Pregnant woman aren't supposed to have lunch meat. It can give the baby listeria or something. Tucker had already died at that point, Fletcher was delivered a few days later. It wasn't the ham that caused it but I guess my subconscious is dwelling on that and gave me a moment of panic, 6 months later.
I got so frustrated one day, in the midst of some family issues, that I was crying and slammed a pot on the island. I was pregnant. The pot slamming came at the end of a very stressful week that was a culmination of some very stressful months. Stress isn't good for pregnant woman.
After months of bed rest and day after day of throwing up, I had a dr appt. The nurse convinced me that I was suffering from depression and told the Dr in her notes that I needed meds. I didn't think I was depressed. I was worried. I didn't know what all the throwing up was doing to the babies, I didn't know if they were getting enough nutrients. I was tired of laying around and I was unsure of when I would be able to go back to work but I wasn't depressed. But I took the script for Zoloft and went home. I googled side effects on pregnancy and there were as many pros as there were cons. I talked to Jason about it and made the decision I would try it. I took one pill and immediately regretted it and never took another. I wasn't depressed. I was a pregnant mom of twins who was having a really hard pregnancy. The depression would come later.
I think about all I did for my babies, all I would have continued to do, but my mind keeps going back to the things that might have altered the course of my pregnancy. It's really hard to come to a place of understanding that my boys served the purpose they were meant to serve. That I will be with them one day, just not now. Guilt is a cruel thing, robbing you of what you know to be true.
Watched a special on 20/20 and it got me thinking. Everyone puts their best on social media. The profile picture that gets 40 likes was take number 17. The rest got deleted because of bags under my eyes, a double chin, my hair wasn't perfect. I think I've opened myself up to a certain transparency with my blog of showing the pain and truth of what grieving looks like but it's still not an honest picture.
If it were I'd put pictures of the ceiling at 4am that I'm staring at most nights I can't sleep. It would be more posts about anxiety or fear and less of how much I love my husband or how great the massage felt. I think social media has a big element of faking it til you make it. Which for me, has been a good thing. Because if I only get out of the house 1 day out of 7 and post about the fun I had at the beach with my family on the day i finally was able to leave, then the feedback I get is how great it is to see me happy. How beautiful my family is. If I put up pictures of the kids being active in different things it shows me living for that moment. Not capturing the other moments of despair, of heartache.
You can't judge someone based on instagram, Facebook, twitter or even blogs. A picture is worth 1000 words but to the person in the picture, or behind the picture, their 1000 words may be a world apart from yours.
I was sitting with my family last weekend at a water park and it was a good day. I was feeling very much connected and present with them. We were eating lunch and somehow the conversation came around to God. On the ride down L had asked us about animals going to heaven. I don't know if that was weighing on A's mind or something else but she asked me about God and how you get to heaven. In the midst of people running around us, kids screaming and laughing in the background, I talked to her about salvation. I talked to her about asking Christ into your heart and turning from sin. She listened, she processed, she asked some questions and then moved on to another subject. But I could tell that she was weighing what I said "got you into heaven" with what she sees in me.
People are always watching. You have to be careful and mindful of what you show them. If it's a picture that took 20 mins to get right, filtered and edited to look so carefree and beautiful or a status of what you are thinking, people pay attention. And they see what you are showing them.
I don't think I'll ever share more pain than I've shown. Part of grieving and healing is private. The moments and days that hurt the most are often not documented. They are between me, Jason, God and my boys. But I put my life out there for people to see. That means people will judge but that also means people will love, encourage and comment kindness.
I googled nervous breakdown and I have all the symptoms. Serious. All of them. Anxiety, check. Rapid heartbeat, check. Pulling away from people you love, check. Scared of everything, check Hypochondriac, check. Fear that your family will die, check.
I know I'm not having a nervous breakdown, I'd have been locked up by now if that were going to happen I think. But I can't get over how hard this is. How it weaves it's way through every fiber of your being, every piece of your life. This is real. It's suffocating and it's all consuming. I'm trying to let is consume less and less of me.
I read somewhere recently that coming to the end of a road, be it grieving or something else, is often scarier than it should be because we know that when something ends, something else begins. I'm praying that through my transparency, though my pictures, through my words, that my healing will come and lead me to a smooth beginning that won't be as scary as it feels.
Blessed because through these struggles and dark days, God is continuing to show me truth, give me hope and mend my broken heart.