I’m writing again. I didn’t mean to post again just a day after my last post but I’m stuck and I’m really struggling. I’m hoping that by typing some feelings out, it will help a little. I am having trouble motivating myself to do anything–since Tuesday I’ve just been feeling so sad, lost, and alone. Today, I packed Eli’s lunch, emptied the dishwasher and then went to therapy. I was supposed to walk with a friend, but she cancelled. I also was going to clean out the sink, do a little work, and maybe try to paint (something I’ve never really done but thought could be a good outlet). Instead, I have been sitting at home, staring at the computer, and mostly watching Netflix. For a few hours now. And that is not how I want to spend the day. Initially, I had told myself that after therapy, I would go to the gym, and then I said, well, after therapy, I will take a walk, but instead, I watched netflix. So now, my goal is to leave for a walk by four, which is in just under an hour. I am not even sure how the day has gone by, what I’ve done. I feel so alone, so empty, so broken. I have a book next to my computer that I should be reading, and maybe will read when I finish this post. It is about the orphan trains, and I hope it will give me some context so that I can start looking into some of the child welfare institutions that were here in Baltimore—and see if Maryland had any similar efforts to get children off of city streets and to the farms, and how that changed with later anti-child labor campaigns. The other thing I want to do is find another children’s organization to volunteer with so I can start getting to know more children and programs in the city–begin forming the relationships and ideas I need for my research. But I don’t know where or how to start. The art program I have been helping with is finishing up for the summer. I think I may be able to help in the fall, but for now, there is a lull. Which matched my energy level. It’s like I’m in a fog and everything requires so much effort and a level of energy that I don’t have. Even changing into exercise clothes feels hard. My husband just said that some friendly acquaintances of ours are going to try to meet us at the monthly PJ shabbat at Eli’s school. I had forgotten about that. I have no interest in going. It will be hard, and I don’t feel mentally prepared to sit, surrounded by happy families and babies. Objectively, I know it’s good for me to go, to leave the house, to see people, but I just want to go to sleep. About a month ago, I made a rule for myself that I couldn’t lie in my bed to work on my computer or read, and I think it’s been an important one for me. Even though I have been sitting at a desk, in front of a computer all day, doing nothing, it still feels better than saying that I stayed in bed all day. I am also still hormonally imbalanced. It’s not that I would be happy right now by any means, but some type of hormonal shift has made things seem so much harder. I wish I understood what my body was doing. I wish it would regulate itself. But it hasn’t, and that is also hard.
I wish that I could go to a grief retreat center. It would be set by a lake and surrounded by mountains, and would only be for parents who had lost babies. We would each be assigned a qualified buddy who would make us a personalized schedule, knowing exactly how much to push us and what to put on the schedule. It would include things like massages and spa treatments, walks, some more rigorous exercise, therapy, group discussions and activities, healthy but tasty meals, and all sorts of other things. And this assigned buddy would also add little things into the schedule, like a half hour of work here, or going to a challenging place, or something, and would do it with me. She would know exactly how much to push, would support me, and I wouldn’t be alone. And after any challenging thing (well, particularly challenging, cause everything is challenging for me these days), I could meet with my grief support group and we would laugh and talk, or just all be together, because they would get it, and we’d be understood. Oh, and insurance would cover this, since obviously the world cares so much about supporting people through their grief. And cares about health. The thing in, I can’t come up with that schedule by myself. I don’t know what exactly to put on it, and it’s hard and requires a level of effort I don’t have, and even more importantly, a community that would make me feel understood and less alone. And I don’t know how to be that person for myself. So instead, I am stuck, trying to remind myself that this a moment, and it too shall pass. Except that is what the woman who coordinated the parent-baby group at the hospital used to say when parents with live babies were struggling.
Tomorrow, I will go to a yoga class at the same studio where I went to prenatal yoga. I haven’t been there since two days before Sidney died. I haven’t ever really done yoga other than prenatal yoga–and a brief stint taking a yoga class in Ecuador, which I literally failed, which is a whole other story. I am afraid I will cry and cry and cry. But I will go with another baby loss mom who I recently met. So she will understand. I wouldn’t be going if she hadn’t asked me. So maybe I have to piece together little bits of my imaginary grief retreat center, and do the best I can. But it’s so damn hard.