August 2023 – LongLegsBigCity

Say Something. But Not the Wrong Thing.

August 30, 2023 8 Comments

After we lost our baby, we heard from a lot of friends and family. We received calls, texts, emails, flowers, Instagram DMs, you name it. Some things that were said were great, and some were… not so great. I’ve been waiting for a while to write this post so I could base this on my own experience of things I heard, instead of the usual list. I’m almost 6 months post loss, and I have heard it all. That said, I have to shoutout to my absolute favorite podcast ever, As Long As I’m Living. They did an episode called “I Can’t Imagine,” which goes over a more general list of do’s and don’ts, and in general, I agree with everything they said. There’s one place I differ but I’ll get to that later.

This post requires a very important preamble. I want to thank EVERYONE who reached out to me. I know it is far easier to say nothing than to say anything. If you read this and you identify yourself as someone who said the “wrong” thing, do not fret. Death and mourning and grief are complicated and we, as a culture, do not talk about it openly. It is uncomfortable and it is hard to know what to say. But you know what’s worse than putting your foot in your mouth? Not acknowledging the loss at all. It means so much to a grieving person to hear from friends and family. And sometimes when I heard from a friend on a particular day, absolutely nothing felt like the right thing to my ears, but a week, a month, or 6 months later, I do remember each person who texted to check in, commented on my Facebook post, or sent me a 5-pound bag of gummy bears.

I am not writing this post to chastise people who put themselves out there and tried to console me. I also know that unfortunately, I am not the only person you will meet in your lives who will go through a loss, whether it is a child, parent, sibling, or close friend. I am writing this as a first-hand account of what felt best to me, so you can take this advice and use it in the future. I want this to be a practical and useful tool.

I will be the first to admit that before this happened to me, I had NO idea what to say. I look back at the way I acted when I had friends lose parents and I cringe. I did not understand. I said the wrong things, or I said nothing at all. I forgot important dates. I didn’t acknowledge how hard Father’s Day must be for them. Etc. etc. etc. I hope that my own experience can deepen my empathy for others and help me react in kinder ways in the future to help my friends and family.

I am not an “expert.” But I can tell you what made me feel slightly better, and what made me feel slightly worse.

What not to say:

For starters, PLEASE do not call. If you are very close family, I understand calling, but anyone else, please text. In the early days, I was fielding so many calls from unknown numbers: doctors, hospitals, pharmacies, social workers, support groups, peer counselors etc. I felt that I needed to answer my phone no matter what, and I was often not in the mindset to be screening the calls. It put me in an extremely awkward position when I picked up and all I wanted to do was hang up. I once had a call from a distant family member who called from her work number. Her work, unfortunately, shared a word with the place where our daughter was being buried. I saw the caller ID and I picked up thinking it was a call about the details of burial. I was stuck on the phone for 5 minutes. Eventually, since I was mostly answering in one-word answers, she understood and ended the call, but it was excruciating.

Now on to the actual words you may say. Let’s start with the worst and most common mistake of all. DO NOT SAY “AT LEAST.” There is no “at least.” At least nothing. My child died. I almost died. I find that people start off strong with “I’m so sorry” or “This is horrible,” then they go on to the “at leasts.” As my favorite podcast hosts Judith and Alina say, don’t say anything that could end with “…so don’t be so sad.”

At least you didn’t die! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you can go on vacation now! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you have a partner who loves you! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you’re young! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you know you can get pregnant! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you have more time to save money! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you won’t be super pregnant in the summertime! … so don’t be so sad.

At least you never got so big or got stretch marks! … so don’t be so sad.

I could sit here and go down that list individually and tell you why NONE of those were “at leasts” in my mind, but as a general rule just don’t say it.

Don’t say, “you’re so strong.” This one is my personal pet-peeve. I absolutely despise this. DESPISE. If you take one thing away from this blog, please, please don’t say this. One griever to another can say this but a normal person to a griever cannot. I heard this so much, and I started to get so upset that I started saying in response, “what’s the alternative?” I was always met by crickets. This is my life now. My reality. I wake up every day and this is what I am faced with. Is that a choice? Am I strong for waking up? I guess that means the alternative would be… not waking up. It doesn’t seem like I am “strong” when you put it in that light. When someone says that I am strong, it feels as if being strong is a choice. You choose to go to the gym, you choose to lift weights, you want to be strong. Well, I didn’t choose this. In fact, I’d choose anything BUT this. Don’t say this.

Unless you are very close with me, don’t cry. If you are family or a best, best friend, it’s ok, we can grieve this loss together. It is a loss for both of us. If we are not that close, please don’t cry. It puts me in an awkward position where I become the consoler. Where I have to say, “it’s ok,” and it’s not ok. Also, it makes me feel like I should be crying. Don’t get me wrong, I cry a lot. But in a moment where I am not crying, where I am maybe relaying the news to the 300^th person, it feels strange to have the other person cry without me.

