Tag: therapy

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Therapy appointment #2

Sunday night (7/19/20,) Franciscan University hosted a live stream conference called, Night of Hope. I missed out on the first part of the broadcast (due to not realizing that the times listed were EST.) However, when I did log on, I got to hear Sr. Miriam James Heidland, SOLT, answer a question about vulnerability with the LORD. (At 2:31:20 of the conference video – link above.) What she said could not have been more appropriate for what I’m working on by going to therapy. I feel her response can apply to vulnerability in my human relationships, not just my relationship with God and is a beautiful way to re-frame the difficult, sorrowful, things in life that I’ve experienced.

In case you can’t read my handwriting, here’s what I wrote down from her response.

“The sorrowful mysteries of our life never go away… Until they’re transformed, they don’t allow blessing, they transmit suffering on to other people.”

“Suffering that is not transformed, is transmitted.”

“Allow the LORD into these places.” “Invite the LORD into these places.”

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Thoughts after therapy

I had my first session with a therapist who specializes in pregnancy loss/stillbirth as well as ART therapy (Accelerated Resolution Therapy.) I sat in my car afterwards and made some notes about how I thought the session went, what I thought and felt, and what I want to bring up next time. I plan to try the ART therapy in hopes of it helping me heal from the trauma I’ve experienced.

It’s difficult for me to call my experiences “traumatic,” but I guess when you talk about an emergency ambulance birth (2013,) brain tumor diagnosis (2017,) brain surgery and recovery (2018,) and a stillbirth (2020,) I think the argument can definitely be made for calling those events traumatic. Being that I’m the one who went through those things and I don’t know any different, I think I have coped by telling myself just that – I don’t know life to be any other way than what I experienced, so I just have to keep pressing on. But pressing on after the death of your child is different than pressing on after major surgery. Yes, surgery changed me in many ways, but the things I lost, (hearing, sense of taste, energy level) are things my body has adapted to. The death of my daughter is completely different. She was alive and now she’s not. Yes, my body has physically recovered (mostly) from carrying her for 25 weeks, but my heart is broken. I know I will never be the same person I was prior to my pregnancy. I’ve changed with each one of my kids’ births. But to not have the reason that I am different with me here on earth is hard. It’s not how it “should” be.

I should be pregnant right now.

Astrid was so wanted.

My heart aches knowing that I was only able to hold her body. I never got to hear her cry, see the color of her eyes, or find out if she would have wavy or straight hair. I won’t be part of all of her “first year” experiences. Chances are we won’t have another baby. It’s is difficult knowing that this is how my child-bearing years have ended.

A few years ago we felt as though we were in a good place, meaning we didn’t feel God putting the desire in our hearts to have another baby. When we got pregnant last December, it was a shock and also hard. Starting over at the baby stage sounded overwhelming – especially since we had recently been looking at high school options for Shecklet #1. I questioned how we would balance teenagers and a baby. But as He can always do, God worked on my heart and it didn’t take very long for me to soften up to the idea of starting over. I knew I would have plenty of “help” this time, which would be nice. Those feelings of peace were short-lived. The majority of my pregnancy was spent just focusing on each day – which I suppose is actually a good way to live, but it was also extremely stressful in that I never knew when Astrid’s last day alive within me would be.

She has been gone for 2 months. (Hearing the words, “no heartbeat,” took place two months ago today.) I know for her, that’s not even a blink of an eye, but as her mom, it’s the beginning of a journey I would rather not be on.

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7/11/20 – 8 weeks

How can time go so fast and yet so slow?

8 weeks while pregnant always felt so slow – probably because I always felt so sick. The 8 weeks since Astrid’s death and delivery have gone so fast. I cannot believe that much time has passed.

I am going to see a therapist on Monday. The weight of the last (almost) three years is heavy and even though I have done a lot of work on my own, Astrid’s death made me realize that it would be good to try to work with someone other than myself. I have no idea whether or not this therapist and I will be a good fit, but I’m willing to give things a shot. I want to heal from the hurt of Astrid’s death, the loss of relationships, and the stress, physical and emotional toll that having a brain tumor diagnosis and surgery have had on me.

It’s time.