My new normal...for now

I’ll be honest, what I’ve written in this post was not what I had originally planned for this week’s release. I have a running list of topics, but this wasn’t one of them.

However, one morning a week or so ago I had been reflecting on what I think and feel throughout the day and the things that I do to manage my grief and promote healing. That’s when I felt like God was telling me “You need to write about this”.

Well, when God tells you to do something...you do it. So here it is. A glimpse into what my current “new normal” looks like as I navigate through anxiety and depression in addition to the mountain of grief that is before me.

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*alarm rings*

It’s 5am. I wake up just enough to take my temperature - I have to start tracking my cycle again.

*alarm rings*

It’s 5:30 am. Time to get up and go to the gym. But I have no motivation today. “Tomorrow” I think to myself. I’ll get up and workout tomorrow.

*alarm rings*

It’s 6am. I should get up. I need to shower and wash my hair. If I get up now, I’ll have time to do that, dry and style my hair, eat breakfast and have quiet time with God.

But I can’t seem to find the energy or desire to get up.

*alarm rings*

It’s 6:30 am. I only have an hour before I have to leave for work. I still need to shower, but if I want to make breakfast and have quiet time, I’ll need to skip the hair washing/drying part. Guess it’s going to be an “updo” kind of day.

But I can’t seem to find the energy or desire to get up.

*alarm rings*

It’s 7:00 am. Shoot. I’ve only got time for a quick shower before I have to be dressed and ready to go. Guess I’ll grab something quick to eat on the way. No quiet time this morning, that will have to wait until tonight.

Only then am I finally able to drag myself out of bed. More often than not, this is how my days start.

Once I’ve managed to get myself up and get ready, I head to the garage. Every morning as I get into my car, I see the collection of baby paraphernalia sitting in the middle of the garage floor, unused. We had unloaded the stuff from a baby shower but had not gotten around to putting it all away before I gave birth.

And now, I still cannot bring myself to put any of it away. Seeing all the baby things is both painful and weirdly comforting. And it’s almost like putting everything away means forgetting him somehow. Three months later, it’s all still there.

As I drive to work, I listen to audio books so that I don’t get in my head first thing in the morning. I still can’t listen to worship music without becoming super emotional so I can’t start my day with that just yet. But I’ll get there.

I have a favorite parking spot in the lot down the street from the building I work in. I could have changed my parking permit to the closer lot at the beginning of the school year, but decided I liked having the extra steps to and from my car, even when I was pregnant.

While walking to the building entrance, I try to be intentional with connecting with my surroundings.

I let myself feel the air on my skin…appreciate the temperature…admire the curated landscaping around me…acknowledge the people I pass...and simply let myself be present.

Appreciating the world God created helps ground me. But quite often in these moments I will get flashbacks. Sometimes they are of the days I walked the same path while pregnant. Other times they are of the moments when I would envision myself bringing Carver to my work while on maternity leave, placing him in the stroller and making our way up that same path to introduce him to my co-workers.

Those flashbacks physically hurt.

But I choose to let them happen…because I need to feel all the feelings and I don’t want to forget…no matter how painful remembering is.

Once I’m in my office, I begin my routine of setting in for the morning. I turn on all of my lamps (I dislike overhead lighting). I meticulously take out all the things I need from my purse and set them on my desk: my glasses, airpods, phone & the journal I carry with me most everywhere right now. For some reason, the process of “unpacking” my things for the day is calming.

I’ll sit at my desk, turn on my computer, check my emails for anything urgent and then go make a cup of coffee.

Recently I’ve returned to my normal morning devotional time at work. This consists of turning on my favorite devotional podcast, Mornings with the Masters, and leaning back in my chair with my coffee as I listen. Oftentimes out of sheer habit I’ll still caress my now postpartum belly as I did so many times every day before he was born into his Heavenly Father’s arms. Sometimes I’ll realize what I’m doing, and a brief wave of sadness and longing will wash over me.

As the day revs up, I thankfully become distracted by whatever task or project I’m focusing on.

Some days I prefer to remain in the isolation of my office; hiding from the world as much as my schedule allows. Other days, the isolation forces me into my head and down various thought spirals that induce far too much sadness and mental turmoil. So, I’ll find any excuse to leave my office and go talk with another human.

Sometimes I’ll “temporarily” forget about what happened and then, while just walking down the hall, I’ll suddenly and randomly remember. The realization I experience in these moments hits hard, but only briefly. I regain my composure and move along with my day.

Anytime I open my phone to answer a message, I see my son’s precious little face because I have his picture set as my lock screen.

Why do I do this to myself? Well, many mothers have their child’s photo set as their lock screen…and I have major FOMO. I never want myself or anyone else to forget that I’m still a mother. I have two children that I am so proud to call my own…they just beat momma to Heaven.

I feel as though I’m suspended in a strange state of limbo where I’m not NOT a mother…but I’m also not actively one either. And when several of your close friends have recently and fully entered that stage of life, the feeling of limbo is a strange and lonely place to be in. It makes the longing in my heart so intense at times that it’s painful and overwhelming.

So, I keep my son’s picture as my lock screen to remind myself that yes, I am a mother; and one day I will get to experience active motherhood with the children we have in the future because God is faithful, and I fully believe we’ll receive our miracle eventually.

