Pregnancy and My Depression

   I haven't used this blog in a very long time. It felt like a lifeline when I first started with it. I had so many emotions and feelings that I needed to share, and this seemed like the best place to do it. Life continued on. As the more painful pangs of grief faded, I wrote less. Not to say that the grief doesn't exist anymore--it certainly does. It just comes more in waves and feels more like a "good hurt" instead of like I'm drowning in it.

   I've since had a healthy, full term baby who is now a rambunctious 3 year old boy and am almost 39 weeks pregnant with his sister. I'm involved in my work. I'm a member of a community orchestra. Over the years, I've become a better wife, mom, and teacher. Some might look at all these things and think "Good for her. She went through something bad, and now she's in a good place. That's great." And it's true that God has truly redeemed a very broken, grief-stricken person. He has sustained me and sanctified me through what was probably the worst trial I have ever walked through.

   But there's this thing. This very insidious thing. I've struggled with it my whole life, and though I've never kept it a secret, I've never really been completely honest about it, either. I've had depression for as long as I can remember. Even years before I was diagnosed (at age 13), I remember the feelings of hopelessness, self-hatred, and lack of interest manifesting as young as 8 years old. Many of you know this about me, as I am pretty open about that aspect of my life.

   To be blunt, it sucks.

   I self-harmed using anything I could find (shaving razors, knives, my fingernails) as young as 11 years old, on and off until I was 19 or 20. I'm not completely sure how I stopped. I know I was tired of having to worry about people seeing it. I didn't want the people I love to be worried about me. Maybe that's what it was. But I don't have a really concrete answer for that.

   I guess I'm sharing this to get to this point. I'm still depressed. Even after all the good things in my life, even with the hope I have in Christ, even though I don't always seem like I am. It does come and go, but there's a general undercurrent of depression pretty much all the time.

   Pregnancy doesn't help the situation, either. With Benjamin, I was still reeling from the loss of Matthew Paul. I had PTSD and a constant worry that I would lose Benjamin too. Loss has a way of tainting everything in that way. You can never feel truly sure that your baby is okay in there. In fact, with both pregnancies, I assumed that I wouldn't carry to term. That's just how my brain copes, I guess. 

   This time around, well, here's where I get brutally honest. While in some ways I'm doing a lot better, in other ways I am much worse. I barely got out of bed this summer. Yes, I was in my first trimester, so I was sick and tired all the time. That had a lot to do with it. But I also felt so, so depressed and paralyzed. I didn't even get a first trimester ultrasound because I was just...depressed and scared.

   Once I started working again in September, it helped distract me a bit. I really do love teaching, and it helps to work at a really great place. But around that time, I stopped taking my antidepressant. There are many reasons as to why I stopped, even though the one I took is technically safe for pregnancy. I won't get into all that now. It was really hard coming off of it. Physically I felt like I was in withdrawal for weeks. Headaches, zapping feelings, even hearing things that weren't there. It was a struggle.

   Once all that subsided, the real hard stuff set in: Increased depression. And man, did it get worse. I had to leave/call out of work a few times due to major depressive episodes. And what happens during a depressive episode? It's hard to say. Everything feels like too much, but nothing is really happening. I felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. A heavy weight on my chest. A lot of crying. At their very worst: thoughts of suicide.

   That may be shocking to you. How could I want to die when that would mean my baby would die too? My answer is, that I didn't really want to. I just wanted everything to stop. I wanted my brain to stop. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. And yet, I also wanted people to care about me and love me. It really doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?

   To be clear, no "plan" was ever made. I was able to talk these feelings out. And I was drawn even closer to the comfort and peace of God through it all. I just wish that I could say my progress is linear, and on the up. But sometimes it gets bad again.

   Maybe this is oversharing. I don't know. I don't feel like anyone HAS to know this information about me. But maybe someone out there is struggling like I am. And maybe I just want to finally feel like I'm being honest about everything, instead of sugar-coating everything for social media. My only concern is that people may worry about me. I'm okay right now. I'm looking forward to meeting my daughter. I have a supportive husband, and a pretty cool Mom too. I guess I just want to put it out there. If you struggle like me, you're not alone. 

