My experience with miscarriage has been, in my book, unreasonable. Over 4 months of bleeding with little reprieve on top of all the mess and exhaustion that preceded the miscarriage and the ER visit during the miscarriage. Thus far this year has not served me very well. Not that I generally feel the "year" has an obligation to treat me in particular ways. Emotionally, I’m tired. My emotional stability... isn’t stable. Physically, who the heck knows what’s going on. But I had a thought the other day that at least put it into a perspective I found useful.
For most people, on paper, a miscarriage is something that while being sad, is something you move on from. And I’m sure everyone has varying expectations regarding how long is reasonable for moving on, if at all. In some ways “moving on” seems almost offensive. I’d personally like to think of it as “building on.” But that’s probably a separate topic. Regardless, there comes a point where people might not understand anymore. “Why aren’t you over it?” “Why aren’t you all better yet?” Not that most people would dare voice those thoughts out loud. But for those that are experiencing it for themselves... well, I’ll speak only for myself I suppose. Even I have those thoughts. In fact, I generally think I AM fine. I AM better. Until the days I’m not. And on those days I convince myself that others out there must be having those same thoughts about me that I am having: “Why aren’t you over it?” And maybe nobody’s thinking those things, but it adds to my sense of sadness and shame to imagine that they might be. Thank you anxiety. On those days, I’ll be honest, I wish popping a few extra of my anti anxiety/depression meds would help sweep away my problems. But, of course, that’s not how things work, nor what the meds are for either.
Regardless, these are shoes I have spent much of my life wearing. Having experienced sexual abuse as a child, I have gone through various stages of feeling damaged from those experiences. And while I like to think I’m fine, in reality, I am very much aware of the fact that I will forever be altered by those experiences. Not that being changed prohibits a person from being okay. Like I said earlier, while I don’t think I will ever “move on” from those experiences, I do believe I have been able to “build on” them. But, I have spent way more time than I ever should have, feeling ashamed of the fact that I was still “broken” even though those trials happened years ago and I should be “over it” by now. And I know there are people in my life who do not understand how it affects me, or why it still affects me. Which, is realistically fair, since I don’t always know the answers to those questions either. But it is a frustration in my life, knowing that in some ways I am “broken” and people may not believe I am justified in still being broken.
But the thought I had was that this miscarriage has been different because it is more tangible for me. Rationally, I can tell myself I’m fine, and I’m “over it,” and enough time has passed. But in this scenario, I have that physical reminder of more bleeding every day that reminds me that it isn’t over. Other people don’t see those moments in my day. Without knowing that I am still being forced to deal with it every day, it sounds completely logical that someone could expect for me to have moved on by now. I've even had someone (who knew about the miscarriage) ask me already if I had yet to get pregnant again since the miscarriage. That's a no, in case for some strange reason you were also in that boat of wondering. For me it’s as though the physical reminder acts as a small window. It allows me to see logical evidence of the pain still happening that I might otherwise think was invisible, abstract, imaginary and unreasonable. In contrast, I don’t have that in regards to the abuse. There is nothing tangible about it, nothing you can wrap your head around to say, yes, that’s why it still affects you years later.
But perhaps, just as I have this window of side effects unseen by others... we can imagine that our Heavenly Father is able to see those issues that no one, not even we ourselves can see, giving him greater context to our mental and physical health than we are capable of ever deciphering. He sees the things we don’t see in regards to our traumas and understands and can help us find peace that we don't always know we need. And just because we can’t always see the waves stemming from prior events in our lives... does not mean they are not still there and still rippling. We should not have to punish ourselves with shame for having been affected by our past, when there may be unseen or even seen ways in which it is still nudging us. And while unseen, that does not take away their legitimacy.
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