In Other Words

It’s taken me a while to get to the point where I wanted to write for others again. I’ve been trying to get away from a need to over explain or keep everyone updated on where I am or how I’m doing, and it’s been good for me. I’ve put too much thought into what others think in the past. I needed to focus on just myself for a bit. So, I put all these words away.

In my last post, I talked about how writing had given me a sense of peace, and it did…to an extent. I would feel light and empowered after putting my thoughts and feelings out into the world, showing vulnerability to help others know it’s ok to do the same. But I inevitably would sink back into the thought, “What if I seem like I’m trying too hard?” Or worse, “What if I just seem dumb”. "Dumb white girl writing a blog…Who do I think I am?" I felt ashamed for expressing myself so intimately to so many people and it would leave me feeling TOO vulnerable even though I received many positive responses from people who chose to read.

I’ve struggled with the idea of being perceived as dumb for too long. I knew I wanted to touch upon it in an upcoming writing. I mentioned in the previous post from November 2020, that I had a few more bricks to break down. By bricks, I meant shame sediment. Like accumulated sand that had built up over the years and settled inside me and become a part of my way of being.

I intentionally titled the last post “Another Words”. No one called me out on it. I waited, and no one mentioned, “Hey, you know it's ''IN Other Words”, which is either because they were being kind or didn’t realize themselves. I was far too old when I realized the correct phrasing, so, no judgment here. But I remember feeling so incredibly stupid when I was told I had made the mistake. Red hot and full of intense fear that people would think I was an all-out failure for life because of a minor error in semantics.

I have, in the past, discounted others’ intelligence based on grammar or spelling so I am certainly no saint. I think, when I would do so, the shame sediment was shaken up and clouded my ability to base intrinsic response in understanding rather than judgment. It prevented me from seeing that I am absolutely no better than anyone else. The fear that others operate from a clouded place, too, scared me. I judged because I assumed I was always being judged. This way of being and thinking wasn’t allowing me to get rid of these bricks. I was just shaking shit up and the ever-present cloudy sediment left me feeling constantly…unsettled. I decided that I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of the bricks myself, so I began therapy.

I was very lucky to be paired with someone who I immediately connected with very well. Meeting each week felt like talking to an old friend. I was very open with her. I think writing about more personal topics helped me in this capacity. I didn’t feel the need to hold back any way of thinking or speaking. One concern I had was that, in talking about only myself, I was afraid of being viewed as self-centered. It felt unnatural for the conversation to be so one sided. I wanted to know about her too, and she shared her thoughts and views on many topics. One being her view on spirituality. I was surprised that it was very much in line with my own. I would tell her something that I had experienced and try to preclude her from thinking I was stupid by prefacing with, “You’re going to think I’m nuts, but…” to which she probed with something along the lines of, “Why do you think you’re anchoring your thoughts or feelings with that statement?”

Turns out, she didn’t think I was nuts at all. In fact, she talked about a few similar experiences with “signs from the universe”. I have wanted to write about these things so badly in the past. I share them with friends who have responded incredibly well to these thoughts and experiences, but I knew for a broader audience, the topic was off limits to a degree. Mainly because I was anchored by my own bricks. I was afraid that because my beliefs might be different from the majority, my ideas would be viewed as stupid. Again, I placed too much value on others’ thoughts and feelings about me.

It was really hard to let that last post with that title sit there with no follow-up for over a year. My initial intention was to get something up there within a few months to be able to say, “JUST KIDDING!!! I’M NOT DUMB, SEE!!!??” I had thought that I was going to be writing shortly after, but I was confronted by more pregnancy failure news that left me with little to no hope. I didn’t think the road could twist and turn any more than it had at the point of my last writing, but life can be quite surprising, to say the least.

I think the last you knew, I was officially diagnosed with a uterine septum or heart shaped uterus the December before last (2020), which was the likely cause of my 3 previous miscarriages. Well, I healed from the surgery well and saw two pink lines on April 1st. Probably should have known it was not what it would seem considering the date. I began bleeding right away again. An initial ultrasound showed a small gestational sac and what appeared to be the start of a pregnancy. I went back for another the following week. The sac was larger and there was some odd movement that was thought to be a heartbeat, but it was still too early to know for sure. Two weeks later, I was scheduled for an ultrasound at the hospital with better equipment. The technician did not say much to me, and I was not able to see her screen view. She asked me to wait for a bit while she went to make a call. When she came back into the room, she had no news for me. She let me know that the doctor was going to get back to me that afternoon.

It was a complete molar pregnancy. This type of pregnancy occurs in 1 out of about 2,000 cases. A complete molar pregnancy happens when an egg containing no genetic material is fertilized or when two sperm fertilize an egg at once. Pregnancy tissue rapidly multiplies, and the uterus quickly fills with cysts. The pregnancy tissue is technically cancerous and if all is not removed, the tissue can grow back. After the tissue is removed, you have to be monitored for 6 months with weekly blood draws to ensure pregnancy hormone levels reduce and stay at undetectable levels.