Often during lunch, I will work on whatever blog post I am currently writing. Putting my thoughts and feelings into written words; an activity that has become so incredibly therapeutic for me. Even though it is painful at times, this creative outlet gives a purpose to the pain.

When it is time to leave work, I slowly and methodically pack up my things and close down my office for the day. Much like my morning “getting settled” routine, this also calms me.

Leaving the building and walking to my car is so…freeing. I appreciate that at 5 o’clock I can just leave and not think about work until the next day. I’m grateful that I have the job that I have during this season. I am fairly certain that my grief journey and the progress that I have made would look a lot different if I was still a teacher.

Depending on the day, I either go home or make my way to my second job or counseling. In my second job I teach night classes occasionally to adult students. The days when I teach are harder for three reasons: I don’t get home until after 10pm; it was the last place I had been before I miscarried in 2022; and I was teaching a class when I felt Carver move for the last time.

These memories are still very raw, especially those about Carver. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to enter that building or teach those classes without remembering and feeling the pain of the two separate times when everything was wonderful and normal, but then it all fell apart the next day. Honestly, it’s really difficult some nights when I have to teach, and I’ve even toyed with the idea of quitting. But the pragmatic part of myself wins, so I choose to put on a brave face and just get through it.

Once I’m home, I try to do things that are distracting and decompressing. This often involves watching a movie or a show with Chad, playing a game, reading, or cleaning.

Eventually, I’ll give in to the exhaustion and start getting ready for bed. While not super consistent at the moment (but working on it), I start my night routine by shutting myself in what I am temporarily calling my “war room”. This room was supposed to be the nursery, but we had not gotten around to transforming it yet when everything happened.

I shut myself in this room to have quiet time in the Word…but to also go to battle in prayer.

The interesting thing is that I have never felt so driven to seek God as I do in this season.

(Stay tuned for a future post where I dive into this topic)

As I finish my night routine and get into bed, Chad will come in to cuddle for a little bit before I go to sleep (he stays up a little later than I do).

Actually getting to sleep is a challenge. I have not been able to fall asleep without something on the TV since my dad passed away in 2015.

Without a distraction I simply cannot turn my brain off, and it is more difficult now than ever because my mind will go down all these different thought trails related to Carver.

However, while I still fall asleep to the TV on many nights, I have started trying other methods. Sometimes I will set a timer on my audio book and listen until I drift off. And more recently I have been meditating on scripture as I try to let my body relax, something my doctor recommended I do. It works most of the time.

You’d think the grief would take a break while I sleep, but that is not the case for me. Recently, my grief has been invading my dreams. I dream about Carver. Vividly.

Some dreams are bittersweet, others are a little traumatizing. I will often wake up with those dreams so fresh on my mind that it feels like someone punched me in the gut first thing in the morning.

The strange thing is, I don’t want to stop dreaming about him…even though it hurts.

Weekends are a different story. They often come without much routine, which can be both enjoyable but also dangerous for my emotional state because routines have become a primary form of distraction for me.

Saturdays are some of my better days.

Since the weather has been so warm, I’ve been retreating to the pool at our gym. My time spent just sitting in the crystal blue water and reading while the sun drapes its golden warmth on my skin has been tremendously restorative. Now that the summer “family swim” hours are over, the resort-like pool deck is typically empty and quiet, making my time there that much more serene.

In contrast, Sundays currently rate as my most difficult day. I started going back to church about a month and a half ago. While it has gotten easier with each week, it is still an emotionally exhausting excursion. I have yet to make it through Sunday School without crying as I watch my momma friends interact with their precious little babies, knowing that Carver was supposed to be right there with them. Some weeks I can keep my emotions in check enough to resist the urge to hide in a corner and cry my eyes out. But some weeks it’s just too much and I have to give into that flight response…even if only for a few minutes until I regain my composure.

Church service is easier, but still intense. I’m usually a basket case during worship…music has a way of affecting me so deeply. And the current sermon series on Miracles has been incredibly poignant.

Because of the emotional intensity that is church, I often spend Sunday afternoons “recovering”.

Then, on every other Sunday, we get together with our lifegroup that we co-lead with our best friends. Normally, we host the group at our house. But our amazing friends insisted we take a step back from leading and hosting for a while so that we can just focus on being cared for in this season, emotionally and spiritually. Our friends are such a blessing to us.

Lifegroup nights can sometimes be a little triggering for me since our friends and their babies are part of that group. I hate that being around my momma friends and their sweet little ones is a trigger for me…but that’s my reality at the moment. That doesn’t mean I avoid my friends. No. I choose to be brave and allow myself to be in situations that I know could be emotionally difficult. Because I care more about friendships than avoiding temporary pain.

- - - - -

I never imagined that I would have to go through a season such as this. No one does.

I was no stranger to grief and depression before these recent events.

Yet…this feels so foreign.

Some days I feel like I’m watching my life from the outside and thinking “How is she able to keep going every day? How can she possibly feel joy again?”

The answer is: because of God.

Because of God, I’m able to feel joy despite my sorrow.

Because of God, the bad days are bearable.

Because of God, I am able to get out of bed each day.

Because of God, I am able to walk away from the darkness that wants to engulf me each morning.

Because of God, I can manage my triggers.

Because of God, I can smile.

Because of God, I can laugh at something funny.

Because of God, I have found a “new normal” that works.

Because of God, I have hope for the future.

Without God, I don’t think I would have survived this.

But by His grace, I’m moving forward and healing all while honoring my son.