Here’s another one reserved for only close family or friends. Do not say, “call me if you need me.” I won’t. Why would I? It’s strange to say, “I’m always a phone call away” if I have not called you in 10-14 years since I was charged per text message. There’s a big exception here if you have gone through a similar loss. I want to leave interpretation up to you on what “similar” means; if you had a great grandmother die at the ripe age of 92, that is not similar. But if you had a nearly 3^rd trimester pregnancy loss? Even if we aren’t too close, I may very well take you up on the offer to chat.

I feel like this goes without saying, but I heard it a few times, so I will say it: do not comment on appearance or body shape. It is irrelevant and likely hurtful. I know people may mean well when they say I look thin, but all it reminds me of is how I should be bigger. I am aware I have been subsisting on gummy bears and naps, but there is no need to mention it. I have no baby bump, no “mommy pouch,” no external reminders about what happened. That is hard. And even if I did have those things, it would be hard, too! Would I rather look like I was pregnant and not have a baby? Or would I rather look like I wasn’t pregnant and not have a baby? Neither! I’d rather have a baby. Even saying, “you look great” carries huge emotional baggage. Should I look worse? What does a person who loses a daughter look like? Am I not sad enough? There’s no reason to talk about appearance.

Here are a couple quick things not to say, ripped from the headlines a.k.a. things people actually said to me. Do not ask what happened in a public forum. I will tell you if I want. I certainly will not tell you if you comment on a public Facebook post. If I wanted to talk about it there, I would have put it in the caption. Do not ask me if it was a difficult pregnancy. My baby is dead. That feels like the most difficult pregnancy around, no? If you are asking me if I barfed every day, I can tell you, I’d rather barf and have an alive-baby. Do not say congratulations. Read the caption, y’all. If I was announcing a living child, I would have said that. I had one person who commented this, realized her mistake later, and messaged me directly to apologize. Of course, I knew she had written it in error, but I still appreciated her private message when she realized her mistake. The other three people who wrote it probably still think I’m at home with a newborn.

This seems obvious, but for the sake of comprehensiveness, I’ll remind you that platitudes are annoying, pointless and hurtful. I’m not going to waste any time here explaining why you should never say “she’s in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason,” or “God needed another angel.” My eyes could not roll higher into my head. Do not say any of those things.

I’ll close with the only thing I disagreed with Judith and Alina on. They say not to say, “I can’t imagine” or “I can imagine.” Personally, I’m fine with “I can’t imagine,” because truly, you cannot. As bad as you think you imagine it is to be hopeful and excited one moment and then be devastated and almost dying the next, it’s worse. Saying “I can’t imagine what you’re going through” is a fine thing to say. I’d say, “yeah, I hope you never have to.” You cannot imagine, nor do I want you to!

So, if you aren’t supposed to say any of those things, what can you say? I’m so glad you asked. I have thoughts.

What to say:

If you text or email, don’t expect a reply. I saw all of the messages in those first few weeks and I “hearted” or replied when I could. Every text that came in would set me off crying again, and sometimes I just needed to hide my phone under a pillow until I could handle it. Include the words “no need to reply” in your text. It gives an easy out. And if I feel like replying, I will.

Another related piece: it’s never too late to reach out. A lot of people will text in the first few weeks, but a grieving person will be grieving literally forever. For as long as they live and their person isn’t living, they will be grieving. Don’t feel like you missed the window. It is never too late to check in and say, “I have been thinking about you.”

Do say, “I’m so sorry.” This is an easy one if you are uncomfortable with loss. It’s a full sentence. Do not follow it up with anything else. Just “I’m so sorry.” I will probably say, “thank you.” The end.

Another great easy one, “this is so terrible/horrible/painful.” Acknowledge how bad it is. It’s bad. There’s no way around it. Having someone recognize how bad it is helps. For me, hearing someone say this helped me take a step back and be like, “Yea you know what? This IS fucking horrific. I am totally justified in becoming one with the couch and going through a whole box of tissues in a day.”

Related… curse. Yep, I said it, use those expletives. Maybe this one is more me-specific, but the one Facebook comment that made me laugh out loud and then be like “YESSS!!” was when someone wrote “FUCK Emily I am so so so sorry.” I was like “THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I FEEL. FUCKKKK!!!”

Do mention the person’s name who died. I haven’t shared our daughter’s name yet on the blog, but I will eventually. I have a whole post coming about how and why we decided to name our daughter. For most people who lose someone, you will know their name. Use it! I remember the first time I heard my daughter’s name come out of a friend’s mouth, it made me cry happy tears. I was so thankful that she was acknowledged as existing. Sometimes it feels like this whole pregnancy and loss happened in my mind, so to hear her name, and know that she truly existed, it meant the world.

Finally, ask me if I want to talk about it. Most times, people tiptoe around the subject. They don’t know if I want to talk about it, or if I want a completely baby-loss-free coffee date. But trust me, if you’re awkward, I can sense it. The easiest thing to do is just ask. “Do you want to talk about it?” The answer may be different on one day than it is on another. My moods fluctuate and sometimes I want a “normal” happy hour, but sometimes all I can think about is my daughter and all I want to do is talk about her. If a grieving person does choose to talk about it, thank them for sharing. It takes extreme vulnerability to talk about loss (cough cough, like this blog), so to know a friend is listening and wants to hear more, and recognizes your bravery in talking about it, it’s meaningful.

