Most of us go through life taking care of others. We make hot soup for our spouse or child when they are sick. We become caretakers for an ailing parent or grandparent. We bring lasagna to our cousin who just had a baby, in a disposable pan so they don't have to worry about washing a pan, or going through the trouble of remembering it the next time you get together so they can return it to you. And yet, when it comes to taking care of ourselves, it feels indulgent, selfish, wrong.
Women on the journey of infertility and pregnancy loss may still try to care for others. We go to the baby showers, ask how the doctor's visits went, blink back tears and force a smile when hearing another pregnancy announcement, visit our friend/sister/cousin/coworker in the hospital to meet their newborn baby. And then we wonder why we feel like we can't breathe, why our chests hurt so badly it feels like our hearts are being ripped from our bodies, why we went home and sobbed for an hour with our husbands feeling ill-equipped to comfort us. By caring for others who have what we want (and may never have), we are forgetting about the importance of caring for ourselves.
A wise friend, one who has been through much loss and grief herself, always advises other loss moms, other members of our tribe, to do whatever they need to do to protect their hearts. But what if that means not being there for others? What if protecting my heart requires taking a step back from some of the most important relationships in my life? Taking care of yourself first is not selfish, or cruel, or insensitive to others. When you are happy and healthy, you are in a better place to support others. It simply may take some time to get you there, to that place where you are able to care for others again. Your friends and family may not understand, and it's up to you how much you share with them. Ultimately, the relationships that matter most will still be there, no matter what. And the best of friends will recognize and empathize with the reasons behind your decision to take care of yourself, to protect your heart, and they will sit with you in that place until you are ready to venture out again.
Last Fall, the weekend Ben and I found out I was pregnant for the second time, we stumbled onto a stamp on the concrete sidewalk on N Street in Washington, D.C. The blue text on the ground exclaimed: Protect Yo Heart! My heart leapt - what are the odds? To walk down this street, to be looking down at the right moment, to see something that has become a mantra for myself and so many other loss moms in my community? To see this when I had just discovered that I was pregnant again, after 15 months of waiting and hoping for that positive test?
Months later, after losing that pregnancy, I still cherished the photo I took that day. I learned that the stamp was part of an art installation by UncuttART in 2007, and that they can be found in cities across the country, from Washington D.C. to Jersey City, NYC to LA. This beautiful installation was touching lives across the country, and had been doing so for many years.
In the spring I visited NYC for a furniture trade show. New York is always a bustling city, with sights and sounds and 360 degree stimuli. It is remarkable, then, that I stumbled upon another stamp, reminding me to protect my heart.
This reminder came at a time when I was struggling, struggling with a diagnosis that gave us little hope, struggling with the loss of our second child and feeling foolish for ever having any hope in the first place. Protect your heart, take care of yourself, do whatever you need to do.
I stopped going to baby showers. After breaking down during a baptism at church one weekend, we would call in to listen to church services at home, snuggled up in bed, instead of attending in person, surrounded by babies, growing bellies and happy, large families. I started seeing a therapist who specializes in infertility and pregnancy loss. I remembered that there are still things that bring me joy, that I love doing. I did more of those things. I hiked, spent time with my husband and my pets, read, listened to music. I decided I would take a road trip to Greenbuild, seeing the West and taking much-needed time for myself. I began to plan my vision quest. I started protecting my heart, and even nourishing it.
The week of Greenbuild, in LA at this conference focused on sustainable buildings, I spent most of my time indoors, at education sessions and meetings with colleagues and collaborators. Walking to a restaurant with friends, I saw it out of the corner of my eye.
This time it was an affirmation, a nod to what I was doing already. This omen that I had unknowingly followed over the past year was reminding me why this, my vision quest, matters. While the healing work will have to continue, I had mastered an important first step: protecting my heart.
Ariane,
You write so well, and have captured a slice of the journey I went through thirty plus years ago.
Looking back, it was ok that I stopped going to baby showers, gave myself permission to grieve while my peers excitedly announced their pregnancy, etc. The support group Resolve, based in Boston, became a source of comfort, my infertility support group became my source of strength during the hardest time of my life.
I hated the doctor’s office and the stupid things they would say (One doctor suggested getting a sexy negligee because that had helped her get pregnant-ie ‘you’re not sexy enough’) Well meaning friends would tell me we were trying too hard, etc, etc, etc.
For me, what helped, was making choices I felt I had control over. I get the sense what you are writing, is that that is what you are doing. Taking care of you is central to this. Your writing appears to be doing just that-as well as helping others find their way in this very, very difficult journey.
Thank you so much for having the courage to share.
Thank you so much for writing this April. I should be surprised by the examples you gave (and my jaw did drop when reading that doctor’s comment! Wow, how unprofessional!) but yet I’ve been there too and have heard “just relax”, “it wasn’t meant to be”, etc. I love what you said about making choices you have control over. That’s been an eye-opener for us, and has made all the difference. And you’re right, this blog is one way that I am doing that! Choosing to be open and vulnerable about this journey has been one more step towards healing.
Ariane, thank you for writing on this topic. I am so glad you have learned to protect your heart and are encouraging others to do so. There is a world of people out there that need to know that it is OKAY for those of us suffering (in any way) to do so. This year, as you know, I got a lot of grief for not attending the families holiday… and I appreciate, more than you know, how you commented that I should do what I needed to do to protect my heart. It resonated with a few family members that read it and finally understood that me not attending was not about THEM, it was about me. I haven’t passed any street signs saying this, lol, but I’ve gotten to know you and you’ve passed the message along to me. All the hugs!