Up until somewhat recently, I was feeling pretty good.
I felt like I was getting back on track with my health and fitness, having lost ~6 lbs (yet, it doesn’t seem to come off my arms..) I’ve been enjoying all the books I’ve been reading/listening to. I started my booksta and have found so much fun in that. I’ve been feeling so much better, after getting on Lexapro for general anxiety; I can get through Sundays without feeling like I need to just cry and hide.
A note about my recent journey with Lexapro.
It took me some time and tears to be at peace about getting on Lexapro for my anxiety. I really struggled with feeling weak and broken for needing medication to help cope with the anxiety. There’s such a harmful church culture that tells us that mental health problems = a lack of faith, and I think that kind of thinking definitely affected me a bit (even though I never agreed with mindset).
And then I’d remind myself that miscarriages ARE traumatic and that trauma quite literally affects brain chemistry. Needing medicine to help after experiencing events that alter my brain chemistry should not be a shameful thing.
When I’d cry to Hae Won about feeling ashamed, he’d ask me, “Well, it’s helping, isn’t it? So you needed it, and it’s a good thing that it’s working.”
:’)
I joined a RPL and no living child support group with @themiscarriagedoula. Last night was the third of six sessions. It’s been refreshing to be in a space, only with other women who are in the same boat as me.
It was tempting to feel hopeful. I wanted to feel hopeful, like things are starting to look up. But, so what? What good is feeling good or hopeful? Feeling a certain way isn’t indicative of the future. It doesn’t mean that everything that’s been causing anxiety or heartache will get better.
I didn’t want to let myself feel like things are looking up, just to be crushed again later.
It’s National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It’s also been over a year since the first positive pregnancy. We’re a month away from the one-year anniversary of my first miscarriage.
I also got my period over the weekend. It was a few days later than originally expected. The first full flow day was a bit heavier than usual, and it reminded me of all the blood during the second loss..
It’s was the first month of TTC again, after taking a break while working with a fertility clinic. It’s only been once cycle of trying again, but the disappointment from the negative test was unexplainably crushing. The negative tests between the first loss and the second pregnancy were disappointing, but it feels so much heavier.
The wait between my period, ovulation, and either my next period or time for a test – it’s soul-sucking. I don’t know how long I can go through this.
I’m thankful for my support group, but there’s no way to explain just how deep the loneliness during this time can be.
I wish I could close my eyes and skip forward to when things are easier, when we can finally share good news and I no longer need to medicate my anxiety away.
Last night, I dreamt that I gave birth to a baby girl.
I wasn’t expecting her though. I kind of think it was like WandaVision, the way that Wanda didn’t know when she became pregnant. She just kind of was.
Originally, I thought I’d be super pregnant by the time FanExpo rolled around in May. I was planning to cosplay as pregnant Wanda, so maybe that’s why the dream played out that way.
She looked so happy, every time I looked at her. And even though she was a surprise to me, I felt such immense joy when I would look at her.
At the end of my dream, I couldn’t find her. Either my dad or grandpa took her for vaccines or something? But without my consent or knowledge? So, I was panicking and frantically trying to find my dad/granpda (I just don’t remember exactly what happened), to figure out where my baby was.
Then my alarm went off, but I was still half asleep and dazed. I woke up with the thoughts, “Where’s my baby?” still ringing in my head.
When we got back from the gym, I saw that my period was finally here.
Feels like a cruel punchline, getting my period – a reminder that my womb no longer carries a baby – the same day as such a painful dream.
How am I doing? The answer is still on a moment-by-moment basis. Last week, I would’ve told you that I’ve been, overall, better though. But, as I had expected, this week was harder.
I count by Thursdays, which means that Thanksgiving will likely continue to hurt a little more. Of course, this year, the day after Christmas is also a Thursday.
The holidays being back-to-back and right after the miscarriage have made this season heavier.
