How One Blogger’s Post Made Me Realize I Was Lying to Myself and Everyone Else

Does it ever take reading (or hearing) what someone else is going through to trigger in you that you may be suffering too? Does that make any sense? I’ve never been the most self-aware person. It took me years to realize that I was actually out of shape (college and post) and finally do something about it. I often live in a funk for days or weeks without truly being able to pinpoint it. I know I’m sad, mad or irritable but don’t address it out of exhaustion, fear, indifference, busyness… And I usually don’t realize it’s cumulative or how long it’s actually gone on for. Suddenly, months have gone by. I’m able to put on a happy face for family, enjoy an outing with my daughter or a night out with friends; I can experience and feel joy (this holiday season was full of highlights) and I’m truly excited about the future, which is why this is all so confusing, because I’m not this bedridden, anti-functioning shell. But, eventually, whether it be hours or days, the heaviness resumes.

This morning my mom sent me this. I couldn’t read it fast enough, hanging on every word, tuning out everything in my path (daughter, husband, cartoons, clutter). I sat with it for awhile, in a bit of a fog, not really making the connection but not being able to shake it either. Then, Zach questioned what was wrong and, when I tried to articulate it, simultaneously figuring it out for myself, I broke down.

While the circumstances are vastly different (I don’t have a newborn or a night nurse, didn’t drop my baby on its head, although Lilly did fall off the bed at around four or five months, on my watch, and it was traumatizing so I feel for Eva.), I can relate to the feeling of chronic, pervasive and paralyzing anxiety, hanging on by a thread, feeling overwhelmed and being an emotional mess.

Six months ago, I miscarried. The next six weeks or so, I went through all of the emotions, finally felt well again and moved on. Since then, I’ve become pregnant again. And, while this has tremendously helped in the healing and feeling hopeful process, it’s also brought on an overwhelming amount of new feelings. I realize now I haven’t truly breathed since July when I lost the baby. I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, unintentionally putting myself and my family on-hold till when I deliver in June, playing out scenarios of what-if’s and how they will affect our family, my future and being so overly-cautious that I’m not really living life.

I’ve been trying so hard, too hard these last few months to hold it all together. In an attempt to get back to normal, seem normal, act normal, be normal, I’ve been anything but. And the charade is exhausting. (To be fair, I’d been violently vomiting round the clock with “morning” sickness for months so that and hormones are absolutely influencing my outlook.) I allowed myself to fully access my feelings the first month or two after miscarrying. I stayed in bed, sobbed, wallowed, was angry… I thought I experienced all the stages of grief and when I felt “healed”, I made myself move on.

But the thing is, grief doesn’t work like that. You don’t do the work, pass the course and get a certificate. There’s no completion. It stays with you, always. And when you’re least expecting it or want it to show, it does. Like an unwelcome, annoying neighbor, never convenient, always taxing.

And while I know that, I’m too inpatient for it. I have things to do, joy to feel, I’ve already dealt with it, now go away. My to-do list is full enough as is, there’s no room for emotions. I think this is often the sentiment for overachieving, multi-taskers (a.k.a. moms) like myself.

And then there’s the guilt. When I actually do address it, speak up, take some time to work on me, I feel overindulgent (get over it already!), bad for not spending time with my friends or tending to my family, like I’m missing work opportunities and chances to grow my business.

The more overwhelmed, sad, stuck I am, the more I let my life go. The apartment becomes a mess, I let work slide, don’t take care of myself and then, of course, I feel worse about everything. It’s a vicious, insidious cycle. And it takes a full breakdown to finally admit how I’m feeling and climb out of the catatonic state I’ve been in. (It never ceases to amaze me how exhausting emotions are.)

But, little by little, each annoying and painful move I make (showering, picking up the apartment, getting outside for some fresh air, facing my to-do list, writing down instead of avoiding my feelings, making a phone call to a friend I’ve been putting off, finally opening up to my husband and admitting the extent to what’s going on…) gets me one step closer to being the lighter, happier, healthier person I strive to be. And, the truth is, all of those things: a clean house, checked off list, work accomplishments, family and friend time make me feel better about myself. The sooner I do them, the better I feel. So why do I push them off for so long, avoid them at all costs? How many times will it take for me to realize this, just do the work and maintain my life on a consistent basis?

As much as I’d like to, sometimes we can’t just move on and get over it as quickly as we desire. The driven, results-oriented person within me wants to do that; there’s too much I want to accomplish to be weighed down by the past. But we can’t control everything in life, including our emotions. Sometimes we have to address them over and over before we can begin again.

Today, I do that. Who’s with me?