So, a friend recently reminded me of something I already knew: friendship means you're there for the long hauls, and the illogically sad moments, just as much as you are there for the incredibly joyful ones. And surprisingly, in those moments, sometimes they need you just as much or more.
It's been a long summer, filled with more downs than ups, and it seems, in some ways to have dragged on way too long. Getting passed the emotional upheaval of loss is difficult when it's so deeply tied to your physical being; especially when your physical being is extraordinarily abnormal.
I've written about the miscarriage Jeph and I suffered over the summer, but I haven't written about the frustrations associated with how long it takes to become whole again. The one positive situation to come out of the process is that my ambivalence about motherhood is resolved. But we haven't been able to start over, and it still may be several months before we can. No one ever tells you that, but then again, everyone's situation is different.
We chose our path. We chose to wait until we were really ready before we tried. We chose to be at least 10 years older than most other couples before taking this leap. I often find myself in a world of women who chose more wisely, and who are starting their families long before the odds are against their success. Sometimes, that's difficult.
A dear friend of mine who suffered major obstacles in having her daughter, and only succeeded through in vitro, recently posted something on her Facebook page about the feelings you have when everyone else around you can get pregnant and stay pregnant without additional help. I certainly have not yet found myself having to go down the many difficult roads of seeking help for infertility, but I identified greatly with the feelings on that list.
And even as I admit my feelings, I know how unfair they are. It's nobody's fault that I had a miscarriage, and it's nobody's fault that we cannot yet try again. It's not fair that I sometimes feel so overwhelmed by the loss when I am surrounded by people who deservedly are experiencing so much joy.
I had such a day recently. I had an opportunity to go to lunch with a couple of really great friends, both of whom are expecting. One of those friends has played a major role in helping me get through the worst of the pain. The other friend is one with whom I also have shared some very difficult and life altering moments. And yet, I found myself in such a dark place, I just couldn't bring myself to go.
About a week later, the latter of those two friends helped me realize my mistake. In the moment I fled the scene, I thought I was protecting the two of them from my unfair feelings of sadness, and that they were better off not having to deal with me. I didn't want any of my feelings to take anything away from them, and I was afraid that's what would happen.
My friend has been going through some ups and downs with her pregnancy, and reached out to me. I explained to her what I had been feeling that day, and she told me she wished I had just talked to her. As I talked my way through the feelings I was having, and the difficulties in the process I have been going through, I came to understand that I had been a terrible friend--not because I was sad, but because I didn't share it. My friend needed me as much in my heartbreak as she needs me in my joy.
It's hard to share the bad with people. It's hard to feel like you won't be bringing them down. It's especially hard when there is guilt attached to those feelings. But if your friends are truly your friends, they don't want you to hide from them--no matter what.
That's hard to remember in the moment. And I'm not going to say that I will always get it right. But, I'm going to try to remind myself that I am not just the feeling I am having at any given moment. I am still the person I always have been. I always have something to share. Sadness and experience do not define us, they refine us.
Shake it Out--Florence + The Machine
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