It’s such a yucky word. It’s like you can feel the raw edges of its existence as you say it. Bitterness.
This is going to be a vulnerable post, so if this isn’t your thing- feel free to stop reading. I know I often share light hearted, exciting, creative ideas but I’ve also committed this blog to writing about Jesus and pregnancy loss- and those two things can get messy.
I’m struggling. For the past 4-6 weeks I’ve been wrestling with this unknown feeling. It’s been wrecking me. It’s been rumbling around in my heart and soul and I can’t tame it. The worst part is, for the last 4-6 weeks, I couldn’t identify it. I’d try to brush it off. I’d try to ignore it.
This week, it came to a head.
I’ve finally identified it. Raw, ugly, sharp bitterness. It’s making me into a person I don’t like. I don’t recognize the condition of my heart. This isn’t me. But it’s taken over. It’s settled in. It defines my days.
I’m bitter towards God. Others. Myself. I hate, and I mean scream at the top of my lungs, HATE, that my body isn’t doing what I want it to do. I HATE that pregnancy loss is part of my story. I HATE the emptiness I feel every day. I HATE taking pregnancy test after pregnancy test thinking the result will change. I HATE it.
I purposely go out of my way to avoid people, situations, conversations. I find myself hiding in bathrooms and crying- on Christmas day, at school, on my birthday, at home. I cry on the way to church. I cry in the shower. I cry in bed. And I do a fabulous, fabulous job at covering it up.
This bitterness and longing consumes me. It takes up 85% of my daily thoughts. I’m constantly on guard so I can protect myself- by leaving, changing the conversation, or avoiding things all together.
I’ve tried to pray- every day. I’ve tried immersing myself in Scripture. I’ve tried listing things I’m thankful for. I’ve tried praising God- but I can’t raise a hallelujah. I can’t praise Him in this storm. I feel like a child kicking and screaming as my Father drags me along. I don’t know how to fix it.
I don’t know how to fix it.
I can’t fix it.
So today, I found a therapist. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to let ‘this’ define me. I don’t want to be consumed anymore.
I’ve been in counseling before- but it’s been about two years since I’ve seen a counselor. Picking up the phone to call felt like admitting defeat. But, having done it before, it was much easier. I know how much it helps it me.
I share, not for your pity. Really. I share to break the stigma. I share to show you that I’m a mess- a mess that I wrap up in a pretty package each day, multiple times a day. And it’s okay if you’re a mess too. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to admit defeat.
I know I’ll find joy again.
I know I’ll raise hallelujahs again.
I know my Father is good.
I also promise, that the other 15% of my head space is full of joy, life, and love. My husband, my students, my dear friends- they pull me up. They help me smile. They remind me that there is more to life than our struggles.
I’m good, but deep down, I’m bitter. And I’m trying to get better.