, I just can't.

So here's the thing. This week...last week...sometime in the last few days...I felt pregnant. Even though I had been sure to be very careful about taking my birth control pill, for some reason I just knew it. I had headaches, I had exhaustion, I had weird cramping. So, I gathered up some change and I sneaked a box of pregnancy tests into my quick trip to pick up some medications at Walgreens. 

(( I say sneaked because if I had these suspicions and it came up negative, it wouldn't have been the first time. I have been guilty of purchasing ridiculous amounts of pregnancy tests throughout my nearly 8 years of marriage. Maybe that's you, too? Anyway, EITHER WAY, my husband wouldn't have been too thrilled with my wasting money yet ANOTHER test...even if it was no-name brand...)

Anyway...

I took a test. And one line showed up. So I stared at it. I waited. I stared some more. I set it on the counter, played Candy Crush for a minute or two. And I looked again. And there, in JUST the right light, was the tiniest, faintest SECOND pink line.

I nearly choked on the shock as I gulped for air. WHAT IS HAPPENING. I mean, I have three kids right now. We literally lost everything but our love and memories when my husband lost his job two years ago. We foreclosed on our home, we're signing paperwork for bankruptcy like...yesterday. Our third, my Baby, was a hurried miscalculation. We were trying to squeeze in our last little love before my insurance ran out. Joke was on us, as I had missed it anyway. But...ALL OF THIS AND MORE in another post, for another day. So many stories, so much mess. 

Anyway, again...we have three kids. My Baby is 16 months old. My Girl is almost 3. My Boy is almost 6. I'm starting a new online shop as well as laying the groundwork for a website connected to yet another project. My husband works every minute of overtime he can manage. I'm super passionate about the work I'm committed to in my church. I spend much of my time cleaning up messes and folding laundry and wiping tiny butts and stretching a tiny bit of groceries as far as it can possibly go for as long as I possibly can.

BUT, it was a faint line. So I told myself I shouldn't freak out. I told myself I needed to chill.

And that night, I took another test.

And I sent a picture of the test to my sister.

And she got excited.

I was pregnant. And I knew it. And she knew it.

The next morning, I found an excuse to take a trip to Walgreens...again. I purchased another package of tests. Positive. Pregnant. It was real. Baby was real. Our Baby was real and by my calculations, the due date was somewhere around Mother's Day. So, as I heard the garage door going up and my husband pulling into the driveway, I scrambled a quick last-minute announcement onto our calendar (which was still dated to June 2016). When he came in, I asked him to add his schedule to the calendar so I could plan out dinner.

Aren't I clever?

He was somewhat surprised but mostly terrified. He mentioned seeking a buyer in search of a spare kidney. I was nervous, anxious and trying not to worry about something I no control over. Then I told him he has to take some permanent action because this would be our second conception while on birth control, the first while I had an IUD which resulted in a tubal pregnancy - our third miscarriage.

That night, we talked about our future and what we would do. 

We decided it would be smart to begin looking for a less expensive place to rent, somewhere closer to my parents and my sister. It had to be done, and my plans for school next year would have to be postponed. That was that. Baby was coming and I felt like it was a girl. (I've been right on, every time.) I decided right then and there that she would be named Suzanna. 

The next day, I took another test and saw another positive. I felt sure that this was real. I felt the glow, I felt the love, I felt the peace that comes with the news of a tiny, growing life. I felt ready to share with a few more people, close friends who had shared their own moments with me.

I agonized over sharing with two different friends, both struggling with losses of their own. Both incredible Mothers who I want so badly to see them blessed with miracle babies of their own.

I awkwardly stumbled over my words and tried my best to carefully break the news. I hushed another friend as she told me she hoped I would find out I was carrying twins. Another friend had encouraged me to try a digital test, when I was still hovering over those first faint lines, gasping for air. At some point I found myself with one digital test and one more test with those fickle little lines.

I took the test with the lines and watched as the second line appeared, still faint but definitely pink.

I moved on. Still chatting here and there with different pals as they updated me on their lives via scattered texts while I worked on sketches of inventory for the Holiday Season. 

And then, it happened.

I don't know how else to explain it, other than that I felt a sadness fill my entire body. And I felt a familiar cramping. And then there was the brownish discharge.

I got up and rushed to the bathroom. A tiny bit of brown discharge is fairly normal. I couldn't help myself and I quickly pulled out the digital test. I waited for the results as I put on a pad and sat on the edge of the tub. A wave of nausea drew out the tears as the word appeared...

There it was.

The word that confirmed what I had felt, what I had known for a few days.