So, three miscarriages, six D and C surgeries (because my uterine septum made it difficult to fully remove failed pregnancy tissue at once), a surgery to correct the malformation, then healing quickly and well only to get pregnant with…what could possibly turn into cancer. I don’t need to say it. My heart imploded. I put on a face for everyone else and tried to let them know I was fine, but I was planning a way out if I was unable to become pregnant. For me to say this is extremely hard because I have the most guilt about feeling this way considering the impact my dad’s suicide had on me and my family. I just didn’t understand anything anymore. Nothing. No part of this made any sense. The only thing I could rationalize at this point was that life is pure chaos and completely void of meaning. Sometimes in the chaos, people get lucky, and other times, people experience suffering with no relief for seemingly no reason. That reality just seemed way too unfair and not worth it to me at this point.

But, on the other hand, there were all of these signs. I don’t know where to begin to explain them to you. I read a book called Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson after my third miscarriage and before both the septum surgery and molar pregnancy. Before I read this book, I obviously felt like I was experiencing some sort of connection to…something… and thought that I might be receiving signs from…somewhere. I don’t like to try and put labels on anything here because, well, I just don’t know and don’t want it to seem as though I’m certain about anything. Because there is no way to be certain.

I’ve had experiences with songs in particular. There are some vague references throughout this writing and for copyright reasons I’m unable to expand more than this. But. There were other signs as well, and ones I consider to be quite powerful and difficult to explain away by coincidence. When I was at this point though, and struggling as hard as I was, I convinced myself that the signs I had experienced were, in fact, just a coincidence. It was all in my head. I had strung together disconnected events and applied a story to each for it to be read as a meaningful sign from beyond. I could retell the stories to you in full, but to be honest, I don’t really feel like explaining. Maybe I will share them in time, maybe not. I’ll just tell you about the one that I believe saved me.

We had planned another vacation over Thanksgiving, mostly as an attempt to make me feel better. This is not to say that a vacation is the answer to severe depression by any means. We’d gotten a very rare glimmer of hope in August notifying us that recent studies found that it is safe to begin trying to get pregnant after a molar pregnancy before the six-month point. We tried in September. No luck. We tried in October. No luck. Trying and not getting pregnant isn’t necessarily typical for us. It will likely seem like I was being dramatic here because after only two months I was absolutely convinced that there was no way we were going to get pregnant again. After all the surgeries, I thought there was too much accumulated scar tissue in my uterus. I resigned to the idea that this was “it” and that I should have gotten the hint sooner. We weren’t meant to bring life into the world. In the chaos of everything, some people are here to just endure, and I was one of those people. And others endure WAY more than I have, which made even less sense, and I didn’t want to stick around to see some win and others get beaten time and time again.

The hardest part was that I fully recognized how lucky I am in life. I have a ton going for me but the imbalance of it all swallowed me. If it could be this hard for so long, it wasn’t worth it. I thought about how the weight of…me… impacted those around me. I felt guilty for not having good news to share. Always only bad news. I thought about my sadness and how Justin deserved more. He was able to see a life with me, without children and be completely content, solidly happy even. I couldn’t and that wasn’t fair to him. I tried to explain that it’s because I love him so much that I wanted to replicate him. It sounds selfish but I wanted more of that love. Then I would feel awful for not just being happy with what I have, which is abundant. The back and forth of all these feelings was making me feel constantly panicked. I genuinely felt like I was going crazy.

And then I was just mad. I was pissed about how long I was forced to wait for things I wanted. I was mad that I felt so confused and guilty. I was mad about stories I’d heard about drug addicts who were hospitalized more than half a dozen times with pregnancies that they eventually gave up in the end. Or parents who had multiple children and abused them, kept them in cages, completely malnourished…And here I was, just hoping for one to love with the complete fullness of my heart. Please. I’m begging for anyone to tell me how any of this makes sense?

So. I asked for…well…demanded a sign. We were on the plane to go to the Big Island of Hawaii. My dad’s ashes had been spread at his childhood hangout spot that he had named “Big Island” in the smallest state of Rhode Island. This was clearly symbolic for me. I needed to know if everything was just chaos. If we weren’t meant to have kids, then I wanted to know if there was a bigger plan. Most of all, I wanted to know if it was all worth it.

