Part two: A Crack in the Door Filled with Light

This is part two of my postpartum journey. You can read part one here.

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I heard one time, “Books find you when you need them.” I have certainly had this experience. The one where you’ve had a book on your shelf for months but then finally pick it up to read it one day and find that it’s exactly what you needed to read—the exact words your heart needed to hear and you’re wondering why you didn’t read it sooner. More than the books finding me, I believe it’s God prompting my heart to pick up that text or God moving in the heart of a person to share a book or article or podcast with me because he knows it’s what I need in that moment. I’ve been part of this experience and the receiver of it too many times to deny that it’s true.

And it’s exactly what happened to bring some light to my postpartum darkness.

I ended last time by telling you how I didn’t feel very connected to my own son — how I didn’t feel the lovey feelings I wanted to toward my own child. I wanted to. I wanted to so, so badly. But instead I was bombarded constantly with thoughts that I shouldn’t be a mom because I didn’t know what I was doing and that somehow this tiny life had upended my own. And let me tell you what, that’s a horrible thought to have when your dream of having a baby has finally come true. How could this sweet little one make me feel that way? And then even having these kinds of thoughts made me feel guilty and ungrateful so I certainly couldn’t tell anyone about them, right?

When Nixon was a few months old, my friend shared an Instagram story with me because it was all about postpartum, so she thought the information might be helpful. She didn’t know it would be the catalyst for my walk out of sadness, but we never really know those kinds of things, do we? The Instagram story she shared was from Dr. Cassidy Freitas. She’s a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist and in the story she talked briefly about postpartum “scary thoughts.“ Before watching the story I had no idea that scary thoughts were even a postpartum thing, but after she explained them, I definitely knew I was having them and her insights caused me to follow her on Instagram and tune in to the things she was posting.

In December, Dr. Cassidy shared her own birth stories, and this podcast helped me make sense of how I was feeling regarding Nixon’s birth. As you know, I didn’t want to have a c-section, but that’s how he was born last August. C-section was difficult for me because I didn’t get to see Nixon’s birth (because of the curtain) and I also didn’t get to hold him for about fifteen minutes after he was born. That might not seem like much, but for someone who planned to labor and have immediate skin-to-skin and keep him attached to his cord for a moment, etc., this was nowhere near what I wanted or what I had planned. His cord was immediately clamped and cut. They showed him to me for just a brief second before taking him to the warmer to clean him off and check him over. And then, with just an hour in recovery together, Nixon was taken to the nursery, where he stayed for the next three hours under a warmer while they tried to help him stabilize his temperature. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I later felt like all that missed time together was the culprit for my feelings of non-connection. And even though I knew in my head that God was part of it all and it worked out just as he planned, I still blamed the circumstances of his birth for my feelings.

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In her podcast Dr. Cassidy explained the reason she felt disappointed in her own c-section birth story is because it interfered with her idea of what it meant to be a good mom. We all just want to be a good mom, right? Isn’t that our goal? So we have these ideas of what it means to be a good mom before our baby is even born. We take care of our bodies, try to eat right, get enough rest, all for the health of our growing baby because we are already trying to be a good mom. As far as birth, my idea of a good mom was going in to labor naturally, letting my body do the work it was made to do, getting an epidural when I was ready, having Aaron cut baby’s umbilical cord, among other things. We make these birth plans because we think, “This is what a good mom would do. This is what I think will make for a meaningful birth. This is the right, healthy thing for my baby when it is born.” Because we’ve read all the books and we’ve listened to podcasts and taken classes and formed all these opinions of what it means to be a good mom. So when all of that was taken away from me, when he was born via surgery and whisked away, was I still a good mom? When he wasn’t gaining weight and we couldn’t seem to kick the jaundice and we had to go to the doctor so much, was I a good mom? Or did I start out, moment one, with a F on my mom report card?