Balancing Act

This month has been so emotionally conflicting already,and I'm only 4 days in. I've been feeling a lot of things. Grief, excitement, fear, anger, and even a little bit of abandonment. 

Anyone who has had a loss, and I feel like this especially applies to pregnancy loss, knows that there are a million dates that serve as tiny reminders. Most women can tell you exactly how many weeks they should be, because every Wednesday is a reminder. Every month after a loss, they remember. Every due date, every anniversary, or special day. In my case, there are two painful dates this month. On September 26th, 2014, my water broke and within hours my precious Matthew died. On September 28th, 2014, I saw my baby for the first and last time. Everything that happened within those 37+ hours is burned into my memory forever. 

Have I thought about it every day since it happened? Thankfully, no. I've had my share of distractions, both happy and not so happy since then. I have another baby to love, but of course he will never replace the one I lost. But lately, everything reminds me about how much I miss my firstborn. Going to birthing classes and talking about possible hospital interventions. Hearing the words "epidural" or "cytotec" at these classes and feeling the urge to weep and tell everyone there what happened to me, because I just want to tell my story over and over again until it doesn't hurt so bad. Even checking my calendar, my eyes go straight to the 26th and 28th. 

I've been finding myself just wanting to talk to someone about my baby. To just tell them every single painful detail without feeling like I'm bothering them or upsetting them. 

I wish I could say that I have only had happy feelings about this pregnancy. I wish I could say that it's been so easy to get excited and bond with this baby before he enters the world. But truth be told, it's been terrifying. I love him so much, but it's still not even real to me that he will probably be born completely fine, and most importantly, alive. I feel an urgency to get things ready for him, yet at the same time feel a familiar fear that I will come home empty-handed again. Just yesterday, he had stopped moving for about 15 minutes or so, and I was already preparing myself for the worst possibility. But of course, he was just fine.

 I told this to my midwife who gently said, "He is allowed to nap, you know." Of course he is. I know what I need to do, which is trust in God and not myself. Worrying does nothing. I know that. But why does it have to be so hard? Why do I have to always be "in control"? It's exhausting. 

 

I don't want anyone to think that I'm just an anxious mess all the time and that I don't find joy in anything. God is still sovereign, and comforts people like me. I have more good days than bad. But it's been really tough these last few days to keep my joy and to not be anxious. 

I just ask that anyone who reads this prays for me. Pray that I can find peace. Pray that I can trust God more. Pray that I don't continue to struggle with these fears after Benjamin is born. 

Because You Were Dying

Lately, I feel as if I've taken a few steps back in my grief journey. I'm not entirely sure why. But I do think it probably has something to do with having depression already and pregnancy hormones. Whatever the reason, I believe I may be struggling with some PTSD symptoms. Namely flashbacks. Randomly remembering, in excruciating detail, the most upsetting "scenes" from my loss. Painful, short memories play over and over again in my head until I force them out. It's almost as if my head is a projector and my eyes are the screen. All I can feel are the painful memories, and it's extremely overwhelming. Little things trigger them and there's no telling what will.

That being said, I feel the need to write down my latest flashback in the form of poetry. I never really write or read poetry, but it seems to be the most appropriate way to express how I feel and what is going on in my head.

Because You Were Dying

I lay there, exposed
Being prodded and poked
Hoping for the best,
Yet knowing in my mind it was the worst
You Were Dying

They put the ultrasound wand on my not-so-round belly
not round enough
To see if any of your home was left.
You were still, unmoving, yet not quite gone
but I knew
You Were Dying

They analyzed this
and took samples of that
Never saying you were gone
Yet I saw in the midwife's eyes that there was no hope
She knew that
You Were Dying

They put the doppler on my skin
listening for signs of life
130 BPM
Still there, still normal,
but slowing down
Because You Were Dying

She shook her head
and looked at me with such pity
"I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do"
My skin shattered like glass
I felt ice in my bones
I pleaded with God
at the top of my voice
to take me with you
Because You Were Dying

The cruel irony of being surrounded by life-saving equipment
in a hospital
and none of it could help you.

