clever girl

Whelp, didn’t think I’d go off the deep end tonight, but here I am.

Through the smiles and laid back facade, I am still pretty messed up.

If you ask me how I’m doing my answer is almost always “good.” Because I usually am, and it sounds better than “fine.” And most people don’t really want to know how your doing.

They want to get on with their lives and be blissfully thinking that I’m alright, because it makes them feel better.

So once again, everyone just wants me to be ok. But news flash: I am not. And I’m coming to terms with this revelation. Do you ever get those questions where there’s a fixed answer, like “your okay. Right????”

That doesn’t mean I’m sitting around moping and feeling sorry for myself. Far from it. I find it very difficult to sit for too long doing nothing. It means I’m finding it hard to function some days, and I’m constantly reminded of what happened.

So an off hand comment made to sound funny or clever, is actually really hurtful. The pain in my heart is still there and is very fresh, and deep.

In fact, I feel more heartache now than I did when the girls died. I’ve been told this is pretty common with people who experience trauma. The severity of the trauma is not realized until weeks or months after the fact.

I am the poster child for this phenomenon. In the moment I’m in survival mode. As time passes and all is said and done, I am left with the consequences of my decisions.

Trapped inside my head. With the guilt. The pain. The memories. And the memories I can never make with my girls.

Its all there, constantly cycling through my brain. Some days I can quiet the noise, but tonight I could not. A cocktail of a defiant toddler, loneliness, canceled plans, hormones, and an insensitive comment did the trick.

At the end of the day its my burden to carry, and I will carry it like a champ. Like I do everything else.

But it would be nice to have some one to lean on every once in a while, to lighten the load.

Join me on my path back to hope~

shark week

So…where do I begin…possibly from the start?

This week was quite the emotional roller coaster. Starting last Sunday (because my weeks begin on Sunday, thanks every retail job I’ve ever had for instilling this in me), when I couldn’t shake an intense feeling of anger.

I used to be quite a little angry gal in my teenage years going into my mid twenties. Long story short, I held almost all of my emotions inside instead of expressing them in fear of upsetting people. I don’t do this now; the trick is trying to get me to shut up.

So I know my fair share of frustration and anger, and this wasn’t one of those times. This was different.

It persisted for days, then turned into an anxiety ridden breakdown in front of one of my trainers.

I’ve been giving myself a lot of grace and time so I can heal both emotionally and physically. So I’m not too hard on myself about the breakdown.

But something was definitely up.

Turns out I started my period. And not just any period. The first period after my pregnancy. I thought it started a few weeks back, but must have been residual lochia.

I should have known it was that time of the month when a friggin’ chocolate chip cookie made me feel better.

In hindsight, all of these emotions make sense. But at the time, I felt so irritated and overwhelmed.

The thought of my body starting its menstrual cycle again makes me incredibly sad. And not because of how inconvenient and uncomfortable they are.

But because it signifies the end of my pregnancy with my girls. It is done. My body has moved on.

My husband is gone this week, so I don’t have him to lean on. Its kinda lonely. He’s visiting his grandfather in Mexico because he’s not doing so well. So its important for him to be there.

The anger has mostly faded away, to be replaced by sadness and exhaustion. Seeing anything baby related, especially with those who are expecting, just makes me incredibly sad. I’m happy for them of course, but it definitely stings.

Hopefully next week will be better than this shark week.

Please join me on my path back to hope~

take a seat

I had my first ever workout in a professional setting and it felt amazing.

Was I nervous? Yup. It was my first time in a gym since, well, taking weights in high school 15ish years ago.

Of course it was hard. I’ll be feeling it for the next few days and then some since I’ll be working out three days a week. What’s tough is trying to concentrate on holding the correct muscles while following through with the exercise. But I love the challenge and I like to sweat.

Not to mention getting my strength back makes me feel alive again. My goals are to lose the pregnancy weight, get strong, and be more flexibility.

The gym to me is kind of like a sacred space. A place where I look tired, sweaty, overweight, and face all beat red, and not be judged about it. Because most everyone there is trying to do the same thing: make a healthier version of themselves.

I bought a few new tops and some leggings to work out in, otherwise I just wear old clothes that are a bit too tight. I’m not getting anything else until I lose some weight. Plus I’m not trying to impress anyone.

Towards the end of our workout a little old lady showed up at my groups session and asked me a question I was dreading. I didn’t show that her inquiry bothered me. It took me by surprise, plus I don’t like giving people power over my emotions and showing that they upset me. She was just trying to make conversation right? So I played it off. I admit I did shed a few tears in my car.

But in all seriousness, if you don’t know 100% that a woman is pregnant, just don’t ask.

I’m completely aware that my body looks weird and I still have a pregnancy pooch. I look at myself everyday and I don’t need to be reminded by complete strangers.

In my heart I know that I sacrificed my body for two girls who I knew wouldn’t live for very long, or at all after birth, and I’m ok with that. I don’t feel it necessary to explain that to every person who wants to make a comment about the way I look.

But guess what? I created life with this body. And that’s pretty cool.

The lesson I’ve learned is to be kind to one another. Everyone has hidden struggles. Just because they look ok, doesn’t mean they are.

So for those who can’t be kind, then just be silent, and take a seat.

As for the rest, please join me on my path back to hope~

staircase to somewhere

I have realized that there isn’t a right or wrong, or even a “normal” way, to accepting grief. Everyone handles it differently, and at their own pace.

Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere, at the most inconvenient time. Some days I feel nothing, other days I feel it all. Still other days there’s guilt in the back of my mind for letting myself experience joy.

I carry mine throughout the entirety of every atom of my being.

A colossal feeling. Weighing down my mind, my body, my heart.

I didn’t understand what this feeling was at first. If it was anything at all. Until I described it to my therapist, and she knew right away. Its grief.

Since we finally got our girls ashes back I’ve been planning and getting things together for their memorial, which was this past Monday. I like to make things, so I did all of the decor and favors, and found pretty templates for the invitations and their obituary.

Writing their obituary was tough; I never thought I would be doing this for my babies. The worst kind of hell is outliving your children.

I wanted to get the wording just right, or at least close enough. But honestly its nice that all of the planning and the service is over. Its draining for me to be around a lot of people, especially during such an emotional event. I do appreciate every single person that came. From family and friends to complete strangers who wanted to pay their respects to two souls that most haven’t even met.

The days leading up to the memorial is when I really felt the weight of all of the stress and grief I’ve been carrying.

Now the weight seems to be lifting bit by bit with the passing of time. I’m not sure how to feel about it, but it sure as hell makes me feel incredibly guilty. Because I’m not “over” them. I never will be.

I’m grateful for the time I had with Willow and Evangelene. But I’m selfish, because I want more.

So, I walk around carrying this weight, taking it day by day. Trying to do better, and be better.

That’s just who I am.

Climbing a seemingly endless staircase, trying to do better, and be better with each grasp and step. Because eventually it will lead to somewhere.

Join me on my path back to hope~