It took me months to realize this, but, no. For one, there’s no report card. And for two, bonding with your child doesn’t happen solely in those first few seconds after they leave your body. It happens constantly, quietly, and over time for the rest of their lives. And while his birth was wildly different from my plans, I was a good mom because I did what I had to do to keep him safe. I did what I had to do to make sure he was healthy. Certainly, everything went according to God’s plan and I tried to comfort myself with that knowledge, but Dr. Cassidy finally gave me the words for the things I was feeling. And it gave me a little more freedom. I finally let myself off the hook for everything going differently than I planned. It felt like maybe there was finally a crack in the door of my darkness filled with a little light.

Our first day at home without Aaron at just over a week old. Headed to the doctor’s office for the fourth time.

Our first day at home without Aaron at just over a week old. Headed to the doctor’s office for the fourth time.

The thing I battled the most in the early days were my own thoughts. We think we can’t control our thoughts —they just come in our head and if I’m thinking it, it must be true because where else would it come from? In a follow-up to that original Instagram story my friend shared with me, Dr. Cassidy wrote a blog post on scary thoughts. She said,

“… we want to begin to develop a new relationship with our thoughts. Just because you have a thought, does not make it true or realistic. Getting hooked by our thoughts and spiraling isn’t productive and can pull us out of being present with what actually matters most to us. Begin to look at thoughts as data or information that your mind is trying to share with you.”

She goes on to show you how to do that and it made me realize what I value and what my thoughts were trying to tell me. In addition to that post, I recently read Jennie Allen’s, Get Out of Your Head: Stopping the Spiral of Toxic Thoughts, and, wow, was it so good for my heart. I recommend this book to everyone. Her words echoed so much of what I had read in the blog post but helped me see it through the lens of the gospel. Through her book I learned that we do have control over our thoughts. Jennie writes that when a thought enters your mind and starts to take you down a shame spiral or a toxic spiral, you can stop yourself and say, “I have a choice to continue down this path.” You don’t have the follow the spiral of your toxic thoughts.

So, when I would sit in Nixon’s room at night and start to think, “What if he dies?” I would say to myself, “I have a choice,” and let my heart and mind know that I get to choose what I dwell on. I don’t have to dwell on those horrible thoughts. I can instead dwell on what is good and right and true. I started to repeat phrases to myself like, “God is good and does good and wants good for me.” I reminded myself that He is for me. He is for Nixon. And instead of toxic thoughts, I can choose to be grateful. Gratitude interrupts anxiety. So instead of rehearsing my anxieties, I rehearsed all the things I was grateful for that day and it was like I could feel the unease drain through my feet and out of my tense body. Nixon and I could both relax.

(I want to take a moment and address something: I am not trying to say that you can think or pray yourself out of mental illness. There are chemical imbalances and things that cause much more serious anxiety and depression than what I am addressing here and for that, I fully advocate meeting with your doctor and deciding what is best for you. Medicine is a common grace and, as a friend reminded me after I posted part one, your feelings of anxiety and depression are not a lack of faith. THEY ARE NOT A LACK OF FAITH. I wish someone would have told me that years ago when I dealt with regular panic attacks, so I’m telling you. It is okay to seek help.)

Finally, a couple of days after that blog post from Dr. Cassidy, she released a podcast she recorded with Cara Dumaplin from Taking Cara Babies. I have followed Cara since before Nixon was born as I tried to prepare for his birth so I was excited to see what they both had to share. It was at the end of this podcast that what Cara shared made me cry as I stood at my kitchen counter. In talking about scary thoughts and gratitude and being careful of the words we use with ourselves, she said,

“I’m going to say something aloud that maybe parents are like… feel guilty for saying aloud. ‘My life changed since I had this baby. Maybe I’m not meant to be a mom.’ Wow, that’s authentic right there. That feeling. But let’s follow it up with truth. So, where’s truth? So, my life has changed. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mom. Okay, there’s an authentic thought. But here’s the truth. But I am a mom. And I was given this baby for a reason. And there’s no better mama on the planet for this baby than me. And say those words out loud. Here’s what I’m feeling and here’s truth and gratitude.”