The crushing weight of reality
making my heart shatter
and my lungs burst

Knowing I'd never see you cry
or laugh or grow up
or just be alive.

Because You Were Dying
and I remember.

Honesty at 18 Weeks

Well, I've reached a milestone in this pregnancy. I've reached the 18 week point. There's a lot of mixed emotions. Relief, anxiety, and even a bit of guilt. This pregnancy has been the polar opposite of my last. No bleeding, no reasons to worry, and at this point, no loss.

 While I'm so thankful, I sometimes find myself asking why. Why couldn't everything have gone right the first time? Why did I have to lose Matthew Paul in order to have this precious baby?

 If I'm being honest, it's been extremely difficult to bond with this baby. For several reasons. I think the biggest reason is that I was afraid to get excited until this point. I know that sounds cold. But I was so, so excited for Matthew Paul, even amidst all the problems I had. I really thought everything was going to be ok.

 I find myself walking into prenatal appointments expecting to hear horrible news, even though I have no reason to. At the first appointment I went to, it took the midwife 3 or 4 minutes to find the heartbeat (that's a reaaaallly long time). I started grieving after the first minute passed. I started accepting that I had lost another baby. Thankfully, she was able to find it and it was very strong. But then, in between appointments, I feel anxiety creeping up on me. Convincing myself that I have lost the baby and didn't know it. I've been torturing myself and in turn, losing the joy that should come with expecting a baby!

I put too much trust in the gifts God has given me instead of putting my trust in God himself. Now that I'm past the 18 week point, I can see that very clearly. I'm realizing all over again that both of my babies' precious lives were/are/always will be in the hands of He who created them. As hard as it is to admit it, that's a much better place to be than in my hands! As much as I want to try to be in control, it's MUCH better for God to be in control.

Romans 8:28 says "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose". That means, no matter how this pregnancy ends, God is still in control, He still loves me, and He will work it for my good. Even in my grief, He still works things together for my good. Even in my depression, He still works things together for my good. It's easy to forget and wallow in my grief and depression. But even when I forget, He still works things together for my good! What a gracious and loving God we have. 

So, even though I wasn't very good at remembering God's promises through the first half of this pregnancy, I pray that He will give me the grace to keep them in mind for the rest of it, and after. 

What Not To Say

As February 26th (Matthew Paul's due date) approaches, I find that he is on my mind more than ever. I think about how I should be looking right now. 9 months pregnant, big as a house, waddling along. How I wish that were the case. While I am so thankful for this new pregnancy, Matthew will never be replaced. There will always be a hole in my heart. I'm still mourning his short life, almost 5 months later, though the pain isn't as sharp.

I'm grateful that I had so much support in my time of need. So many people, even people
I didn't know, were so willing to make us dinner, send me words of encouragement, get me out of the house, or just listen. I will always appreciate those people.

However, there were a few things that were intended to be helpful, but in the end were quite the opposite. If you ever find that someone in your life is going through a miscarriage (no matter how far along she is), please avoid saying the things below.

1.) "You can always have other babies/At least you have other children." Think about this for a second. Would you say this to someone who lost their two year old? Or their teenager? Of course not. I look forward to having more children, I really do. And I'm excited to be pregnant now. But this baby is in no way "replacing" the one I lost. I mourned HIS life because I loved him.

2.) "Miscarriages are God's way of telling you there was something wrong with the baby." I was told this more than once, and each time I honestly couldn't believe what I was hearing. First of all, in my case, there was nothing wrong with the baby. He was perfectly healthy and growing as he should've been. It was my body that couldn't get it together. Secondly, even if there was something wrong, do you think I'd love him less? That I'd rather have a dead baby than a baby with a disability? I would've gladly taken home a living baby that had autism, or Down's Syndrome, or that was missing a few toes than leave the hospital empty-handed. Please never, ever say this.

3.) "Sometimes God takes the babies that are too perfect for this world." This is pretty much the opposite of #2, but still unhelpful. It's like some strange, morbid compliment. It's a very fluffy, wishy-washy thing to say to someone in mourning.

