Today, I came across an old journal entry from 2015. It is referring to an ultrasound appointment where, I received the news that my pregnancy would not progress. Coming across the entry was jarring and yet somehow beautiful. Yes, it is a painful chapter. But to revisit and acknowledge my journey with compassion and acceptance is a blessing. To honour the moments that cracked me wide open so I can really feel my capacity for love and strength. I felt so much love and compassion for that earlier version of myself. I have not always held that compassion for myself. I really struggle with it daily. I am hard on myself. But upon reading it today, how I wanted to hold her and let her know it was not her fault, that I have her, and that it will be okay. To blanket her and comfort her.
“October 22, 2014 I got the confirmation. "Are you here alone?" She asked. Then she left the room for what seemed an eternity. I knew then. The doctor came it, I held back the tears while he spoke the best I could. I held my head up and left the doctors office, the heat rising, the tears welling, the world closing in around me, or maybe it was my heart imploding.
Confusion and emotion swirling around me and through me. I sat in that parking lot for a long time. I'm not dying. I kind of expected the news. Why does it hurt so much? Why am I so emotional? Replaying the moments in my head from the beginning. Feeling angry, confused, and deeply sad.
Then cries a voice, “did I manifest this? What karma am I playing out? What is the lesson here? Who do I turn to? What is god trying to tell me?” Fear, anxiety, shame, blame, overwhelm me. Grasping to hold on to something…
You know, the yogic path is not an easy path. Once you are on it, you can never go back to before. You may get lost on the path, but it always whispers to your heart calling you home. And thank god for that but it's not easy.
I have learned this path demands an openness, a surrender. It asks for forgiveness at the rawest moments. It calls you to stay present and open in the light and in the darkest hours; To feel passionately blissful and equally to touch the depths of sorrow.
It is a blistering choice to choose to turn toward the light; to allow god to wrap arms around you and hold you. To trust there is a divine plan greater than you can ever understand. Even when the hurt place in you screams this is bullshit!
As I drove home that day, tears streaming down my face, I felt so alone. I craved my husband’s embrace but felt like hiding in a dark hole, ‘I should be strong and rational. This happens to so many women. It’s just life. Or not. He won’t understand. We didn’t even plan this. We just got married.’ The thoughts rushing through my mind faster than I can hold.
The next day the blood began. The fear of not knowing what is to come. The embarrassment in the hospital. Time moving in slow motion, a blur, confusion, I wanted to leave my body but the cramps held me close. Then when it was over, I felt disconnected, numb, now what? Go home, return to normal.
The horror of putting this in writing, the stuff people don't talk about. Too much information. Too personal. It keeps me alone in moments of fear and sadness. The doctors, friends and family’s awkwardness has me drowning in alienation. The "I'm so sorry," is heart-felt but the silence grows over the weeks. What else can they do anyway, nothing seems to help. I’m angry, irritated, and embarrassed.
Thank you to my husband and son for bearing with me in these dark moments with love and presence. It is their loss too but I cant see it in the moment. I can now say I am grateful for the space as I see I needed to be alone and I needed to make peace with god and with myself.
The body is a miraculous system. Life can change at any given moment. One minute you can carry a life in you and if something is not quite right, the body knows and effectively releases it. You can carry the promise of life for 9 weeks and give it back in just as long. Nobody talks about this stuff. But I wish more did. So, I would know it’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to be as I am and that I am not alone.”
Grief subtly sneaks up from behind and just lingers in my space at times, known or unknowingly. Other times, it feels like a shove to the ground. There is the saying that time heals wounds. I think it does heal some wounds but leaves a scar. It forever changes you. More grief can split the wound open again and call us to do more healing. The pain can still be felt, a memory surfaces or a stream of memories flood in. Sometimes tears, laughter, shame, or even rage bubble up. My daughter was born after my miscarriage. I remember feeling intense anxiety and panic that first year, afraid she would die. My mother-in-law, stepfather and three friends died within a few short years. I obsessively worried about something happening to my family. My teenage son often feeling constricted by my anxieties.
