A forgotten journal entry.

Truth. 

A year ago today I found out I was having another miscarriage. I'm usually really good at remembering when my miscarriages occur. As the anniversary of each lost baby gets closer my body remembers, it recalls the sensation of loss deep in it's bones.

This anniversary is different. To be honest, I forgot this happened a year ago today. My body didn't remind me by giving my a deep sense of grief like it normally does. My mind failed to replay the memory in my dreams. 

Do I care less about this pregnancy?  

Are my pregnancies starting to matter less because I've experienced so many?

Am I become numb to this infertility journey? 

Reading my journal entry from a year ago was eye opening to me. I'm reminded of a quote my friend shared with me, "Grief never ends, but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love." 

So although my body and my mind didn't remind me of the anniversary of losing my 10th pregnancy, it doesn't mean my grief has ended. No! My grief has simply changed, it looks and feels different a year later. 

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Journal Entry: December 18th, 2015

10 miscarriages.

Today Josh and I are left grieving another baby.  Another pregnancy, another baby that went straight to heaven.  It's odd to reflect back on our other 9 losses.  Somehow this one feels different.  My emotions are slightly more neutral, almost like I've been in this exact place before.  Oh right, I have.  It's like groundhog day - repeating the same chain of events over and over.  I wish for a different outcome, yet I'm left with the same experience. I'm left grieving a lost baby and grieving what little faith I had in my body.

It's not a coincidence that a lovely friend of mine sent me a necklace this week that is the daintiest guardian angle wing.  With it, her wise words:

"Grief never ends, but it changes.  It's a passage, not a place to stay.  Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.  It is the price of love."

So I'm gonna put one foot in front of the other, take one day at a time, making my way along this journey.  I know that God is tenderly holding my babies in heaven.

Side note: I also know God won't judge me for the McDonalds large fry and strawberry milkshake I'm about to devour.

A Christmas funk.

When I was a little girl I absolutely loved the Christmas season. I have fond memories of going to the Christmas tree lot and watching in amazement as they flocked our tree. My mom would go all out with decorations, decorating inside and outside to the extreme! There was always something magical when the Christmas tree was lit and no other lights in the room were on. I remember sitting on the floor, basically under the tree, looking up into the tree and watching the flicker of the lights glimmer on each branch, from one pine needle to the next. And the music! There's something about Christmas music that made my heart leap for joy. 

When I got married the Christmas season continued to be special. I attempted to decorate as elaborately as my mom, never quite meeting that level of expertise. Regardless, I would relish in the moments of the lit Christmas tree and my husband and I would snuggle on the couch in newlywed bliss.

Then infertility stuck! The Christmas magic was lost. I would listen to the music of the season, the same songs that use to make me smile, and feel nothing. For over five years I dreaded Christmas. I dreaded feeling that heaviness of something void in my life.

I remember one Christmas in particular I was setting up the mantle, arranging and fluffing the garland. Then came time to hang the stockings. There were only two to hang, one for my husband and one for me. I remember thinking how lame the mantle looked. I began to cry, the hard sobbing kind, wishing there was child's stocking to bring completion to this holiday tradition. I wished there was a child to bring back the joy to this holiday.

I've spent three Christmas seasons, this being my fourth, as a mom and you know what? Up until this year I had a similar empty sensation over the holiday. Just last year I put up our, now three, stockings and cried because I couldn't help but think of my miscarriages and the babies that should be with us. I had a son, I had that extra stocking to hang, yet it wasn't good enough.

This realization about the Christmas funk has only come to me recently as I reflect on why this year is different. I actually expected it to feel void given the passing of my father-in-law a few months ago and the fact that my dad continues to struggle with cancer.

But you know what? The magic is back. The joyfulness that I felt as a child has returned. Maybe it's the Chinese herbs my acupuncturist has me on (thanks Ease Plus!) or maybe it's because for the first time in a long time I'm no longer waiting for infertility to go away. I'm no longer waiting to get pregnant again. I'm no longer anticipating or counting the days of my cycle. For the first time in months, in years really, I'm at peace with what my life. I'm actually able to relish in the moments of the season. I'm able to say with confidence, my life has enough and I'm enough.

As for the stockings on the mantle? I haven't put them up yet. Not purposefully but in hindsight, probably the best decision of the season! 

I desire to be loved but maybe I don't deserve it.

I desire to love and be loved but there have been times in my life when I felt I didn't deserve that privledge.  

Before meeting Josh, I allowed myself to be in unhealthy relationships. These relationships didn't lift me up, and if I'm being honest, I didn't lift them up either. In fact, sometimes I replay incidents and words that came out of my mouth during those days. I'm embaressed to admit it, but my words and actions were borderline abusive. 

Then I met Josh. I wish the story ended here with me saying, "And he changed my outlook on relationships by bringing out the more loving, compassionate side of me." Unfortuantely, I didn't allow that to happen.

Josh has always had an unconditional heart. From the get go he knew the right words to lift me up even when I was convinced I didn't need a "man" to help me. For the first years of Josh and my relationship I didn't lift him up, I didn't wholehearted believe in us and I found every excuse to test his love for me. I easily got defensive and would quickly jump to anger. Oftentimes I felt he was purposefully pushing my buttons just to get me to react. In fact, early in our marriage I had a suitcase packed by the door, ready to make my escape when a disagreement or conflict ensued.

Then infertility happened and I was forced to reflect on the way I love on others, and more importantly, the way I love on myself. 

I realized I wasn't allowing Josh to really love me. I wasn't allowing myself to accept his love. Why? Because I believe I didn't deserve it.

If I'm being truthful, the negative self-talk that I allowed to run in my mind was self-distructive.

“I’m not pretty enough.
I’m not skinny enough.
I’m not smart enough.
I’m not tough enough.
I’m not perfect enough.”

The reality is, I didn't think I was good enough. I truly didn't believe I was good enough to be loved, especially not by the special love Josh provides.

I'm still working through the journey of feeling as though I'm enough. Every day I have to make a conscious decision to allow others to lift me up and love on me. Most importantly, I need to love on myself and trust, even through infertility, that I'm enough.