Still In The Ache

Be still. Allow yourself to feel the ache. Surrender to it.

Social media has given us an outlet to share with the world just what is on our minds. For whatever reason though, (Shame maybe? Guilt? Self Blame?) I was always hesitant to share about my miscarriages - even though they consumed my thoughts some days. I'd mention them here and there but mostly I’d post about safer subjects. I’d talk about my days spent with my living kids, share YouTube videos of my favourite musicians, or post recipes for vegetarian meals instead. That all just seemed less vulnerable. Sharing my stories of loss felt like I was exposing myself, and that was way too scary. I became silent about my losses and only talked openly about my grief in very safe circles. I was afraid of being judged for something that was a huge part of my being. I could get pregnant, but I couldn’t stay pregnant. It was just easier to put up a post about the stuff people wanted to see, listen to, or eat. But my silence about it all was eating at me.

That was life before Declan.

When our sweet son arrived in this world still, all of this shifted, because after stillbirth I no longer had the energy to ever care about the judgement of others. I could barely function, never mind use any amount of my already depleted brain power to consider what people thought of me. By this point I had pretty much given up posting anything, because there was no recipe to put out to my followers for the take out food we were ordering almost every night anyways. We could not get our shit together to even make a decent meal. I was worn out and at rock bottom. I was raw. I was stilled. Although I had my loving (at the time) husband and kids home with me, I had never felt more lost and isolated than in those early days following this loss. He was my fourth baby to have died, and with each loss the layers of grief buried me. It was all just too much. Way. Too. Much.

It’s coming up to twelve years since losing Declan. I have learned by working with other bereaved families that silence speaks volumes, and I don’t always like what it says. I’m here to help break the stigma on baby loss and create more awareness for families who are, or may someday, be walking this journey behind us. By nature I’m an advocate for all things that fuel the fire in my soul. I’m back online, here on Substack this time. (on occasion Instagram and Threads too) I’m hopeful that my voice can provide some comfort for someone out there as I share my stories, while at the same time allowing me to realign myself by fully owning them. I am not an expert, but I have lived experiences - which makes me totally and completely qualified to tell you that we are not alone. After nearly twelve years my healing heart still aches. Not like it used to, but still I feel his absence every single day.

Once I began to sit with my grief instead of trying to run from it, I noticed I felt different. It was not easy, but with the work came progress. There has been, and there continues to be, healing by stilling myself and immersing in the ache from time to time. Sometimes this means putting on music that lets me release a good cry. I have learned that this ache is grief and grief is love trapped within our hearts. Embracing grief instead of resisting it or hiding from it has allowed me to mourn in healing ways. Sweet surrender, I call it. So damn hard and so damn necessary.

Full disclosure: total amateur writer at best here. My posts will be messy, but written with wholehearted truth, transparency and love. You’ll see a common thread in most everything I write about; the realness of joy and unhappiness having the ability to co-exist. I have lived experience of this. I am living this. We can live a beautiful life filled with purpose & peace alongside the grief in our hearts.

Be still. Allow yourself to feel the ache. Surrender to it.

I’m sorry for your loss or losses, or whatever has happened to bring you to this post about grief. You will find along your healing journey that there are soft and supportive spaces to land. Come back here anytime – you are not alone. 💛

Photo by William Farlow on Unsplash