I think about the Christmas tree I considered getting (but ultimately didn’t), so we’d have it for the baby’s first Christmas next year. I think about how everyone would’ve known the news by now and wonder how much my stomach would have started to show.
Sometimes, I place my hand on my stomach—not because of the baby, but because I would sometimes do that when brushing my teeth, checking my weight, or lying in bed. But now, when I do, I’m reminded each time just how empty my womb is.
We’ve been watching the newest season of Marvel’s What If…? on Disney+ this week. A new episode drops daily, and the season premiered on the 22nd. Yesterday’s Christmas drop was… one of the worst stories that they could’ve cooked up, in my opinion. It was so stupid and ridiculous in premise. It centers around this couple that just… makes no sense and made me so uncomfortable and low-key angry, lol.
But despite that, it still hurt.
The whole episode’s basically about how this couple is doing whatever it takes to protect their baby egg from being stolen by, well, every possible party in the universe apparently?
For what I think are obvious reasons at this point, the episode still hurt me. I could feel the sadness starting to swell inside, despite how angry the stupidity of the episode was making me.
Yesterday was just an emotional mess, lol. We’ve also been watching Supernatural – my first time, because Hae Won wanted to rewatch it for like the 3rd or 4th time. But as they start peeling back the layers on what hell is like in the Supernatural universe, it’s been really messing with me. I won’t get into why here… but if you ever sit down to have a conversation with me about some of the stuff that I’m struggling with when it comes to God and my faith (and if you’re familiar with the show), you’d understand why this is really effing me up.
So, anyways, last night definitely had some tears involved.
Sometime around October or November? I honestly can’t remember exactly when, but I had unknowingly sustained small burns on my left pointer finger. The skin on both sides of my fingernail were burned (at least, I’m 99% sure they were burns). I don’t even know when that would’ve happened. Maybe I accidentally made contact briefly with the airfryer, while pulling out food?
I didn’t realize that there were burns. The areas were throbbing but it was bearable. When I was showering or washing dishes, that’s when the pain really revved up, but again, I wasn’t sure what it was. I could see that it was red, but I thought that maybe i accidentally peeled off some of my cuticle at some point, and it swelled up from that. I also simultaneously, had a fresh cut on that finger from my knife slipping, while cutting potatoes.
Eventually, I couldn’t deal with this unknown pain and concluded that I need to do something. I kept bandages on it, when I could, and applied some ointment. Finally, it started to heal.
At some point, it didn’t constantly throb anymore. It would only hurt if I was using really hot water or bumped the finger into something. I was learning to work around it, when possible, by taking things slower or trying to avoid using that finger, whenever I could. I was learning to live with it.
Over time, I guess it had healed. I didn’t notice, but it didn’t hurt anymore and the areas were no longer bright red. The other day, one side did hurt for a bit, and I have no idea what that was about.
Anyways – I would say that I’m kind around that second stage when it comes to my emotional healing. It doesn’t hurt all the time, but when there’s some pressure, I can definitely feel it again. I’m… learning to live with it. I’m finding ways to treat the wound.
It’s been a process, seeing my social media and amazon algorithms cleanse themselves of expectant mother posts and baby gear. It’s adapted to more content centered around miscarriages. It’s jarring when I scroll through multiple posts that make me cry from feeling seen, only to be suddenly confronted with a post about baby stuff or an influencer’s pregnancy announcement.
While scrolling, I came across this little jewelry company based in the UK – Little Santi Designs. I could not stop crying, while reading through some of the illustrated posts. The way they capture either what I’m still feeling or what I’m currently feeling.
While watching an episode of The Great British Bakeoff this past Saturday, one of the contestants showed the five star-shaped cookies that she made for her showstopper. She shared that those were for her five unborn children, because they also belonged in the familial scene that she was trying to portray. I burst into tears.
I read comments on these miscarriage-related IG posts and I burst into tears. I cry for all the women and their pain.