I hope this post was helpful not just for talking to me, but for talking to anyone else in your life going through a loss. Three rules of thumb to take away:

Don’t call! Text 😊
Saying something is better than saying nothing
In conversations, let the griever lead, and listen

Travel

Brigantine Beach Girls’ Week

August 23, 2023 3 Comments

I have a fun blog this week because I went on a vaycay with the girls! I was going to say our last name like “the Smith girls,” since “the girls” are my mom and my sister, but then I realized we all have different last names. And I wouldn’t want to share them here on the blog. ANYWAY, we went to Brigantine Beach last week just outside of Atlantic City and we had a blast.

This was actually our second annual trip to Brigantine, but this one seemed much more fun because we were well-prepared.

First of all, seagulls. I know, that isn’t a full sentence, but trust me, it is. As the kids say, IYKYK. If you don’t know, the seagulls near Atlantic City are infamous. They will literally steal food out of your hand. Last year, my poor sister attempted to eat a pretzel and a seagull swooped down and nipped her arm! This year, we knew better. We brought food for hotel room consumption ONLY. Also, we knew to eat before heading to the beach or pool so we weren’t hungry.

Also, this year we knew who of us loves sitting in a chair, and who loves laying on a blanket on her stomach like a beached whale (me). We had two chairs and 5 sunscreens ready for long days in the sun. We also had games, lots of them. Throughout the 3 days, we played Uno, Taboo, and Scattergories. We also drank, but not nearly as much as we thought we would. We make this mistake every year and overestimate our love of inebriation.

The reason we love this hotel and went back to the same one is because it is a 5-minute walk to the beach, but it also has a rooftop pool. I love the beach, especially the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves, but sometimes I just want to be close to a bathroom, and not covered in sand. Also, there’s an added benefit of putting your feet in the water while you read. This year, my mom and I decided to read the exact same book at the same time. She was slightly ahead of me, but it was fun to talk about it. I also took a few long solo walks on the beach while I listened to some podcasts. It was so nice to have my feet in the sand, and to hear the crash of waves over my earbuds.

It’s a little hard to believe that I’ve made it 6 paragraphs into a post about the Jersey shore without mentioning Wawa, but do not fret. We stayed in Brigantine for three nights, and we went to Wawa 3 times. As one should. I got my fix of hoagies and iced coffees for at least another 2 weeks.

The one downside of the trip this year was that we had stormy weather every single night. Thankfully, though, it was gorgeous all day every day and we made the most of our rainy nights. One night we stayed in and played games. One night we went out to get amazing ice cream. And the other night, a true highlight: I finally saw the Barbie movie! I felt so left out of the conversation. After the first week of release, everyone had seen it, and no one would go with me. That is not entirely true, many people offered to see it with me a second time, but I felt like it just wasn’t the same if I was seeing it for the first time. However, of course it turned out that my mom and sister had both already seen it, too, because everyone had. Alas, it was still a great rainy activity, and they were both happy to see it again. We rummaged through our suitcases for any pieces of pink we could find and headed out. I ate far too much popcorn, which is exactly the right amount.

We had unintentionally amazing timing, since the Atlantic City Air Show was happening the final day, we were there. For the few days leading up, we got to see very cool (and LOUD) plane formations practicing, and on the final day after we checked out of the hotel, we headed down to the AC Boardwalk and caught the show up close and personal. We saw massive cargo planes, rescue helicopters, and the coolest part was the aerobatics. We watched planes take terrifying nosedives and barrel rolls. I was holding my breath (and my camera… see photographic evidence below) the whole time. It was extremely hot on the boardwalk without getting in the water, so we stayed just long enough to watch the show and buy some fudge.

Overall, I felt it was such a relaxing trip and I had fun, truly. I know my mom will read this and wonder if I was faking it, but I was not! Grief is strange, you can have an amazing few days, and then something can hit you like a ton of bricks. For example, on our final day there, we walked into a souvenir shop on the boardwalk for a quick respite from the heat. I looked at all of the t-shirts and tchotchkes and of course my eyes were drawn immediately to the tiny onesies. I remembered the last time I was in a shop like that on Fort Lauderdale beach for my close friend’s wedding in February. I was 23.5 weeks pregnant. I almost bought an adorable two-piece get-up for our baby-to-be. But I didn’t. And who knows if I ever will. Being in that store immediately cut me. But the way I know I’m healing is, I was able to move through that feeling and on to other feelings.

We dropped my sister off at the train station, and then my mom and I went back to my parents’ house. We went to a garden dedication for her friend where 5 of my mom’s friends asked if I had gotten taller. I’m not sure if they are shrinking or if I’m getting taller, but I’m wondering if I should measure myself just to be sure. Later that night, we saw Sutton Foster in concert at Longwood Gardens. Her song choice was meh, but her voice was amazing. I felt so lucky to see her and spend more time with my momma! I stayed at my parents’ house for the night and got to spend more time with them and a friend the next day going on walks around the neighborhood.

