Life is a series of lessons, and I try to learn from each one. I lived through a very stressful and awful experience almost 10 years ago, and from that I learned how to pray.
Prayer was nothing new to me. I'm a Christian. But that experience was so intense and lasted for so long that I prayed each day, and sometimes I prayed all day. Everything I asked for was important, but maybe the most important was silence. I asked that God help me to remain silent when nothing needed to be said, and when I should say something that I would use His words and not mine.
Each thing I prayed for I received. I was so amazed by how I was led through that time that I have continued to pray for strength, patience, and silence. Sometimes I think my silence is misinterpreted for compliance or apathy, so I continue to ask for understanding to know when I should speak and what I should say.
I have been faced with a troubling situation that is a circular argument. No matter how I've tried to make my point clear it has fallen on deaf ears. I've tried coming at it from different angles, looking at the situation from the other point of view, and have consulted with a few outsiders to try to get a clearer picture. Though I have admitted some wrong doing in this situation, the other parties continue to insist that they have done nothing wrong at all.
The picture is clear, but my attempt to make my point has not worked. So instead of continuing to argue the same point and ride the merry-go-round of the argument, I decided to remain silent. It was so clear to me that it would not be worth my time and energy to try any longer. I had to take control of the situation by not engaging.
I believe that truth will prevail, but for some reason they can't see the truth through me. It will take a different person to bring that truth back again and elicit some positive changes.
I decided to step away altogether and sever the tie. I am thankful for silence, for strength and patience, and for Chuck. He has been so loving and supportive while I've been dealing with this situation.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Grieving a short pregnancy
This post is about a past pregnancy. I'm not pregnant. I was not recently pregnant. Those who know me can relax now.
I know in the larger scheme of things this is not on the scale of other types of grief. I thank God every day that my preemie was healthy and is a normal boy today.
I delivered my first two children full term, and I couldn't wait to lose that baby weight and get back into my normal clothes. I lose weight fast after pregnancy so I was back in them by the time I went for my six-week checkup.
But when I had Sean at 9 weeks early I didn't have that same desire to get back to normal. I held onto those maternity clothes and wore them. In fact, I was really sad to put them away.
I mentioned this to the social worker who was assigned to us as he spent the next 3 1/2 weeks in the NICU, and she said she had heard of mothers of preemies who had experienced similar feelings. That was as far as that conversation ever went.
It has taken a long time for me to get back to this subject, but at the time I knew I wanted to get this out there. It is a real grief. I was sad. And I felt guilty about feeling sad. Though I was worried that something could go wrong, I had a healthy baby. Other mothers around me were living through all sorts of medical problems with their preemies. I would walk by the chapel near the NICU and know that we were so fortunate to have our baby.
Maybe my feelings of sadness were worse because I had already carried two babies to term. I didn't experience that last trimester of gaining a lot of weight and looking as if I was ready to pop. In fact, I had gone with my mom to an appointment that week and her nurse couldn't even tell I was pregnant until I stood up.
We didn't have time to sign up for a birthing class. We didn't have time to get the nursery painted and set up. We didn't have a baby shower or even get to talk about one. When I could have been showing off my baby to family and friends, I was driving to the hospital twice a day to hold him. My time was consumed by pumping breast milk. I should have been excited and happy, but I was worried and sad.
Each day I would get up, get ready for the day and choose what to wear. I would pull on a maternity top. I did that for a long time. And I found myself wishing I was still pregnant, and wondering what was wrong with me.
These feelings eventually passed. Sean came home, and he was beautiful and healthy, and life went on. But that grief is real. There is something about an interrupted pregnancy that throws us off. I consider myself very lucky to have had a mild case of sadness.
If you are experiencing sadness due to an interrupted pregnancy, talk to your doctor. If you believe you need to talk to someone other than your ob/gyn please seek out a mental health professional. Sometimes it's enough to just talk to someone who understands.
I know in the larger scheme of things this is not on the scale of other types of grief. I thank God every day that my preemie was healthy and is a normal boy today.
I delivered my first two children full term, and I couldn't wait to lose that baby weight and get back into my normal clothes. I lose weight fast after pregnancy so I was back in them by the time I went for my six-week checkup.
But when I had Sean at 9 weeks early I didn't have that same desire to get back to normal. I held onto those maternity clothes and wore them. In fact, I was really sad to put them away.
I mentioned this to the social worker who was assigned to us as he spent the next 3 1/2 weeks in the NICU, and she said she had heard of mothers of preemies who had experienced similar feelings. That was as far as that conversation ever went.
It has taken a long time for me to get back to this subject, but at the time I knew I wanted to get this out there. It is a real grief. I was sad. And I felt guilty about feeling sad. Though I was worried that something could go wrong, I had a healthy baby. Other mothers around me were living through all sorts of medical problems with their preemies. I would walk by the chapel near the NICU and know that we were so fortunate to have our baby.
Maybe my feelings of sadness were worse because I had already carried two babies to term. I didn't experience that last trimester of gaining a lot of weight and looking as if I was ready to pop. In fact, I had gone with my mom to an appointment that week and her nurse couldn't even tell I was pregnant until I stood up.
We didn't have time to sign up for a birthing class. We didn't have time to get the nursery painted and set up. We didn't have a baby shower or even get to talk about one. When I could have been showing off my baby to family and friends, I was driving to the hospital twice a day to hold him. My time was consumed by pumping breast milk. I should have been excited and happy, but I was worried and sad.
Each day I would get up, get ready for the day and choose what to wear. I would pull on a maternity top. I did that for a long time. And I found myself wishing I was still pregnant, and wondering what was wrong with me.
These feelings eventually passed. Sean came home, and he was beautiful and healthy, and life went on. But that grief is real. There is something about an interrupted pregnancy that throws us off. I consider myself very lucky to have had a mild case of sadness.
If you are experiencing sadness due to an interrupted pregnancy, talk to your doctor. If you believe you need to talk to someone other than your ob/gyn please seek out a mental health professional. Sometimes it's enough to just talk to someone who understands.
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