My grief had become unbearable.
Pushed down and ignored, it came to a bubbling point after our ‘rainbow baby’ arrived.
This was supposed to be a joyful time, wasn’t it? I was supposed to be happy and ecstatic that our ‘rainbow’ was finally here. Wasn’t she supposed to wipe all the grief away? Heal the pain of our previous losses?
Instead of joy, and delight, and gratefulness, I was drowning in fear, and anger, and guilt. As I held my screaming newborn I would dose off in daydreams, finding myself running away to far away places or driving my car off a cliff.
I was overwhelmed.
I was overwhelmed and I was tired.
I was navigating parenting after loss in isolation. I was grieving the three babies I never got to hold in silence.
I felt horrible that I wasn’t grateful, and I contemplated ending it all.
And then I picked up a crochet hook.
And that hook saved me.
The art of crochet became my healing balm, and that healing balm opened a door to tell my story.
Storytelling became my therapy and connected me with a vast community of mothers + fathers who are standing in the trenches of loss.
For the first time I understood, I was not alone.
I wasn’t alone, and my feelings and thoughts that almost got the worst of me were validated.
I wasn’t the first one to feel ungrateful, or horrible, or overwhelmed. I wasn’t the first one to be drowning in fear, or anger, or guilt. I wasn’t the first one navigating grief after birth, contemplating ending it all.
I wasn’t the first. And sadly, I will not be the last.
I won’t be the last, and that’s why I process publicly, and lay my life bare, and validate the feelings of those left wondering ‘am I the only one?’ Because you are not the only one, I am not the only one, we are not the only ones.
And together we bear the grief of stories left untold.