Part of me is afraid.
Im afraid that if I start writing again, really writing, that the floodgates will open and I won't be able to close them.
That I'll be too overcome with emotion and grief that I won't be able to pull it together to function for my kids.
This fear is not unfounded.
I've experienced this sort of debilitating grief twice before.
The first time was in 2003, when my 18 year old sister, Cassie Brown, was murdered. I covered my agony with anger for months. And once I started crying, I couldn't stop.
The second time was when I was pregnant with our third child, Ellie. Third child, but fourth pregnancy. When we lost Hadassah around 12 weeks gestation, I distracted myself so that I wouldn't have to feel the loss of my baby. It wasn't until we become pregnant with Ellie six months later that it really hit me and I came to a halting stop while I mourned my baby that I will never meet here on earth.
It was then that I started to write.
And it was healing, and it was hard.
I threw my guts up into my blog until I was inside out and nothing was left by dry heaving emotion. And then I wrote some more. I was real and raw and honest and irreverent. And I healed.
Now I find myself in that place of denial and distraction again, instead of facing my grief.
An author friend of mine, Amber, told me, "For people like us, writing is cathartic. Maybe that's what you need! Emotional release. You'll be a better mom after you take care of yourself. You have to allow yourself to feel all the feelings."
So here I am. Dipping my toes into my own feelings and writing again.
If you've ever been here, you're not alone. If you've been through this already, I'm thankful for you and for people like Amber who will show me the way to the other end of this excruciating tunnel. So thank you for your patience as I bare my soul to you, and for joining me in this painful journey through mourning.
Im afraid that if I start writing again, really writing, that the floodgates will open and I won't be able to close them.
That I'll be too overcome with emotion and grief that I won't be able to pull it together to function for my kids.
This fear is not unfounded.
I've experienced this sort of debilitating grief twice before.
The first time was in 2003, when my 18 year old sister, Cassie Brown, was murdered. I covered my agony with anger for months. And once I started crying, I couldn't stop.
The second time was when I was pregnant with our third child, Ellie. Third child, but fourth pregnancy. When we lost Hadassah around 12 weeks gestation, I distracted myself so that I wouldn't have to feel the loss of my baby. It wasn't until we become pregnant with Ellie six months later that it really hit me and I came to a halting stop while I mourned my baby that I will never meet here on earth.
It was then that I started to write.
And it was healing, and it was hard.
I threw my guts up into my blog until I was inside out and nothing was left by dry heaving emotion. And then I wrote some more. I was real and raw and honest and irreverent. And I healed.
Now I find myself in that place of denial and distraction again, instead of facing my grief.
An author friend of mine, Amber, told me, "For people like us, writing is cathartic. Maybe that's what you need! Emotional release. You'll be a better mom after you take care of yourself. You have to allow yourself to feel all the feelings."
So here I am. Dipping my toes into my own feelings and writing again.
If you've ever been here, you're not alone. If you've been through this already, I'm thankful for you and for people like Amber who will show me the way to the other end of this excruciating tunnel. So thank you for your patience as I bare my soul to you, and for joining me in this painful journey through mourning.