In the book Signs that I mentioned before, the author says that you can ask for signs from wherever you envision them coming from, but you need to allow about three months for coordination and delivery from what I’ll call “the other side”. You can ask to see an animal, or a sequence of numbers, or the queen of hearts from a deck of cards. You're encouraged to be specific as to rule out thoughts of a simple coincidence. I had done this in the past and had been surprised with the accuracy and method of delivery. I tend to be skeptical, so I ask for very specific and unlikely signs. She also said you should be thankful and express your gratitude for receiving signs and I did. Until now. Because what was even the point of the signs I'd received previously? "Here's your sign and also maybe cancer!" I was no longer grateful. I was owed.

So, on the plane I said that I needed a sign that week while we were on the Big Island. No three months bullshit. I first thought of an animal that is not indigenous to Hawaii. I settled on a Penguin. I took it one step further and said I wanted to see a penguin in a hat. I liked this sign until I remembered how Hawaii weirdly goes all out with Christmas decorations. I figured I’d likely see a penguin as an ornament or as part of a Christmas display and it would feel too coincidental. So, I switched from a penguin to a raccoon…also wearing a hat.

I felt triumphant in the idea that there was very little chance for this sign to be delivered in Hawaii-where there are no raccoons, and in only a week’s time. I set the expectation and put it out of my mind just as I had put the possibility of having a healthy pregnancy out of my mind. I told no one about this sign and what it would mean for me.

By the halfway point of our trip, we had seen beaches where the water was a mix of seemingly impossible colors, a perfect gradient of translucent teal to sky blue. We saw volcanic glow that turned the night sky purples and reds and radiated a warmth onto our slightly sunburned cheeks. We drove to the Mauna Kea observatory and saw the stars brighter than you could imagine from any vantage point on Earth. You could see the Milky Way and hear the complete awe of everyone around in excited tones. We ate dinner beachside and I took a picture of the ocean horizon during the type of sunset you only see as computer desktop backgrounds. At the exact moment I snapped the photo, a shooting star darted across the sky. I was in a place where the beauty of our world was screaming in our faces. I took a picture of Justin and knew I loved him more than anything I’ve ever seen or experienced before. But I also knew we had to go back to the chaos where nothing made sense.

By the pool at the resort one day, I noticed a little boy in the water. He was floating by with an inflatable pool float, a penguin. On the penguin’s head rested the boy’s baseball hat. I saw it, looked at the sky and said, “No”. It wasn’t my sign. I was clear about changing my sign. No penguins. Raccoons only. This was just a coincidence.

Our days in Hawaii were numbered and the waves of sadness and panic about going home were sinking in. I know I said that I had lost hope but obviously I was still looking for signs and was still desperately holding on to something. I was also trying to find the reserves to anchor myself in the love I felt for Justin. Because, again, out of everything I have ever seen or done, he always made me feel most alive. I spent the remaining days breathing him in, trying to revive myself with this knowledge alone.

We laid in bed one night. I was scrolling through some of the photos we had taken. I continuously pressed down on the live photo of the ocean horizon with the shooting star to see it arc and disappear over and over again. It was pretty amazing. I heard Justin laugh to himself quietly and my shooting star photo became static again with the notification of an airdropped photo. It was a picture of a tweet someone had written, and he knew I would find it funny. Maybe it would even make me feel a little better.

The tweet read:

“Fifty years ago, if you wanted to see a picture of a raccoon, you either had to already have it or drive to a library. And a picture of a raccoon in a funny hat? Forget about it".

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So back to feeling stupid. What even is intelligence? I know some really smart assholes. Capacity for empathy paired with rationality and integrity are so much more valuable in my opinion. Intelligence is so bare bones. There’s no cushion. No one wants to hug a skeleton. And no one wants to hug a sack of bricks.

Thinking back to the statement I made about the drug addict who continuously became pregnant and the abusive parents… what the hell is their story? What support were they unable to receive either for systemic reasons and/or lack of mental health care throughout their life? Life is not so simple that we can make definitive judgements based on one incident. These people were not just fuck-ups who take from the system. They were likely underserved, under supported, and under cared for by the system. And they are now likely misunderstood by the majority. I may not know that for a fact, but I know the impact that just feeling less than has had on my way of thinking and how I viewed the world.

So, get rid of your fucking bricks. Before the weight slowly turns them into cement. Try to see the world from a place of understanding…for EVERYONE… as best as you can.

The following is not the happy ending to this story. I want to make that clear. The happy ending is that I feel absolutely confident that in anything life throws at me, I know it is worth it. There’s a purpose. I may not know what that purpose is but there is one and I am prepared to do my best to fight for people who are misunderstood for reasons far beyond their control. We need to fight for the balance that I lost sight of myself. In doing so, we keep the balance.

Justin and I are filled with a happiness that I can’t begin to formulate adequate words around. We will be welcoming a baby boy into the world this August.

*A Big Island Baby.*

Thank you all for reading and being supportive in ways that I didn't think were possible. Everyone needs and deserves this kind of understanding and support.