Mother

I guess Mother’s Day is an appropriate time to say I’m pregnant.  It is also a time I want to honor the story of every woman in my life personally and professionally.  I have a privilege of hearing very personal stories in my office every week.  These stories are private, sorrowful, painful, and also joyful. I do not take lightly that these women can cry with me while I hold their pain with them, and we leave it right there in my office. I can’t tell you who these women are, but I can tell you there are miscarriages, stillbirths, infertility, loss of mothers, stories of abusive mothers, women who have been through abortion or releasing their children for adoption, adoptive mothers, women with surprise pregnancies, and on and on it goes.  My clients now sit across from an obviously pregnant counselor while they share their hard stories around motherhood.  And while I celebrate my little one, I hurt for every woman who is now literally faced with my unavoidable belly as she grieves.  My loving request to all of you on this Mother’s Day is that we respect every woman’s story and love her the best we can.  Every story has its own unique pains, struggles, AND joys.

I was recently asked by a very innocent and well-meaning young woman in front of my oldest son, “What made you want to have your OWN child?” I used to get mad when people would ask these things, but I now get there truly is a lack of understanding for many people if their story is different or it’s not a “normal” thing to them.  Having your “own babies” is what our culture is used to.  So I wanted to write this in an effort to educate, not shame.  We can support each other’s stories as we share them with love.

Most of my motherhood story is mine and private, and I want to keep it that way.  The parts I would like to share are for the sake of connecting and helping others understand. Many people think our baby is a “miracle” because we “couldn’t get pregnant before” – an assumption made since we adopted our boys. The truth is that we adopted them because we met our boys and knew they were ours to love and raise – no other reason.  Adoption is absolutely a choice made by many parents when fertility is a challenge, and it is also not the only reason people adopt.  The point is that every story is different, and it is important to me to honor every parent in their unique choices.  And it is important to me that my boys know they are just as much a gift as their sister on the way.  I answered that young woman with, “All my children came to me unexpectedly. All my children are a gift. And all my children are my own.”

I grieve with my mom who lost her daughter the day she was born.  I grieve with my clients and friends who have painfully endured multiple miscarriages. I grieve with my clients who go through one IVF after another with no plus sign.  I grieve with friends and clients who have gone through every single step of their adoption process and still did not get to bring their child home or had some kind of adoption interruption.  I grieve with my friend who has already lost one child to a genetic disorder and watches another struggle with the same one.  I GRIEVE HARD for my son’s birth mothers. So hard.  Because now as I am growing a child inside me, I cannot imagine the pain and sacrifice it was for them to lovingly release them into my care and partner with me in mothering them.  I will never take that lightly.  I don’t take any of these stories lightly.

And dads, you are seen too.  My mom told me the only time she saw my Daddy cry was when he lost his baby girl and when his dad passed away.  Dads have their stories around fatherhood too.  The burdens carried around having and being a parent (or not) are so real.

And I don’t want to miss the JOY.  I am so much more a believer that we have to hold both the joy and pain of our stories.  Even in our hurts, we can embrace the gifts we still somehow receive – and they may not always come in the forms or ways we expect, but they do come.  They are the small reminders we are okay. I am a stronger and more beautiful version of myself after the hurts I have healed and still healing through.  I take more time to talk to strangers, hear their stories, watch the animals in my wooded backyard, clear my calendar to rest, clear my calendar for my people in crisis, lean into the uncertainty of life and trust I CAN STILL BE OKAY ANYWAY while I simultaneously have my grief.

I remember seeing pregnant women not long after my pregnant friend passed away and being SO angry at them. But I was not angry at them. I was angry my friend wasn’t getting to walk around like them in this life with her pregnancy too.  And I bet those women would have felt the same if they knew my story of loss.

So when you see me and my obviously pregnant belly, please know I am in this with you in some way. I honor your story and do not take for granted what any of us have been through.  Even my seemingly “easy” pregnancy has its own version of pain and joy that I carry with me.  I carry yours with you too.  I see you on this Mother’s Day – whatever your story.

This I Know

Have you ever experienced the feeling of shock?  Do you remember what you felt, how your body reacted, what you did next?  We enter fight, flight, or freeze mode, and in all 3 we are still unconsciously responding to the unexpected.  We don’t really feel like we know or understand anything. It can happen after a crisis, loss of a loved one, betrayal, or any painful situation.  Many people experience Post Traumatic Stress after the shock, and the lasting effects of this vary depending on the person and the event.  On this Holy Saturday before Easter, I am reminded that we all have our own personal Saturday – those grieving pains that come between the death of what we held true on Good Friday and the hope of what is to come on Easter Sunday.  Saturday is for grieving, burial, and resting. More on this to come, but it really isn’t wrapped up so simply in just 3 days in the reality our earthly lives. Our Saturday grief can feel like Sunday may never come.  This I know.