It’s so odd how I used to be okay with never having a child, but now, I long for my child so badly
I think about the kind of parent that I hoped to be, the kind of home I hoped to provide, the kind of love and security I wanted to give, and the stability I wanted to always do my best to maintain – a kind of stability at home that I lacked so often. I wanted so badly to give this child a better homelife and childhood than mine, than either of ours.
After letting myself start dreaming up that life, how do I go back to life as it was?
The one thing I want most understood about me and this experience is that I truly wanted this child. I was not heartbroken because I wanted a baby or I because I wanted to become a mom. I was – I am still heartbroken, because I wanted to give this child that life, home, and love. I wanted to raise this child.
There is no real comfort. There are moments of comfort, of feeling better, because of the love people show me or the solidarity I find when I read of others’ various experiences. But at the end of the day, what lasting comfort can I actually find right now?
It’s so odd, how I can simultaneously want to be pregnant again, so so badly, and yet be so so terrified at the thought.
I don’t need to hear, “Your feelings are valid.” anymore. I know that they are.
What I need is to be affirmed that I’m allowed to take up space in my sadness and that it’s not a burden to those around me. That I am safe here. That I am allowed to grieve for as long or as loudly as I need, that it is only natural to grieve such a loss. Whether it’s in those words or just taking a second to see if I’m doing alright. I appreciate knowing that people around me do not expect me to be okay or healed in the matter of weeks or even a few months.
I appreciate when people remind me to be kind to my body because it went through a lot of changes in just a few months
Even though my faith has been shaky for a long time, I asked for a break from Sunday school, not just because I needed the mental, emotional, and physical break from it, but because I felt a need to simply sit through worship.
It was so refreshing to hear from someone different.
Please note that everything I’m about to say is in no way meant to be a slight on any of the pastors regularly speaking or any past guest speakers.
This past Sunday, we had a guest speaker.
What a breath of fresh air.
It was so refreshing to hear from someone different.
Again, my faith has been shaky and I just have not been able to get myself focused much on sermons. I start off with the intention of listening to the full message but every week, I find that before I know it, my mind has wandered off somewhere else.
But I was really excited for this guest speaker and made an extra effort to take advantage of him being here.
Man, I don’t remember the last time that a sermon moved my heart.
It’s not even that anything mind-blowingly profound was said. But, I think God really met me where I was in that moment.
At the end of the sermon, Pastor Gentri speaks about how this passage asks us to trust God through dark times.
He talks about how Jesus commissioned a church to be present with each other, to bear each other’s burdens.
He also talks about “cold faith,” and this is where I start to feel those tears slowly welling up.
(That part alone, I could write a whole mini post about the multiple ways that this really spoke to me, but that would be a whole other thing, so we’ll skip that for now.)
He talks about when people have hypothermia, humans can gather around other humans with body heat for survival. In the same way, when someone has cold faith, its the duty of our brothers and sisters to warm them.
I loved this part, especially when he mentions praying for your brother/sister with cold faith, when they don’t have it in them to pray. This is what I’ve been leaning on, through the different seasons of grief that I’ve experienced in the past 5 years. It’s what I’ve been leaning on during these seasons of my own cold faith.
I thought of all the love and care that I’ve received in the past 6 weeks and I cried. I cried out of so much deep gratitude for the sisters and friends who have shared their warmth and light in this time of darkness.
There was a night when I was driving alone and I was listening to this song. It’s a song that one of my dear, dear sisters had shared with me.
I cannot listen to this song without at least shedding a few tears.
The part that always gets me is early in the first verse.
Everything around me seems uncertain My weary heart can’t take much more surprise I wish there was a point on the horizon Something I could see with my own eyes I need tell you that I’m scared I feel completely unprepared And nothing’s what it was two weeks ago
My weary heart can’t take much more surprise…
I would say that this is one of the loudest cries from my heart this year.
Up until this drive, I thought that I was doing okay. But, then I wondered how much of that was from me wanting to just hold it together.