Some memories of loved ones gone, begin to fade and I find myself so desperately trying to grasp onto them, “do not forget.” Holding on dearly, frantically even, to hang on the pieces of myself that now feel fragmented or lost; stories, memories, connections, shared history, and meaning, hanging on by a thread. I have experienced much loss and grief in my life, it is no stranger, as many of us have experienced. Grief can come in many forms such as loss of a job, relationship, lifestyle, a belief system, or death. The common thread is it provokes a sense of loss of something important to us. Change is a part of life. We cannot escape it, although we should not fear it either.
The ground moves, foundations crumble and the loss of control or power in our lives can feel devastating. Grief cracks you wide open. It unveils the frailties, illusions, and shadows of life. It can also awaken the tender, vulnerable, and equally courageous bits that it takes to experience love and life fully. I am reminded that crack is where the light seeps through, there is always the light of day, there is always hope. There is opportunity for transformation and healing.
In the darkness it can be hard to turn towards the light. Perhaps we don’t want to betray our loved one, or we are paralyzed in our state, we don’t want to let go, and the fear of what it means if we do heal. We may question purpose or god, trying to make meaning or sense of our world and the confusion we feel. We may feel regret, longing to go back and repair or undo. We have a hard time accepting what is and the agonizing uncertainty.
But before we can reach towards the light, we have to feel and accept the darkness. We need that space in the cocoon. We have to surrender and allow ourselves to be broken open so we can transform. We can breathe deep through the discomfort and intensity; then we can welcome in the light. Maybe just little bits at a time. We can welcome our old friend grief to the table without feeling overwhelmed by it. This is what time provides. At least that is my experience.
Maybe you can relate to your own story of loss and grief. I am choosing to share this story of loss with the intention of breaking the silence I felt. That maybe in naming it out loud, it will be set free or soften the grip. That maybe my vulnerability and openness will open a door for you to break the silence too. Maybe we can share more freely and support one another rather than hide in the darkness alone. Trying to rationalize, explain, resist, ignore, hide or push down what is truly there. Just maybe what feels like a weakness or brokenness can transform into a well of strength, inner power and loving compassion.
To be clear, I am not a therapist. I am sharing from my own experience in hopes it may support you. Here are some suggestions that have supported me to honour grief and move through it.
1. Give yourself time and space to grieve. Allow yourself to feel and express emotions, thoughts, and sensations. Cry, scream, write, journal, run, dance, spend time in nature…
2. Grief can have a range of expression, even laughter and joy. It is not limited to sadness or anger. Grief can show us our capacity for love. We can celebrate life and still grieve.
3. Whatever you feel is okay. When you push away or deny your right to feel certain feelings, they gain energy and strength. Imagine trying to hold a beach ball under water.
4. Honour your grief with meaningful rituals. For example, lighting a candle, prayer, writing a letter and burning it, carry a rock or crystal, write or read poetry, create art, talk to loved one, support a cause, complete that bucket list, share stories, etc.
5. Release comparing your experience to someone else’s. There is no hierarchy of grief, no rules about how long it should take or what it should look and feel like. You abandon yourself by invalidating your experience and this prolongs your healing.
6. Seek support: friends and family, support group, therapy, coaching. Also, include activities that are not focused specifically on grief like art, dance, music, book club, walking or running club, yoga, sports, circles, coffee dates, classes…etc.
7. Take care of yourself. Eat nourishing foods and drinks, move your body daily, spend time in nature, shower or bath, massage oil or cream onto your skin, listen to calm or nourishing music, create a spacious routine, clear your space, open a window, get sleep, ask for support, advocate for your needs, have boundaries for your time and energy.
If you find yourself feeling the weight of sadness or loss, know you are not alone. Give yourself the space you need and wrap yourself up in the comfort of your own healing blanket. The strength, compassion, acceptance and love that you may be longing for is within you. Please reach out for professional support if you are struggling. Be gentle dear one, keep breathing, you are held and loved.
With Love,
XO Francine
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