We had such a stress-free and great bonding week. Our hope is to make this an annual thing and do it again next year!

At the garden dedication with my parents

Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Death by a Million Cuts

August 17, 2023 4 Comments

TW: Pregnancy Loss

People sometimes ask or ponder what it feels like to lose a baby. There are thousands of metaphors on the internet. Grief is like the ocean, some days have large waves and some have small. Grief is like a black hole that never fills, but you build around it. Grief is like a big black ball in a jug, where the ball doesn’t get smaller, but as you heal, the jar gets bigger. I could go on and on. But most of these descriptions and similes have to do with grief, not with actually losing a part of yourself. That’s what losing a baby is. My daughter’s entire existence was within my own body, and then she was gone. If I could describe what it’s like, it’s like dying yourself, but not in one fell swoop in a large dramatic event. It’s like death by a million tiny cuts.

Obviously, there is one huge gaping wound, and I mean that physically and metaphorically. But the tiny cuts almost hurt worse because they are completely unpredictable, and it seems like they are always right behind a dark corner. Nowhere is safe.

The first cut came the same day I got home from the hospital. I went on Instagram, which is a mine field even on a good day. I saw a post from a friend who I knew was pregnant and due the same month as I was. Her lizard died and she was devastated. Her lizard. She posted a photo of it in her hand. Meanwhile it made me think about how little my baby had been. Would she have fit in my hand in an 8×8 box in a similar staged photo? What if I posted that on Instagram? This girl still had a baby in her stomach, how dare she be upset about a reptile???

The next cuts came from a doctor’s visit. Twelve hours after leaving the hospital, I had to go into the doctor’s office to have blood drawn for labs and to calibrate my meds. I was really hoping for a video appointment so I wouldn’t have to sit in a waiting room full of pregnant people, but the only availability was in-person, another tiny cut.

I was sort of prepared for the waiting room, and I was so glad Chris was with me, but I was fully unprepared for the next part. I was originally supposed to have my 26-week appointment that day and take a glucose test. Even though all of my upcoming appointments had been deleted from the system (thanks to my sister for handling this for me), there must have been a miscommunication. The nurse asked me if I drank the glucose drink. I said no. She asked if I already did the blood sugar test. I said, “I’m not doing that test anymore.” I couldn’t bring myself to say why. The nurse then handed me a packet of papers and told me there was information in there about “how my baby is acting and measuring at 26 weeks.” I looked to Chris and I said, “what the f*ck is going on??” I thought it was some sort of cruel joke. I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out from behind the door and say I was being Punk’d. I was speechless. Chris said, “we’re not pregnant anymore” and I burst into tears. Of course, the nurse felt horrible and ran out of the room. When the nurse came back with tissues, she handed me an EDPS survey to measure post-partum depression. Another small cut – how could I be post-partum with no baby?? She proceeded to take my blood pressure and of course it was sky-high.

Then, I had to get more blood taken (a physical small cut), and the phlebotomist asked which arm I preferred. My arms were COVERED in bruises, so I said, “how about I show you my arms and you can decide which is better.” She told me she was pretty confident in her skills and had seen some bad bruising in her time, but when I freed my arms from my long sleeves, I believe her exact words were, “damn girl! Those are impressive!” I had green, yellow, blue and purple gnarly bruises spreading from my tops of my hands, to my wrists, all the way up my arms almost to my shoulders. Looking at them through the phlebotomist’s eyes took me immediately back 7 days to my initial few minutes in triage where 8 nurses and doctors were running around trying to get a needle in my arm as fast as possible, trading off to the next nurse after each one failed. Over the next few months, every time I had blood drawn at the doctor’s office, that same phlebotomist remembered me and my bruises.

10 days later, more metaphorical small cuts came at the doctor. I checked my chart online first, to make sure it wasn’t showing a 28-week appointment or anything like that. Instead, it was coded as “post-partum,” which, technically, was correct. I was hopeful there wouldn’t be any mishaps. Again, I waited in a room full of pregnant people and sat in the corner with sunglasses on, listening to a podcast, trying to breath normally. Again, Chris was with me to try and allay a panic attack. We were called into the room, and the nurse started asking all these questions about my delivery, how I was doing with the baby etc. This time I was able to say out loud “there’s no baby” and of course immediately started crying and losing control of my breathing. Again, she felt awful. And again, she proceeded to take my blood pressure and it was sky high. When the doctor came in, I asked her to PLEASE put in caps in my chart that there was no baby and I started crying again.

Two days later, another tiny cut came in the form of stomach problems. One of the main side effects of the medication I was on was stomach issues. Thankfully, I hadn’t had any. Until now. It felt cruel that just as my body was starting to normalize and stop bleeding, it would let me down again. I canceled all of my weekend plans because I felt terrible. And to be honest, I didn’t want to go anywhere anyway. There is nothing worse for your mental health than when your physical health is bad as well.