And it was in that instant that the door was kicked open for me and light flooded in. I feel like it was such a precious gift from God that she addressed the EXACT thought that stole the most joy from me. I always wanted to be a mom, so why was I feeling like I shouldn’t be now? I’m crying again just remembering the moment. I AM a mom. I’m Nixon’s mom. And no one else can do it better than I can — no matter how dumb I feel some days. No matter how incompetent or embarrassed I am by what I don’t know. No matter how many thoughts try to intrude. I was chosen for him. I’m his mom and I can do this well because I have been given him as a gift. I knew this before he was born so I don’t know why/how I forgot it once he was born. But hearing her say that helped me feel free in a way I hadn’t felt since before Nixon was born. It was like the light flipped on and I could start to speak truth to the lies that had camped out in my heart for the last several months. Hearing that someone else might be thinking some of these things —that I wasn’t alone!—changed so much for me.

So truth started to fill my heart and allowed me to open the door and step out of the darkness. It wasn’t immediate. I don’t want to act like it was this lightbulb moment and I was “fixed” but it was through hearing truth, talking to my husband about my feelings (and finding we were feeling some similar things!), journaling it out and praying to God that helped me break the chains little by little. The other part was that Nixon got a little older so he was sleeping a little better, which meant I was getting more sleep. It’s scientific fact that sleep deprivation causes your brain to operate at an impaired level. So essentially new moms are just walking around impaired while caring for a newborn and acting like we’re just fine. Ha! We have to stop that. I certainly wasn’t fine. We have to sleep however we can get it —have someone come over and watch that baby so you can sleep. You don’t have to use their nap time to do the dishes or the laundry. Those things can wait. Rest is holy.

I loved Nixon from the moment I knew he was growing inside me at just four tiny, sweet weeks. But scary thoughts, postpartum anxiety and sleep deprivation after he was born caused my feelings to be as wild and untethered as loose kite in the wind. So loving him was love in action before it was ever a feeling. And isn’t that the way with love anyway? We talk about it in marriage –how it’s not always going to be a feeling. It’s not always going to feel the same as it did when you were first dating. It’s a choice to love. And when you act, when you make that choice, the feelings will follow. And, for me, they have. Gosh, I love this boy so much. He is growing and changing every day and getting so much more fun all the time. He is so sweet —loves to smile and laugh. He has the same buoyant spirit as his dad. He is so stinking precious. I know what it’s like to feel in love with him now in a way that I didn’t those first several months of his life.

My eight month old smiley boy.

My eight month old smiley boy.

So the book, the podcast, the blog — they all found me when I desperately needed them. And it was the words of others that helped free me. I knew I was capable of this deep connection I feel with Nixon now. I knew I just had to break through the heavy storm cloud I was facing and I would finally feel the love I had been showing him through action for the last several months. So I’m thankful for the help that came at just the right time. For the words of others that set me free. For the way God brought them to me. Don’t hesitate to share something that might speak to someone else’s heart. You never know if it’s just exactly what they need to hear!

And who knows, maybe it’s these words – my words – that are setting you free. In her book, Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott wrote,

Toni Morrison said, “The function of freedom is to free someone else,” and if you are no longer wracked or in bondage to a person or a way of life, tell your story. Risk freeing someone else.”

So here I am trying to free you. I hope it helps you see some light.

Peace, be still.

I have always wanted to be a mom. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my most honest answer was, “I don’t know... a mom?” And I always answered it like a question - asking for validation that it was okay. Can I just be a mom? Is that good enough? Do I have to choose some other kind of profession? Okay, I guess I can go to college, but I really want to be a mom.

I played with dolls until long after it was appropriate. I mean, a lot of my peers were “going out” with someone, testing the dating waters, but I was still playing with dolls, not trying to kiss boys. I always hoped my parents would have another baby or adopt a baby or just invite someone with a baby to come over so I could hold it. Finally, I started babysitting when I was in 6th grade with six-week-old twins. I don’t know what sixth grader I would hand my children over to at this point, but I guess I had a trustworthy face. Ha! The point is, I grew up holding babies, they were just always someone else's. 

