Hear Me Out...

Okay.  Deep breath.

Let's get back to basics.

This past week, it was made known to me that people have been..."talking about my blog."  Okay.  Great, I think.

No.  Not great.

Despite the excitement I had developed over the birth of this blog and how it has helped me to cope, I was told that several posts had people...concerned.

I want all of you out there who have expressed this sentiment to know this:

I.  Am.  Okay.

Really.  Really.

But I guess that some things need to be clarified before anymore posts get written.  I want those of you who read and care to hear me out and hear my heart.

Okay, here goes...

1.  Contrary to popular belief, I do not--I repeat, DO NOT--hate pregnant women.  Have you picked your jaw up off the floor yet?  I know that it seems hard to believe, but I really don't.  I love pregnancy; I think it's a beautiful God-given experience, and it's a big reason why I chose to enter the field of nursing that I did.  Because of the sheer volume of pregnant women in my life at the moment (and given my circumstances), it's tough because I so envy this beautiful God-given experience.  Gosh, it's wonderful, and I'd love to be able to join in.  But just because I write tongue-in-cheek statements or posts (see "Top Ten Reasons," if you dare), I hope that you will take them with a grain of salt.  I use humor to cope with tough things. 

And if you read a post and wonder if it's about you, there's a really good chance it isn't.  I had heard that a new mom was truly upset at a post that I had written because she felt it was about her, and it wasn't.  Sometimes, they aren't about anyone in particular at all.  There's a reason I don't use names.  Remember...there are more than twenty women in my life who are expecting.  There's a good chance you're nowhere in here. 

But really, I don't hate you.  I care about this special time in your life, even though I'm often inept at showing that.  When your baby comes, I will probably ooh and aah and coo and giggle and marvel at what a great job you did.  Be excited for yourself and don't pay my pregnancy statements any mind.

2.  Hard and heavy posts don't indicate a perpetual mindset.  When I started writing about my experience with pregnancy loss, I wasn't drawn to journal when I was having one of my better days.  I was and am still often drawn to journal when I'm having one of my hard days.  Note that "intense" posts (see "Big Boys Don't Cry" and "Crash and Burn") aren't posted every day.  I imagine that posts like these are what provoke the "concern," but I hope it comes across that even the darkest and hardest entries end with some sort of hopeful or positive note. 

I do not live in a state that calls to mind the mood of "Crash and Burn;" those feelings have actually become fewer and farther between.  There are days--can you believe it?--where I laugh my head off, dance across our bonus room, sing at the top of my lungs, smile until my cheeks hurt.  I am able to fully grieve some days and fully rejoice in my newlywed life other days.  So because I choose to share about a hard day with you does not mean that all day I have been sitting in a corner in my bedroom in the fetal position with the lights out singing Kumbaya as I cry myself to sleep.  I mean, come on.  I've only done that twice...

3.  I'm willing to be open and honest if it can help someone.  In the days after our second miscarriage, I was directed to Angie Smith's blog "Bring the Rain."  And oh my gosh, her writing was so precious to me.  I clung to her words.  I clung to her lessons, to her pain, to her hurts, to her frustration.  She got it.  She understood.  The feelings I felt no longer seemed abnormal or out of place.  And as I began to write about my own experiences, that feedback within the first day was so affirming.  I got thank you messages for writing and attempting to help others to become more aware of the pain that accompanies a struggle to have kids. 

I'm not naive enough to think that I'm everyone's cup of tea or that everyone processes or grieves the way I do.  But I hope you won't be naive enough to think that these feelings are rare.  Women have talked to me who miscarried decades ago, and they tell me how they still think of the ones they lost.  It sticks with you.  So, I will keep being open and honest about my feelings, not to please you or even to give you something juicy to read.  I'm doing it just in case there's a girl just like me out there searching for someone who gets it.  Who understands.  Who isn't afraid to talk about the hard stuff.  And I hope that somehow, some way, maybe it will be of comfort to her.

4.  I don't want to be a "fair-weather Christian."  It drives me nuts when people get what they want in life, and then they're able to talk about how wonderful the Lord is, to praise Him, to spread the news of His goodness.  It's easy to praise Him when things are easy. It's harder to praise Him when things are hard.  I want this difficult time to be a season of spiritual growth for me, and I want to learn to praise Him, even when the clouds haven't passed.  Even when it's still dark.  Even when it's pouring.  You can still praise Him when things are hard, it's just harder to do it.  I'm trying so hard to learn how to do that, and I want for you to come along the journey with me and to learn from my mistakes. 

I don't relate well to people who haven't experienced "hard stuff."  Maybe some people do, but I don't.  Growing up in church, the testimonies that stuck with me, the ones that were hard-hitting and powerful, were ones where a huge life change had occurred.  It was amazing to see someone like a former alcoholic, drug user, atheist had come to know the Lord.  The parable was called "The Prodigal Son" for a reason; no one would have cared if it was called "The Prodigal Son's Brother Who Stayed At Home And Never Did Anything Wrong Ever."  I hope that sharing this experience will help you relate to me in some way because I get it.  I get what it's like to have things not go the way you want.

But it's okay.  We're going to make it.  I can feel it.  We're going to make it out of here alive.

This is a lot, I know.  But I wanted to be able to speak from my heart and let you know that I don't want this experience to get the better of me.  My writing is how I cope, how I process, and I'm watching God use it to mold me into whatever He wants me to be.  There will probably still be days where you'll see an intense post or two, but know that I'm still okay.

Really.  Really.

And I'm hoping that now the only thing anybody's concerned about is if I actually ever sang Kumbaya in the fetal position...