Breathing Through the Journey

I’ve had a lot of emotions lately. These feelings have been bubbling to the surface for the past month… and now they have a front-row seat in my life.

I originally drafted this on April 24th. I kept going back and forth on whether to post it. I felt imposter syndrome creeping in. I worried people would view me differently or judge me in a negative way.

But honestly… fuck it.

I’m posting this shit.

Because it’s real. It’s me. And it’s exactly why I started this frickin’ blog.

Over the past few weeks, things have been getting harder for me. Not because of the medicine. Not because of treatment.

Because I’m approaching the date I would have given birth to Wyatt.

Every day, it feels a little harder.

I socialize. I have a few drinks. I make plans. And then I regret all of it.

Well… sometimes all of it.

Some days are okay. Some days are bad. Some days I’m just not in the mood to socialize, and honestly—sorry not sorry.

When I’ve had a few drinks, I become a chaotic texter and suddenly make plans with everyone and their mother. Then reality hits, and I regret it. I end up retracting plans or trying to reschedule everyone I enthusiastically invited into my social calendar.

Whoops. Lol.

But I hate it.

I like the idea of being around people.

But when the moment actually comes? I don’t want to see anyone.

I’m having a hard time opening up right now. Trying to talk to people while carrying how hurt and broken I feel inside is exhausting.

I cry every day.

You probably wouldn’t know that if it weren’t for this blog.

I’m very good at hiding it.

I give my all to work. I act happy. I act capable. I act like I can dominate anything put in front of me.

But it’s a façade.

I wear a mask.

And I wear it well.

Inside, though, I am screaming.

I am crying.

I am grieving what could have been.

I am grieving the reality that on May 20th, I would have been holding my son in my arms.

And that moment was taken from me.

All of my friends have their babies.

My sister is due with my nephew the same week I was due.

The week of my due date, I have a doctor’s appointment, we’re getting our Wyatt tattoos, and I have a Memorial Day party.

I don’t know how I’m going to get through the month of May.

I don’t even know how I’m going to process things after May 20th.

So, my husband recently went to the NFL Draft and had a great time. It was the first time I had really been alone through all of this.

And alone felt scary.

My security blanket was gone.

I felt exposed.

The parts of me I keep covered were suddenly out in the open.

I was a wreck.

That weekend, I cried, slept, organized, and repeated the cycle.

Lately, I feel overstimulated by everything in my mind.

When I try to explain how I feel, it feels like no one gets it.

Like I’m talking to walls.

At the same time, when someone gets emotional, gives advice, or even seems distant or unresponsive… I get the ick.

It feels like nothing anyone says or does can reach me right now.

I’ve held everything in for the past few months.

And now that I’m starting to physically feel better… now that reality is really sinking in…

I can’t stop crying.

I’m grieving the life I thought I was going to have.

And I’m grieving the life I once had.

Everything has changed.

I feel like I’m screaming inside and no one can hear me.

Like I’m muffled.

Like there’s a hand over my mouth.

I feel like I’m expected to be okay. To wait. To trust there’s some new and better future ahead.

And I know there is.

But I can’t see it right now.

I’ve always been honest about my past struggles with self-harm. Anyone who knows me knows that.

This trauma was the first time since high school that those thoughts crossed my mind again.

Would I act on them?

Absolutely not.

I know that doesn’t solve anything. I’ve done therapy. I still do therapy.

But the fact that those thoughts even appeared scared me.

The thought of:

Would people finally understand how deeply I’m hurting?

Would they finally listen?

Because that’s all I really want right now.

To be listened to.

To know I’m being heard.

So for now, I’ll keep saying it here.

I’ll keep putting the ugly, messy, painful truth somewhere it can breathe.

Even when I can’t.