I broke down weeping, perhaps to God. Perhaps not exactly TO God, but like, next to God. You know, like when you’re just “thinking aloud” but you want the person within earshot to hear you.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t take much more of this wilderness or whatever sort of tests or fires. I can’t keep carrying so much sadness and burden on my heart.
Sweet baby, I hope that you’re having so much fun playing with all of our friends’ own angel babies in heaven.
i was able to get through most of week two with pretty minimal crying, but i have cried quite a bit during the last 24 hours
maybe it’s because i shared publicly and people have been reaching out to me, and it’s stirring up all the feelings that i’ve been learning to live with
maybe it’s because this week would’ve been the end of the first trimester, and i envisioned that thanksgiving week was when we were going to share the news with our parents and brothers
we would have told some more of our closest friends right around now
we’d be excitedly getting ready to soon share with the rest of our world, what was to come around june
i saw news that the town over was going to have their annual tree lighting ceremony, and i think about how next year, or the year after, i would have loved to take baby there – despite me not caring much for EOY holiday festivities
i look at friends’ kids who i hoped our baby could grow up with and now i only see all the friends that they will never get to meet
i think about how maybe, i should have tried harder to manage my expectations better and keep my hopes lower; would i be any less sad; would that have guarded my heart
have you ever heard the saying that men become dads when they meet their baby, but women become moms the moment that they know they’re pregnant?
if that’s the case, how can any woman ever really guard their heart from this?
how can a mother ever temper their expectations and not grieve the loss of their child, no matter how short the pregnancy?
i previously wrote about how people jokingly write on tiktok that they miss their future baby (read as: this gives me baby fever)
how can i have never touched this baby, never laid eyes on it, barely even make it out on the ultrasound, but yearn so much for it, to miss what i never even met? to feel such a deep emptiness, a missing piece of me that I cannot possibly ever get back
during the weeks that i knew, i tried not to refer to them as “my” baby, but mostly just as “the” baby
even though i had nothing to show for it just yet, i fought the urge to caress my stomach, but sometimes i would still rub it, still in disbelief that this was real
i think that these were my ways to not get attached, to guard my heart
but now i feel sorry and awful, as if i loved them so much less for not cooing the words, “my” baby to them
if pain can be this great, why do we act like people should wait until at least the end of the first trimester to celebrate with the world?
if we need to hurt this badly in loneliness, why do we not at least celebrate more in community, while the news is still good?
it made me scared to share about what happened, as if it needs to be kept as secret as the pregnancy
i feel like my life has been mostly just grief, at this point
grief from my grandfather dying so suddenly, with no explanation of cause
grief from my grandmother suffering for ~9 months, passing away unable to move, eat, or speak, in the midst of covid, 3 months before my wedding
grief that both my grandparents so badly wanted to live to see me get married, yet neither of them did
grief from all the instability, depression, and addictions (alcohol, cigarettes) that run through my family; my parents refusal to give them up, even when it was clearly affecting my brother, refusal to give them up, even when their children were clearly suffering from it in many ways
grief from feeling like my family is too out of hope’s grasp anymore
my grandmother passed away ~3.5 years ago, and i regularly mourn that loss; there have been so many nights, even up to this summer, that i would cry myself to sleep because of how much i miss her
before marriage, she was the only one who made me feel like she would genuinely do anything for me (and my brother), would give up anything for us, unlike my parents
i still carried that grief so heavily on my heart, and now there is only more
i don’t know how people do it
i don’t know how people still keep their faith
i feel so defeated, so forsaken, at just about every turn in life right now
i jokingly (but not really), said to someone that i’m used to sadness, that that is my perpetual state; i said that life decided, jane’s been a little happy for too long, and we need to restore the natural order to things
i have questioned, for years, why it feels like God won’t throw me a bone
i feel like my marriage has been the only bone i’ve been truly given here, the only break that i could really catch
on one hand, people try to encourage me that all things are in in God’s plan, even if we cannot understand the reason for heartbreaking events, on this side of heaven
when we walked out of the office, the day that we learned that this pregnancy was nonviable, hae won said that he wished we could understand why this happened
he said, maybe this pregnancy would’ve killed me
i still chuckle a little at the way he expressed that – perhaps he’s right
but in my own struggle with God – a struggle that has been going on for so many years now – i say, well why couldn’t God just let it be a healthy pregnancy?