I was pretty sure my doctor had to be sick of hearing from me, but I messaged her again asking how to fix my stomach. She wrote me back the next day and good news (irony) was that since I wasn’t pregnant anymore or breastfeeding, I could basically take anything I wanted. While I was thankful and hopeful it would work, I remember chugging the medicine and crying, extremely angry that I was even allowed to take it. Another cut.

At least my body wasn’t bleeding anymore, right? Wrong. My body just continued to blackmail me. Two weeks later, I was bleeding again. And again, I messaged my doctor, “is this normal?” Good news: it was “within the range of normal.” Bad news, the doctor said “normal” was that my body could be messed up and out of whack for three months. EYE ROLL.

I took two weeks off work, but I was going stir crazy at home. I wasn’t allowed to work out, which was another tiny cut. I decided I should go back to work because being alone with my thoughts wasn’t helping. But the second week back to work, I opened a Zoom and boom, it was a woman holding her 3-month-old baby. I felt like I was stabbed. In my job, I help people find new jobs, so she was lamenting to me about all of the terrible things that had happened to her in the past year, and why she wanted to look for a new job. All the while, she was bouncing and holding her (very alive and healthy) baby on camera. I’m not sure if she could sense my silence or uncomfortability but she added “of course having this little guy was amazing and the best part of our year.” Then she made some baby noises at him. At that point I just blacked out. I have no idea what I said to her. I was just trying to survive and get through the call. Eventually it ended and I gave up on work for the rest of the day so I could cry.

I haven’t even mentioned the endless tiny cuts caused by social media. As a 35-now-36-year-old female, I know a LOT of people getting pregnant. It felt like a new person every single day. A bump pic. A pregnancy announcement. I only have four cousins, and one of them had a baby the exact same day we lost ours. So of course I saw photos from them and from other cousins. Also, from my aunt and uncle, proud grandparents 3 times over. Just when I thought the social media barrage was done, all of a sudden somehow my baby cousin was 1 month old, and I saw more pictures and a reminder that it had been exactly one month since we lost our daughter. I realized that for the rest of that child’s life, every single milestone would be a reminder of what we don’t get to have. I immediately muted my cousin’s social media.

One of the issues with losing a baby so far along in a pregnancy is that people know and word travels quickly. Soon, it’s not just the people you told, but the people they told. That also means that you don’t necessarily know who knows or when it will come up. Danger is around every corner and you’re left with two options: mention it first and create a very awkward situation, or don’t mention it and hope it doesn’t come up or hope that they don’t know. A million cuts waiting to happen.

Two months to the day after I left the hospital, I was in the elevator in my building with a friend of my neighbor and her 4-year-old daughter. The doors closed and she excitedly said, “you’re having a baby!” I was stunned and momentarily speechless. Then I finally said, “I’m not.” And she said “Oh!” Another awkward silence. Then I said, “I was, but now I’m not.” Thankfully, the doors then opened on my floor, and I walked out.

In a twisted sense of fate, I had told my neighbor we were expecting the week before I went into the hospital. Of course. The universe has a sense of humor sometimes. When I came home from the hospital, I didn’t tell her what happened. I didn’t have the words to tell anyone, but I had asked a few friends and family to spread the news on my behalf. Of course, they didn’t know to tell my neighbor. After my elevator run-in, I walked into my apartment and collapsed on the couch to cry. It was so unexpected and that made it even worse. I was mad at myself for letting my guard down and leaving the house. Nowhere was safe, not even the elevator to my home. Worse, I knew I’d eventually hear from my neighbor once her friend wrote her and probably yelled at her, “how could you not have told me! I felt so bad!” I just curled up into a ball and waited for her text, another small cut.

Sure enough, an hour later my neighbor wrote to me and was so sweet and empathetic. She really couldn’t have written a better message, but it still wrecked me. She said she was so sorry and that she had no idea we were mourning a horrible loss, meanwhile she was picturing us nesting and getting ready for a baby on the other side of our shared wall. I couldn’t stop thinking about that: what could/should have been happening versus what actually was. I started thinking about what was happening with my other friends who were due the same month as me. Instead, in our apartment, it was just Chris and me and a silent house filled only with blank spaces where baby things used to be and punctuated by sounds of my cries instead of a baby’s.

The little cuts never stop coming. It’s the lake house my family booked for a week that was driving distance to New York City, because we thought we’d be driving with our baby. It’s the trips we can now take because we have no reason not to. It’s the weekend mornings when I sleep ‘til 11 am, and wake to an empty and silent room. It’s my friends asking to go to happy hour, and me knowing I can drink as much as I want because I’m not breastfeeding. It’s every friend who has a baby who will now be older than any future baby of mine for the rest of their lives.

I wish that this was a one-and-done loss, but unfortunately it seems like the gift that keeps on giving. Just when I think one cut has started to scab over and heal, I hit something else sharp, and a wound opens again. I hope a time comes when the cuts are fewer, and I have more healed scars than open wounds, but that time is not now.

Grief and Pregnancy Loss, Miscellaneous

Highlight Reel

August 8, 2023 3 Comments

TW: Pregnancy Loss

Last week I talked about social media and how I have been taking a break to get away from the “highlight reel,” which constantly makes me feel like my life is filled with lowlights. This week, I wanted to switch it up and show you some of my own highlights.