One of these kinds of moments happened for me ironically on Easter Sunday morning two years ago. I was riding in a truck, sun shining, thinking about my great weekend in one of Tennessee’s beautiful state parks, and I was eager to get home to my boys to attend Easter service as a family.  Something made me check my email.  My heart races even now with the memory.  Spilled out line by line was one shocking disclosure after another from a stranger.  I wanted to jump out of that moving truck, scream, throw up, and cry.  Instead I somehow calmly asked behind my shaking voice for the truck to be pulled over.  I can’t remember much of what I said or did after that, but I remember my body felt numb and my heart was the only thing I could feel, and it hurt like hell.  And I distinctly remember feeling like everything and everyone was false. I didn’t feel like I knew anything anymore.

I put on a smile as I walked in my front door to greet the boys and then ran upstairs to curl my hair and put on a dress so they could have a “normal” Easter Sunday morning.  I stuffed the tears and the email way down.  I looked around in church and wondered who else might be hurting and pretending to be okay.  I don’t remember anything the pastor said, but I knew the Easter story, and I just remember wondering how I would ever feel the peace and hope of resurrection.  It felt like I was stuck in the crucifixion of Good Friday. I had no idea what to do next.

These last 2 years have been my long Saturday - a lot of continued grief and unknowing. And that’s not me.  I always have an answer, know what to do, have a plan, and can spring into action. But I’ve waited, yelled, grieved, rested, prayed, cried, sought help, and just stayed in the unknown.  When I researched Holy Saturday I found, “The day is traditionally a time of reflection and waiting.” Luke 23:56 says about this day after loss “And on the Sabbath day they rested, as the Law required.” Some of  Jesus’ disciples retreated in their shame and sadness. The women who loved him rested, prepared oils for burial, and recounted the events of the past days through their anguish and grief. Saturday has its purpose.

I looked back on these 2 years and realized what a strong woman I am and what can be learned and experienced when you lean into the loss and let it grow you.  I have started leaning into what I DO know in the midst of the unknown. And song lyrics came to me.

“Jesus loves me, this I know.”

“This I know with all my heart – His wounds have paid my ransom.”

Jesus loves us so much that what he did on Friday allows him to comfort us in the grief of Saturday and promises the healing of Sunday. I spend a lot of time in my office trying to help people make sense of the bad things that happened to them.  And here I have been in my own hell trying to make sense of it too.  And what I’ve always said to them I have needed to say to myself: “We were never promised nothing bad will happen, but we were promised over and over that Jesus loves us and would be with us in it.”

I am still sitting in a lot of unknown. But this I know: Jesus love me. He knows this pain. He is with me in it. He is with all of us in our messes. Easter is more than a story of happiness.  It is a reminder that we have a very real comforter who gets our pain during the Saturday between death and resurrection. When we are looking for the answers, wondering what is real, desperate in our grief – we are reminded Sunday is on the way.  This I know.

If you or a loved one feels stuck in a Saturday season…

DO:

~Offer self compassion and grace when you can’t function as you normally would.

~Let yourself be sad and grieve – cry, pray, write it down, however you need to get it out.  Better out than in.

~Find activities that remind you of your value and that your life continues to move forward even if you feel stuck – hobbies, quality time with your people, spontaneous trips to your favorite places.

~Reach out to a professional counselor for help with PTSD symptoms like flashbacks, nightmares, inability to carry out daily functions, consistent irritability, panic attacks, intense anxiety or depression.  And again, HAVE COMPASSION for yourself with these symptoms. It’s your body’s way of processing what happened and/or trying to keep you from being “caught off guard” again, and sometimes we need the help of a trained professional to get in the present moment and release that pain from the past that feels stuck.

DO NOT:

~Give yourself or anyone else a timeline for the healing.  Every person and situation is different and is to be given patience and grace in their unique process.

~Force yourself or someone to “get happy, be fine, or get over it.” There will certainly be times for distraction and the need to function in daily life without constant grief reminders, but don’t be surprised if something that “should” be fun doesn’t feel like fun or you find yourself not being able to “snap out” of your grief. These past couple years I have found myself feeling very confused why I couldn’t just roll with the flow at a birthday party or something else that would typically be fun, but finding joy is a much harder task when your heart is broken and you’re walking through a confusing season. Everything can feel false, so again, HAVE COMPASSION for where you are and recognize your efforts to heal.

~Expect yourself to “be fine” like everyone else.  Same as above.  It will seem like everyone else is okay and moving on. They have possibly made it to their Sunday.  And that can cause you to feel shame or confusion as to why you can’t do the same.  And if you already are in your Sunday, and you are with someone who feels stuck in Saturday, please don’t expect them to feel the same as you.  Offer your love, support, and grace. Trying to fix it for them or “getting them happy” can sometimes layer on the shame they already feel for not being where you are.   Click here for an awesome video by Brené Brown about empathy that outlines ways to respond.