i used to find comfort in God, but now, i am always angry and sad and questioning
i believe in God’s omnipotence, but i wonder of His goodness
ironically, we sang good good father during worship today
i used to love this chorus as a reminder that even when i felt like I had strayed so far and made so many mistakes, i am loved and was who I am; that was all i needed to know
for the past few years, i actually hate singing this song whenever it comes around…
i feel like the biggest phony when we get to the chorus; i didn’t sing all of it today
i believe in His power to do anything, but why did my grandmother have to suffer? why did my grandfather have to be taken, years before he could meet hae won and trust that i would be in good hands?
why couldn’t He keep my brother from falling so far away? my mom? why has my dad’s heart not softened all this time?
does the Spirit not inspire our desire for the Father? why has He not moved me to desire Him? have I just been forsaken? forgotten? overlooked?
was I not faithful enough? would things be better if i could have more faith, years ago, not letting myself get to this pitiful spiritual state?
if i didn’t believe in God, i could just blame it on life, be angry that this is just how life is
instead, i continue to blame God for letting things happen or not happen, even when i know that this goes against the truth of who He is
i don’t have the faith or the will to choose faith
i don’t have the faith or will to pray for myself
have i not been through enough fires to satisfy?
has my heart not been broken enough for more than just my lifetime?
I don’t know how to process this grief. There are moments where it feels like my body and mind could literally fall apart. And I wonder if I’ll be able to feel whole again.
It almost feels unreal. It feels like I almost made it all up in my head, like it was all a fever dream. Maybe it’s because of how short-lived it was.
It’s crazy how I suffered weeks from nausea and sore boobs, just for that to all go away in a matter of a few days…
I still chuckle at the circumstances when I found out.
Earlier that week, I was struggling in my strength-training group class. I thought it was because my period was finally coming. Late and irregular periods weren’t abnormal for me, especially considering my body was still getting back to its normal hormone levels.
I had missed my previous period, but the test didn’t look positive. It was honestly a little ambiguous, because it wasn’t a digital test.
But then it still wasn’t here, and Hae Won asked if I should take another test.
I was so convinced that it was going to be negative. It’s only been about 3 months since I got off birth control after all.
I had always wanted to film the whole process, including the test. Well, this is how confident I was that it would be negative…
I was butt-naked, because I took this during my pre-shower piss. Didn’t do a pre-test recording.
The result was immediate. I was in disbelief. I walked over to Hae Won, still butt-naked. He’s on the frickin’ toilet, taking a dump.
Of course this is how we find out. In his words, it was “very on-brand for us.”
I cried a few times. I cried, just so in awe of the way a woman’s body, the way my body, is actually growing a human body. For a brief moment, it brought me back to my knees in awe of God, of what He made women capable of and His design.
I had never really felt the desire to be a mom before. I feel like it’s common to hear girls say that when they grow up, they want to be a mom. Not me. Never once did I ever feel or say that.
In my mid- to late twenties, I had moments where I felt a longing for a child someday. It would hit mostly when I would see children’s faces light up with pure joy, being picked up from nursery or Sunday school.
My sweet husband was made to be dad. Despite my own fears, I could be reassured in the fact that he would love our child with his whole heart. He shed a few happy tears when I finally told him, that we can start trying for real this time.
I still don’t know if I ever really felt the desire to be a mom before this point. I didn’t say, let’s finally start trying because I felt such a strong motherly desire. But I can say that this pregnancy has given me the longing. Not so much the longing to become a mom, but more accurately, a longing for my child.