4.) "I know how you feel. I had an abortion and I really regret it." This was never actually said to me, but a friend of mine. Abortions are never the same. An abortion is a choice; a miscarriage is never a choice. There's a time and a place to express these feelings, but it is never to someone who miscarried.

What should you do or say?

Listen.
Ask how you can help.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
"I'm praying for you."
Only ask "How are you doing?" if you want a true answer. Be prepared for the truth; it may not be nice.

These are things that have been on my mind lately. Please know that I am so thankful for all the kind, helpful words I received. These are just a few things that hurt rather than helped.

Thankful

I know it's been a while since I've updated the blog. I felt like I just couldn't find the words to write recently, even though I wanted to.

Grief comes in waves. It's not a constant companion like it was before. I feel like it's more intentional now. Something I know I need to do, and in some way, I enjoy doing. It's the difference between a good cry and a bad cry. When I look at his pictures and weep for a while. Or touch the spots on his blanket. Or when I go through the messages I received during and after my hospital stay. Or telling a friend my story. It's a good cry. I want to feel it when it happens. I feel better when I'm done.

Day-to-day I'm doing better. I keep myself busy with housework and a new love of cooking that I honestly can say I've never had before.

I am so thankful. Thankful for support and caring friends. Thankful to God for His grace to get through each day. But most of all, I'm thankful for the few good memories I have of my experience. Memories I can look back on with a smile and a feeling of peace.

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I was so happy and excited. I couldn't believe it. I took the test on my lunch break at work because I really didn't think I was pregnant, I just wanted to check. I remember calling Matt and his response being "Oh man...Ok...Oh man." An underwhelming response, but that's just how he reacts to things. It didn't hit him until we were watching What To Expect When You're Expecting. At the end, when they were (spoiler alert) all having their babies, he started crying (a very rare thing) and realized that he was going to be a father. That was such a wonderful evening. It was probably one of the last times that I wasn't stressed during my pregnancy. I look back on it and feel happiness and excitement for what's to come, not a longing for what could have been.

I remember a few weeks before I lost him, we went to the beach. There was a scare in the beginning, but when we were in the ocean I had fun for the first time in a long time. I splashed in the waves with Matt without a care in the world. I look back on it and remember how relaxed I was, not how stressed and anxious I was the rest of the vacation.

Finally, I remember holding him in my arms. Expecting to feel shattered and broken, but somehow feeling peace for just a few hours. I got to know my baby boy in a way that some mothers never get to do with the babies they lost. I was able to give him kisses and tell him how much I loved him. And I wasn't scared for those few moments. I wasn't scared of trying again. I had hope in the middle of a raging storm of emotions and pain. That time with Matthew was, without a doubt, a gift from God. And it was the greatest gift He could ever give me. The memory of holding my son will never leave me. I remember it and feel peace and hope, not brokenness. And for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Looking Forward

The future is scary. Tomorrow marks two weeks since my water broke and since my son died. It almost feels like it happened forever ago, but at the same time I still can't believe it ever happened. I feel like I'm at a point where I don't know how to feel. On one hand, I want to be happy and plan for the future and get a job. On the other, I still want to be sad and sit around and cry.

I should have been 20 weeks along today. I wonder if I'm going to think about that every Thursday. Maybe after his due date (February 26th) it will stop. Maybe I'll be pregnant again. It almost seems too strange to think about that.

His pictures still make me cry. I'm almost worried for the day that I look at them and I don't cry. I want to remember him. I don't ever want to forget.

I've started individual counseling and group counseling. I always feel more upbeat after these sessions (which are both, incidentally, on Thursdays) but almost hollow? Like I've just shared a bunch of information and it feels great to get the weight off of my chest, but it also left a hole in my chest. After my counseling appointment today I felt like I was in a fog. I couldn't think straight and I felt like I really needed to take a nap. Maybe it's just being emotionally exhausted.

I don't really have much else to say. I know I have more life to look forward to. I just wish this part wasn't so confusing and sad.