I want to be clear that I’m not doing this to show you that I’m ok. I’m not. I also don’t want to give the impression that in these moments, I forgot about my daughter. I didn’t. But emotions are complicated and layered, and they don’t fit into an easy box. So many different things can exist at the same time: happiness and sadness, joy and anxiety, laughter and fear. That said, here are a few times I felt better than other times over the past 5 months. And for my parents, I included photos as #proofoflife. Sometimes I smile, and some of those times (not all times), it’s actually genuine!

(Friends, family, if I have seen you in the past few months and you are not included in this post, please realize that it has nothing to do with you. It’s not easy to get out of my head and feel happy, so if my time with you is not on this list, I was probably having a bad day. There are more of those than good days. Sometimes I appreciate company on bad days even more than on good days.)

Speaking of highlights, my first positive thing that happened was getting my hair colored. For some reason, whenever I am going through some sh*t, I have this feral need to change my hair. I remember after my first horrible breakup I dyed my hair DARK to reflect my mood. This time, I was hoping for a fresh start, so I went super light blonde for spring. I’m including a photo here but don’t judge my ghastly dark circle eyes appearance, this was 3 days after leaving the hospital. You can see the full color transformation video from my stylist’s Instagram. #NewHairNewMe

I was looking forward to maternity leave and bonding with my baby. I was not looking forward to weeks on the couch recovering from a long hospital stay with no living baby to show for it. Two highlights from my recovery: gummy bears & a Friends coloring book. In those early days, I received cards and flowers and succulents, and ubereats gift cards, and all of them were appreciated. But I wasn’t really thinking about food in terms of meals. I was thinking more in terms of what I mindlessly put in my mouth while sitting on the couch barely comprehending Modern Family. I ate literally 10 pounds of gummy bears those first two months. Five pounds of those were sent from my friend who also sent comfy PJs. I lived in those pajamas for days on end while I consumed pure sugar. I wasn’t allowed to work out, and there’s only so much staring at the wall you can do, but I loved my Friends coloring book. It was mindless but it kept my hands busy instead of scrolling social media. Flipping through the coloring book and remembering all of the scenes where I had laughed out loud reminded me of some of the things I loved and found funny “before.”

Six weeks after losing our daughter, Chris planned a surprise staycation for us. We stayed at the Beekman hotel downtown and it was the perfect low-stakes way to have our first night out of our apartment together. We took a quick Uber ride downtown and it was as if we were transported to a different time. I didn’t have to sit at the same table where I was sitting when my doctor told me to come into the hospital. I didn’t have to stare at the empty spot in our living room where the baby swing had been set up. I didn’t have to look at my empty fridge door that used to be filled with ultrasound photos. I just got to sleep in a luxurious king size bed with the man I loved, eat delicious food, and be together. We came home from dinner (one elevator ride away) and put on the thick, plush hotel robes and watched Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. It felt so nice to get out of our apartment and have a change of scenery.

My first major outing after I came home from the hospital was to a Heat playoff game. I’m extremely lucky that one of my closest friends has amazing work perks, and one of those is VERY good seats to events. Since we are both big Miami Heat fans, and they happened to be playing in New York against the Knicks, she got amazing tickets. As I mentioned last week, it wasn’t without its anxiety and pre-outing worries (do I even bother putting on makeup when I’ve only cried once today so far?) but overall, I had a blast. I was able to have a few hours where I could focus on the game and remember what it was like to be out with a friend having fun. We went out for a drink after, and I made it through many hours in a row with company and no tears. I knew I was hitting my maximum of breakdown-free social interaction, so I left before dinner, but it was fun to dress up and leave the house again.

Somehow, throughout these past few months I have been #BookedAndBusy with my braiding side hustle. I am honestly extremely impressed with myself that I have been able to manage any of the jobs I took. The administration of back-and-forth emails, communication of rates, deposits, and then showing up on a specific date and time to carry out a task? Herculean. But I did it. Time and time again. I have had more than 20 clients and events this year. Every time I finish a job, I feel not only a sense of accomplishment, but I am so proud of myself for doing something I used to do with ease “before.” There is nothing like the look in a young girl’s eyes when she sees her hair in ribbon braids for the first time. Again, this hasn’t been without hiccups. Braiding adults and children ALWAYS leads to questions about whether or not I have kids and comments about how good I am with kids. I usually have to do serious mental pre-work before any kid’s party. I braided a mother and daughter for a family photoshoot just 6 weeks after I left the hospital. The topic of kids came up when I was braiding the mom and I was prepared. I said, “we just recently went through a traumatic loss but hopefully someday.” It was a succinct way to tell the truth, and it cut off any follow-up questions. Unfortunately, later when the dad came home with the daughter, he hadn’t heard that conversation and he also asked, talking about how great I was with kids. When I left that client, I was extra proud of myself for being honest, for holding it together, and for being professional. I felt like it was a highlight because it was the first time I told the truth and I felt good about it.

