My womb is so empty.
I ended up still needing a D&C. For days after miscarrying, I continued to cramp and pass large golf ball sized clots. The baby was gone, yes, but there was a buildup of blood they said could lead to infection. So I went in for surgery last week and had my womb scraped clean.
I’ve never been in an operating room like that before and I admittedly got pretty scared. But then I woke up in another room, no memory of anything at all, just waking to the knowledge that all remnants of that pregnancy were in a trashcan somewhere. Before the procedure, I had to fill out a piece of paper where I designated what I wanted to be done with the “pregnancy tissue.” I knew I had already fished my baby out of the toilet, so it didn’t really apply to me, but it made me sad for all the others who have to fill out that same form.
Continue reading “Grief Right Now”
God’s love: When you’re a Christian, you tend to hear a lot about it. Especially during the Easter season, there is an emphasis in church on the John 3:16 truth: “For God so loved the world…” I memorized that verse a long time ago as a six year old in Sunday school and AWANAS. But for whatever reason, I have a hard time incorporating that truth into my practical reality.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been let down by others, so I brace myself to be let down by God. Or maybe it’s because I have such a hard time loving myself that I can’t comprehend someone would actually love me. Whatever the reason, God’s love has always seemed intangible to me, something I can’t quite grasp.
I’m not a perfect person. In fact, I can be a downright lousy person when I want to be. I’m always selfish. I’m often jealous. I have a quick and petty temper. I hate those parts of myself, and I’m pretty sure others aren’t too fond of them either. I hurt those closest to me, over and over and over. So could God love me? Yeah, yeah, I know he loves me because that’s what I’m supposed to believe. But…really? I don’t think I’ve actively believed it.
But then I had a baby. Continue reading “So Loved”
I’ve been wanting to blog for a while now, but every time I’ve thought about sitting down to write, something kinda strange kept me from my computer. I wanted to write, but I wasn’t exactly sure what was going to come out once I did.
Those of you who’ve followed me know that I tend to write about an issue, concern, or pressing thought when I have one. Lately, though, I just haven’t had any. And you know what? That’s been pretty great. It’s nice not to have a concern constantly bearing down on me. Continue reading “Thankful”
I’ve always had a type A personality, even as a little girl. I liked being the best, being on top of things 100% of the time, and being in complete control. Growing up, this manifested as perfect grades. I slaved over homework in order to have the perfect report card. I was perfectionistic in other ways too. I never wanted to compete in sports because I knew I couldn’t win. If I was bad at sports, why bother trying? I avoided anything I knew I couldn’t completely succeed in. Continue reading “What are you waiting for?”
“What can I do?”
That’s a difficult question to answer when you’re depressed. You want to say a magical formula—“do this for me and I’ll feel better”—but there isn’t one. You want to be able to respond positively since you’re grateful for the care that went into that question, but you can’t. You even feel a little guilty that you can’t give a satisfying response.
“What can I do?” is probably the best question my husband can ask me when I’m depressed. It’s unassuming and empathetic. It’s also incredibly frustrating, because sometimes there just isn’t anything he can do. But what else is he supposed to say? I guess I’m glad he asks it, even when I don’t know how to respond.
I was recently asked what depression feels like. I didn’t know how to answer. I told my friend that it it’s a physical feeling, a heaviness—if hopelessness was tactile, that would be it. I didn’t know how else to describe it, except in obscure metaphors that might only make sense to me.
So it’s difficult to answer “what can I do?” when I can’t even articulate what my depression feels like. Usually, I end up answering the question with: “Just pray for me.” Sometimes, that’s the only answer I have. Continue reading “Pray for me”