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So, when Aaron and I found out I was pregnant earlier this summer, I felt like my baby dreams were coming true. I thanked God for this little baby from the very moment I knew about it and while I was a little anxious, this precious secret Aaron and I held between the two of us was filled with more joy than we knew how to handle. Like nearly every girl I know, I pulled out the list of names that I've been adding to and editing since seventh grade. I imagined a baby room and moving back to Nebraska and all the ways our lives would change. I read the entire packet of baby development and labor and delivery information our doctor's office gave us in one afternoon and I checked our baby app almost hourly to see exactly what baby looked like. I felt like maybe no career ever sounded all that interesting to me because God was finally revealing my true calling in motherhood. I journaled to the Lord, "Thank you for the opportunity to harbor this tiny soul, this immense creation, alive by your breath, created by your beautiful idea." Delighted by this little love would be a ridiculous understatement of my feelings.

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Summer was a complete blur for me - consumed with thinking about, praying about and planning for our baby. So the devastation was swift and deep when it seemed it would all be taken away. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I pulled a pillow off our bed and laid down on my back on our bedroom floor. I put my phone next to my ear and blasted music so the songs were louder than my cries. I stared up at the black blades of our ceiling fan whirring above me as my lower body cramped and ached with increasing intensity. Tears rushed steady from the corners of my eyes, down the sides of my face, and I cried out to God in long, heaving wails that only sounded like grief. Mourning. Death. I cried out loud, “Okay, okay, okay." I kept repeating it, as if willing myself to accept what was happening. "Okay, I know this is what you have for me now but I don’t understand it, God. I don’t get it. I don’t want this. I don’t want this.” I was afraid of what was coming in the next couple of hours and days. But the music in my ear sang a competing story,

I'm not gonna be afraid
'Cause these waves are only waves
I'm not gonna be afraid
I'm not gonna be afraid
I'm not gonna fear the storm
You are greater than it's roar
I'm not gonna fear the storm
I'm not gonna fear at all

Peace, be still
Say the word and I will
Set my feet upon the sea
Till I'm dancing in the deep
Oh, peace, be still
You are here, so it is well
Even when my eyes can't see
I will trust the voice that speaks
Peace

Peace, be still. And I was. I laid completely still on the bedroom floor until Aaron got home and we were able to go to the doctor and confirm what I already knew.

Aaron and I lost our baby on July 19, just one day before we were to go home to Nebraska and tell our families about our sweet, exciting news. Instead, we packed our suitcases through tears and grief and while the sadness was immense, the nearness of God was evident at every turn. I felt him in the sweetness of the doctor who talked us gently through what to expect and her willingness to work with our airline to change my flight. As we waited to do my lab work, I felt him near when the receptionist came out with a whole box of tissue. She offered it to Aaron and I with a quiet and sincere, "I'm sorry," and in that moment I wanted to hug her for her kindness. Home from the doctor’s office, we sat on the couch and left the front door open, watching from the living room as the sun set in front of us and turned to brilliant colors of pink and gold behind dark clouds and somehow it felt like being held. Behind the darkness, there was a promise to behold. We were not alone. We were not left unnoticed. I felt God speaking to me, “Peace, be still. I have this. I’m here. I know. I see your broken heart. I will carry your tired body. I am here. I know.”

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In the days and moments since the loss of our baby, I have had to battle hard for the truth in my heart rather than lies. I’ve had to stop myself from thinking I did something to cause it, that it’s “not fair” everyone else seems to get pregnant and stay that way, that God is somehow punishing us. I’ve had to stop myself from spiraling into the “what ifs” – what if I can never stay pregnant? What if this happens again? What if there’s something wrong with me? What if? The other side of that same coin is the “not enoughs.” Maybe I didn’t pray enough, wasn’t thankful enough, didn’t trust enough, wasn’t healthy enough, didn't rest enough. I know all of these are untrue - it is my brain trying to make sense of grief. 