Last week I mentioned how fraught our Jamaica vacation was, but I didn’t mention the main highlight: our anniversary. Chris has been a rock for me these past few months, but as some books say, a grieving person is a selfish person by necessity. I haven’t had the capacity to look after anyone but myself for many months. I really wanted to do something special for Chris for our anniversary, but I knew I didn’t have it in me to order, buy, and hide a unique gift. I didn’t even pack for our trip until 10 hours before. But somehow, I had the idea to email the hotel and have them orchestrate an anniversary surprise. With a few emails back and forth, I paid for them to have champagne and a bubble bath in our room when we arrived. They went above and beyond, with chocolate dipped fruit and rose petals everywhere. It was a big highlight for me before I finally felt like I had done something for someone else, and I wanted to make sure Chris knew how much I appreciated him.

The next week was my birthday. I won’t say my birthday itself was a highlight, I was a mess and I cried that morning after I went to the gym. But my parents decided to come into the city to visit that day, and Mother Nature showed off. My birthday can be extremely hot, but this year it was sunny and bearable! My sister hosted a Memorial Day BBQ, so my parents and husband and I walked up to my sister’s place along the Hudson River. It was so nice to show my parents my usual walking route, to be outside, and to have a brief distraction from the fact that I wasn’t 38 weeks pregnant. I always feel proud and happy when I can show people the little things I like about New York (hint: it’s not the crowds or the traffic).

Some of the MANY braids I’ve done this year.

Chris and I love to celebrate our many anniversaries. Ok, maybe only I love to celebrate them. For our wedding anniversary we were in Jamaica, but for our meetiversary Chris scheduled another surprise trip. This was his belated birthday present to me, and we went to Chicago for the weekend. The timing was perfect because it was also Father’s Day weekend, which we were happy to have a distraction from. The entire weekend was a highlight. We stayed in beautiful hotels, we ate AMAZING food, and again, the weather was absolutely perfect. We got to do our favorite activity together, Segways! Since we had done them a few times before, we wanted a unique experience, so we did a night tour and got to see fireworks. It was a blast (literally).

Slowly but surely, I’ve been getting myself back into the world. I’ve been trying to socialize in safe spaces, which is often with family. Many highlights have been just going on walks with my sister. Doing nails. Talking about normal things without having to act. Two weeks ago, I went to my great aunt’s 90th birthday party. It was so nice to see family. It was not without a breakdown in the middle of the luncheon (why did I bother wearing makeup!?) but overall, I was so happy to see family I hadn’t seen since before Covid. This past weekend, I went to Texas to visit my nephews and in-laws. It was so refreshing to spend a weekend with family having fun. Sitting in my apartment makes my mind wander, and it is usually not to bright places. In Texas, my brother-in-law, a two-time-purple-heart Army vet, took me to the shooting range because he said I needed to “let off some steam.” Concentrating on a target and learning a new skill left no room in my head for other thoughts. What a rush. I came home feeling lighter than I have in months. Being with family, going bowling, getting blizzards at Dairy Queen, I felt like I did last year.

Writing these blogs has been interesting for me, because I have had a chance to reflect on both the good and the bad. There have been both, and sometimes at the same time. I’ve been writing a lot, and I already know that the blog I will publish next week is a doozy of reality, and it’s not uplifting. But between those moments, there have been good ones. Sometimes I have to look harder for them now, but they’re there. Here’s hoping for many more bright spots and highlights in the future.

Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Social Media and Grief

August 3, 2023 12 Comments

TW: Pregnancy Loss

I’m on social media hiatus. I know it’s hard to believe, but Little Miss 4 Instagrams, 3 Facebooks, and 2 TikToks has gone dark. I haven’t been on the apps in almost 2 weeks, and I have to tell you, I feel free and light.

I’ve taken a break one other time since my loss and it was around Mother’s Day. I left social media for 5 days and felt great about it, and then the moment I opened Instagram for the first time I was bombarded by yet another pregnancy announcement. I regretted it immediately. Of course, the ultrasound and bump photos are extraordinarily terrible, but it’s not just that, it’s everything.

I remember a few months ago, I mentioned to my therapist how tired I was. She asked me if I was sleeping well, and the honest answer was, I was sleeping great! More than ever (hello… no baby to wake me up!), and with amazing quality. She dug into my statement a little more, and asked if I was tired like sleepy tired, or something else. I had to think about it, but the reality was, I was just mentally exhausted. Something people don’t talk about enough is that grief is extremely exhausting. There was the anxiety piece – I was always worried that something I didn’t want to talk about would come up – and there was the fear that no one understood me, but there was also the main problem: it takes an exorbitant amount of energy to “act fine.”

When I explained to my therapist that I was mostly tired of pretending I was ok, she again pushed and asked why I was pretending. Part of it was that I felt no one wanted to be around the “sad girl” and I had already lost so much, I didn’t want to lose my friends, too. Another small part was that I was hoping I could almost will myself to be ok, in a “fake it ‘til you make it” mindset. But the main part was, I felt like I was the only sad person in the world. It seemed like everyone else was happy and thriving, and I was… not.