Suddenly, I felt like I could vomit. I closed my eyes as cramping grew stronger. And this is where it all ended. Right here. This is where I knew that my Baby was gone, that the glow would fade, the chatter would disappear. 

I followed up the texts to my few friends, breaking the news of a new Baby, with the news that my Baby was gone. That I had miscarried.

I felt like a fool.

I felt...empty.

Three days of life, three days of a little being, three days as a Mother of four. It changed me, it affected me. It brought me to new highs and familiar lows. This little Baby, this little life, was real. They were real to me, real to my husband, real in my world. I may never see their little face or feel their little kicks, but I know they were there and that's what I will cherish, long after today is done...

Sometimes things happen. Sometimes we don't understand. Sometimes we want to have a little sit down with God and ask Him, "What the heck, man?". Sometimes we sit on a toilet, staring at pregnancy tests for twenty minutes. Sometimes we carry them around with us throughout the day, checking to see if the line is still there. Sometimes we tuck those tests away, where nobody will see them, because that's the only thing that we have from our little one's little life.

And sometimes we just need to hear that it's ok.

That we aren't alone.

That this loss is real and it's ok to feel every emotion and to heal however you need to heal.

Thank you for letting me open up. Thank you for reading. Thank you for staying.

I'll be back, there's so much more to talk about. So much mess to sort through. I hope you'll be around. Until then...

Happy Sunday, Friends.

Cheers - Allison

Good.

I know I'm a good Mom.

I know that I have good kids. Three good kids, actually.

My Boy is 5, to be 6 in December.

My Girl is 2, turning 3 in November.

My Baby turned 1 in June. He's in 18 month clothes so when people ask, I say he's 18 months.

I have a good Husband. We've been married 7 years, 8 in April. I met him when I was 14. He was my first kiss, first boyfriend. Between that and Marriage was a whole lot of messy, dirty, painful, beautiful life. I'll probably write about it sometime, when I feel like it.

You can't force those kinds of moments, those writing moments. When something heavy 

needs to be shared, you'll know when the time is right. And this is not that time.

I have a good dog. She isn't very smart and she barks at things as she runs to hide from the things, but she loves us. So we love her.

I also have a good cat. He plays sometimes, cuddles sometimes, runs around outside but always comes back to sleep at the end of our bed at night. He also doesn't bother with a litter box. He meows when he wants out and he does his business somewhere in the neighborhood. I haven't cared enough to investigate and I'm not sure that I ever will.

I have a good life.

But I have a secret.

I spend a lot of this good life thinking that it's a BAD one.

And for the life of me, I just can't understand why. This morning I sat on the floor of my living room, watching my Baby wander over to me with a big smile and settle into my lap, happy to just snuggle. And as I rested my nose on his head and smelled that sweet baby smell, I asked myself...

If my life is so GOOD then why do I feel like it's so BAD?

Why do I spend so much of this good life feeling guilty? Why do I spend so much this life filled with good people and good moments, drowning in shame? Questioning my purpose? Second-guessing my decisions? Resenting my younger self? 

Why do I spend so much of this good life feeling like it's a BAD one?

Why do I so often find myself staring at my reflection, picking through my flaws, calling myself a BAD Mom? A BAD wife? A BAD friend?

Yeah, that's right. I do that, sometimes. I feel guilty a lot. I feel ashamed of my behavior when I'm angry, when I'm overwhelmed. I spend a lot of time evaluating my choices, trying to see what I could or SHOULD be doing better. I often refer to myself as a BAD something or other.

Am I the only one? Are you with me? Are you the one who was appalled by my grammar in my first post and came back just to see what else I could possibly bother you with? You're here, aren't you...

Sometimes we all see ourselves for the imperfect people we are.

Sometimes we compare ourselves to impossibly perfect standards.

Sometimes we think we are BAD...

...Mothers, Friends, Employees, Daughters, Sisters, Prayers, Sayers, Thinkers, Doers. Writers, Teachers, Sleepers, Aunts, Girlfriends...

You name it. We are BAD at it.

Except that we aren't. For the most part, anyway. I mean, I have to admit that I am actually not very good at praying. You should know now that I believe in God. I believe God is LOVE. I believe that LOVE is all encompassing, ever forgiving, ever present. And I believe prayer can be powerful. And still, I'm not very good at it...mainly because prayer can be boring. (WHATDIDSHEJUSTSAY?)

Hey, I'm just being honest. It's the truth. Prayer can be boring for me. I'm working on it.

For real, though, Friends. Even the friends who aren't Moms. Women in general, because at the end of the day, I'm more than a Mom. Once upon a time I was standing on the toilet in platform, white tennies and glossy pink lips with a side of crimpy hair, trying to snap a few photos to fill up the film so I could finally get my pictures developed...