Several months ago I watched this video from Rich and Dawnchere Wilkerson regarding their struggle with infertility. It’s a beautiful story of patience, trust, and faith and she talks specifically about how they were trusting the story God had for them. When we look at someone else and think, "It's not fair they have _____," we're ultimately saying their story is better than ours. Their story is the one we want instead. While an eight year struggle is not what the Wilkersons would have chosen, they trusted God was writing a story specifically for them. When I posted it on Facebook, I had no idea how much I would need their faith to bolster my own just a few months later.

As I laid on the floor of my bedroom that day, I felt the truth of Dawnchere’s words. I desperately wanted the story God was writing for Aaron and I – the one he has faithfully worked out over the last couple of years for us. I cried, “I want the story you have for me, God. I just don’t want this to be part of it. Please, don’t let this be part of it. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel this heartbreak. I don’t want this, God.”

But, losing the baby is part of our story now. Feeling the grief of loss in all its waves and lulls is part of our story. I know this is true for many, many couples. It is so common, this specific kind of grief. My sister endured it just seven months before I did and I suddenly felt a new sense of compassion for her and her husband. As it is with anything in life, it's impossible to know what it’s like until you experience it for yourself, and even then it is different for each person. I heard one time that the trials of life tie us compassionately to earth. This could not be more true for our current season. Aaron and I talked the very next day about how this experience is growing our compassion for others who have suffered loss through miscarriage or, really, loss of a child in any way at all. 

While this all happened just a month ago, it feels both longer and shorter than that. I remember laying on the floor like it was five minutes ago, but sometimes it feels like I have lived a new span of eternity since then. But when my heart starts to sink into sadness, it is the Lord who gently reminds me that he is near. I started reading through the Psalms early this summer and while I was home in Nebraska, I happened to be on Psalm 107.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
And he brought them out of their distresses.
He caused the storm to be still,
So that the waves of the sea were hushed.

Psalm 107: 27-29

This Psalm was written hundreds of years before Jesus walked the earth, but it was Jesus who fulfilled it and said to the sea in Mark 4, “Peace. Be still.” And the storm ceased. The waves were hushed. So it’s Jesus who is still reminding me in these days and weeks to be still. He has been faithful to remind me that he has not left me, forgotten me, been punishing me, nor is he letting me suffer alone. He has granted a supernatural peace, just as he promises in his Word. He has given me the gift of a caring, patient, kind husband who has walked with me in the same heartbreak. And for a few brief weeks he gave us the blessing of abundant joy in the gift of our baby, for which we feel extremely grateful.

I stayed in Nebraska a little longer than Aaron because I wanted extra time with my family and friends - extra time with the people who could help me heal, who would remind me of the truth, who would hold me up in prayer when I could not do it myself. For several weeks Aaron and I kept the news of our baby a secret, planning to go home and surprise everyone. Instead, God planned this trip at specifically the right time that we would be surrounded by love in the midst of our hurt. What graciousness from a loving Father. What depth of love he has for us. What lovingkindness in his plans for our lives. 

That song of peace goes on to say, 

Let faith rise up
Oh, heart, believe
Let faith rise up in me

So, that's the aim of my heart in this season of recovery and rest and waiting. Let faith rise up, even in uncertainty. In fear. In doubt. In pain. In joy. In blessing. In what feels like the weight of 1,000 curses. Let faith rise up. And like Hosea cries, "Let us press on to know the Lord." (Hosea 6:3) Let us press on. To seek you. To know you. To love you more. You are certain. Sure. Steadfast. Marvelous and holy. A treasure, rich and rare. 

While this has surely been traumatic, I don't believe this dream will always be answered with a no from God. For some reason, he is allowing this to be part of our story and though we wouldn't choose it, I know he is in it, so I can say, It is well. God had plans for our baby from the start - he knew the days he had ordained for our little one (Psalm 139:16). And sweet baby, God is using you for my good and for your dad’s good, too. And someday when Jesus comes back to renew all things, the sad truth of never getting to meet you will come untrue and that will be a really good day. Until then we will miss the joy of knowing you and press on to know the Lord who sustains us and speaks peace over us.