In May, Chris and I went to Jamaica. We took some photos, although nowhere near as many as usual. I could have posted the picture of my nails around my pina colada in the pool. But the truth of that photo was that I was crying behind my sunglasses because I saw a pregnant friend on Instagram, so I was staring blankly at my Kindle and I couldn’t process the words. I could have posted the view of the 5 pools at the resort, but the truth was that I was barely functioning, staring at the water thinking only that we wouldn’t have been at that resort or looking at those pools if I was 37 weeks pregnant like I was supposed to be. My main activity during vacation? I had telehealth therapy twice while we were there. I thought about posting a selfie of us on the shuttle to the airport and captioning it “can’t wait to sleep in my bed,” but the truth was that an old friend texted me that morning while we were at breakfast to “check on me and the baby” and I cried when the TSA agent asked me to open my passport to the photo page. I couldn’t stop crying until an hour into the flight, and the reality was, I “couldn’t wait to cry in my own bed,” not sleep in it. I struggled posting anything happy on Instagram, because I knew how unrepresentative it was of the whole picture.

I realize that Instagram is a “highlight reel,” and people are showing only the best parts of their lives. The app literally has a feature on your profile for “highlights” and no one is ever talking about lowlights. There have been some ups and some downs in the past few months, but it feels fake to talk about the ups, when the downs are so far down. For example, I went to multiple Miami Heat Playoff Games, but when I see those photos, I remember debating whether I could put on mascara or if I would cry it off. I once was talking about social media with my sister-in-law, and she said, “of course everything on my Instagram is fake and highly curated.” But I never ran my social media like that. I tried to be as real as possible, showing highs and lows in my stories, complaining about the dentist, showing my gross sweaty self while waiting for the subway in the summer, not putting filters on my face, etc. I knew I was in the minority, and it became even more clear when I was seeking to find anything real or any sort of struggle as I was dealing with my own, and I couldn’t find it anywhere.

When I explained to my therapist how tired I was of acting fine, she encouraged me to “bring people into my grief.” She said that real friends would be there with me if I invited them in. She gave me some homework to try and make a genuine connection and open up with a friend. I tried, and you know what, that b*tch (my therapist) was right… to an extent. I hate when my therapist is right, but unfortunately it happens a lot.

Chris and I eventually decided to share about the loss of our daughter on social media, and I was ready for empty platitudes and stupid replies, but I found that was not the response. Most people said what they could, because what could you say? I have a blog coming soon on what to say and what not to say, but the reality is, nothing helps. A few people said “Congratulations,” so I recommend reading the caption before commenting, y’all. (“Congratulations” definitely doesn’t help.)

It was relatively cathartic to come out of hiding with my grief. I found that people were willing to share things with me one on one. Sometimes on the very same app where they were posting happy smiling kids and spouses, they opened up to me in my direct messages that those same smiling kids were sick and up all night. Or they had 2-month NICU stays. Or their happy family actually had a member who was struggling with deep depression. Or despite their 2 happy kids on the ‘gram, they had 2 pregnancy losses before them. I started to feel a bit less alone, but I still couldn’t get over an overwhelming feeling of fakeness.

I was working so hard to be authentic, to open up my whole self and show my hurt, my depression, my endless tears and panic attacks at doctors. And then I would go back to the main feed and I saw highs and highs and more highs. I heard all of the “right” words in private conversations, but no one was sharing the way I was. I found out that someone was hiding a pregnancy for months while at the same time, I was throwing my heart on the table. I wasn’t able to balance what I knew to be true through conversations, and what I saw in those happy smiley photos. I knew I needed a break. Sharing things is a delicate balance, and some people are far more private than me. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and often expect the same in return. Unfortunately, social media doesn’t work that way. People share what they want, when they want, in the way they want.

I was recently journaling trying to figure out what I needed in friends, whether it is coworkers, super tight best friends, acquaintances or Facebook “friends.” I came to the realization that I need people I can relate to, people I have things in common with, and people I can feel like I’m in a relationship with 2-way sharing on similar levels. I am fine with surface-level pleasantries and highlight reel-type interactions from people if I do the same toward them. My real struggle is when there is an imbalance, and when I feel like I open myself up to a person and it isn’t reciprocated.

I realize this is a hilarious oxymoron, as I am currently pouring my heart out on a blog that is read by over 100 people, but often gets 0 comments. Writing on a blog feels different than social media because I am writing into blank space. I don’t need a reply, and I don’t need to see anyone else’s thoughts or “perfect” lives. There is an understanding that a person is reading this only if they want. Social media feels like a constant imbalance where I am pushed things I don’t want or need to see. I am sure that I will eventually be back on Instagram and Facebook, maybe even tomorrow if I’m driven to it, and I’m sure I will see things that upset me. My hope is that I’m able to find genuine connections, as well, to balance these surface-level ones. While some people are extreme introverts and are ok without deep connections on a regular basis, I know I am not that person. I crave closeness from others, and I have been working hard to find people who I can relate with, share with, and who I feel will share back. It’s a work in progress, but for me, I know I need that balance before I can dive back into social media.

Say Something. But Not the Wrong Thing.

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