I mean, what I mean is, somewhere in here, in this Mom Bod, is that carefree girl who just wanted to be liked. Part of me is still that newlywed who just wants to get drunk at a baseball game with my cute, new husband. A little piece of my heart is still riding the waves of the warm Atlantic ocean off the coast of South Carolina, peacefully floating alongside my best friend, each of us cursing the sharks in our drunken stupor. There's a part of me that still feels like the 18 year old college student, standing graveside, burying a piece of my heart, laying to rest an entire lifetime of hopes, dreams and love with one of the best people I've ever known.

Somewhere in here is the girl in a hot pink mini dress, a headband with fuzzy black ears, wobbling around in painful black stilettos, pretending to pass herself off as a cat for a Halloween party. A tiny part of me remembers how it feels to be the girl who found herself drinking flaming shots of sake and hoping nobody really knew that she hadn't ever drank before, that she planned on returning those stilettos come Monday. A part of me will always feel a little nauseous when I remember how much that girl desperately wanted to be anywhere but there, wearing pajamas on a porch swing with the guy she liked, looking at the stars and talking about their futures.

A big part of me will always long for the first moments spent in a hospital bed, covered in blood and guts and completely, overwhelmingly in love with every little detail of a screaming little slimy newborn squirming on my belly.

I will forever feel a big chunk of my heart burn as I remember the woman I was, clutching my toddler on the rocky shoreline of the Willoughby Bay, watching the USS Enterprise disappear into the horizon, carrying my Husband across the Atlantic for a 9 month deployment.

Are you still here? Still with me?

Good. Because here's where I get to my point.

When I stand in front of the mirror and point out all of the BAD that I see, labeling my flaws and shaming myself for the BAD person I've become...

When you look at yourself and you look at all of the mistakes you've made, the standards you've never met, the weight you've never been, the eye color you'll never have or the hairstyle you'll never pull off...

When we try to cram our imperfect selves into perfect little boxes, everything feels bad.

And we really have to stop.

I won't ever be anything but good and that isn't BAD at all.

Be a good Mom. Be a good Woman. Be a good Person. Because being your best version is good. And we all need your version of good in order for our world to be complete.

You deserve to feel good, because you are GOOD.

Happy Monday, Friends.

Cheers - Allison.

The Right Thing.

I've heard that if you want to be a good writer, you write about what you know.

Anyone who knows me knows that I like to write.

If you don't know me, you should know that I like to write.

And I've written a lot of things, but none of these things have been successful. Mainly because I'm a perfectionist. If you know me, you already know that. You also probably already know that BEFORE this blog post, I would have spent a good twenty minutes researching the correct way of writing "essays" before publishing or even continuing to write.

Sometimes I get distracted, sometimes I over think things. Sometimes this is how things go...

Type, type, type...

Type, type, type...

(Thinking to myself) - "Wait...should "essays" be in quotations? Should it be the one quotation thing? Or two? Or should it be slanted? Or maybe just a comma or maybe not a comma...maybe that dash thing, the hyphen? Shoot, I need to learn grammar. I can't get anyone to actually care about what I write unless I write it the right way. Now I've used up all of my writing time learning about whether I should use the two line things or the dash thing and I don't think I've actually learned anything at all.

Maybe I can write tomorrow, if I find the time and figure out what to write about. What do I even know?"

Shut off computer. Trim my nails because the tapping noise when I type is too distracting. Go to bed wondering what I could possibly know enough to write about consistently. Fall asleep playing Candy Crush.

***

Can you relate? Is it just me? Did 10 years of absolutely no education affect anyone else? Are you appalled that I'm not even sure whether a hyphen and a dash aren't the same thing?

Eh, I don't think you are. I don't think that you're all that concerned with the details. You're just happy that you're not the only one who is annoyed by people who write "your" instead of "you're" but you can't always remember the technical term of the little line things you're supposed to use.

And that, my friends, is why I like you. Because you appreciate the right way of doing things and you try your best to stick by the right things, but sometimes the details just don't matter. Until they do, and then you're all over it. Right?

So thank you, pal. Thanks for showing up, thanks for sticking it out. Because what's going on here is the right thing. But just not really.

And if you're cool with that, then I'm cool with you. And if you're not cool with that, try not to waste too much energy trying to coax me onto the path of the "way to do it right, but better". I've tried really, super hard to stay on that path. Honest.

But I suck at it.

So I'm just gonna chill here,  - writing about what I know. Doing the right thing in the realest way that I can.


Happy Sunday, Friends.

Cheers - Allison