Recently, I would see these funny comments on TikToks about babies. People without kids would comment, “I miss my future child.”
I would always chuckle, because I thought it was funny, but also because I started to understand the sentiment.
After my first appointment, I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The NP said it could’ve been a delayed ovulation, and I really wanted to let myself believe that. I could’ve gone back to see when I took my test and see if her estimate of 5 weeks (vs. the 9 weeks that it would’ve been, based on my last period) made sense with when I took it, but maybe I was too scared.
I should’ve done my research though. I didn’t know at the time, that a faint line is still a positive, but when it’s super early in the pregnancy, there aren’t enough hormones yet. If I knew better then, I would’ve been able to tell her confidently that I was more than five weeks pregnant. Maybe I could’ve saved myself a little bit…
It was another two weeks of anxiety and eagerness, until my next ultrasound.
I know that miscarriages are, unfortunately, very common. And it was my biggest fear, even long before I definitively knew whether or not I’d want to get pregnant.
Before I received a prescription for my nausea, it felt soooo awful. I didn’t suffer from any vomiting (though I wonder if that’s partially from my sheer refusal to throw up), but the nausea quickly became constant.
I didn’t want to game. I didn’t want to work out. I just wanted to lay down, all day. I didn’t feel like myself during those few weeks. There was a night where I had a total mental breakdown, crying and yelling at Hae Won, “Is this worth it?!? YOU did this to me!!”
When the ultrasound tech didn’t have us take a look at the screen, the sick feeling in my stomach started to grow.
I still hoped that the NP was going to walk in with a printed copy of the new ultrasound, that we would see that our sesame seed was a blueberry now.
Being told that there hasn’t been any growth and that the pregnancy was nonviable devasted me much more than I could’ve fathomed.
Of course, miscarriages are devastating and even at times, traumatizing.
But, maybe, just maybe… it would’ve stung the tiniest bit less if we knew this two weeks earlier, before I allowed myself to hope and grow excited.
I opted to just take the Misoprostol at home. I didn’t want to go all the way back to the office or to the hospital for a procedure. I wanted to do this in the comfort and privacy of my home.
She told me to take it when I was ready…
I took it the same night.
Holy. Shite.
That stuff works fast. I started shivering intensely while also feeling feverish. I cradled myself to try and comfort myself from the intense cramping. I don’t know if I burst into tears moreso from the physical pain or the heartbreak.
What a horrifying experience to feel so much physical pain, while grieving and trying to process the heartbreak.
As I writhed in pain, I couldn’t help but feel unimaginable guilt for that previous mental breakdown.
“I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean it… I would take endless nausea, if it meant I could have my baby back…”
If I believed in karma, I would’ve believed that this miscarriage was the price I was paying for ever saying that.
There is not enough crying that I can do to alleviate the heartache. The grief keeps coming down in heavy waves.
Even with the high-dosage ibuprofen, I was in so much pain the whole night. I woke up after a few hours, probably because the ibuprofen was starting to wear off. Or maybe the need to pee was too strong.
The amount of blood I could feel, stored in my period underwear, broke my heart. I felt three huge globs of blood pass, while I sat on the toilet.
I didn’t want to cry again, but I couldn’t help but cry inside, “That was supposed to be my baby…”
I know it’s not my fault. I know that there was nothing I could do. I know that the baby wasn’t really alive anymore at that point. Yet, in that moment, as I feel and see all that blood, I can’t help but feel like I killed our baby.
I threw in a load of laundry today, and thought about how I told Hae Won the other week, “We’re going to have to do laundry all the time when there’s baby around.” I cried for awhile after that.
I go to pee, and think of those globs of blood again. And I cry.
I grab the crocheted Jake the Dog doll that I bought at the anime convention in October – intentionally for the baby’s nursery. I give it a cuddle, and cry at the thought that the baby couldn’t even grow to this tiny of a size in my womb. I cry and mutter, “우리 아기 미안해… 이만큼이라도 못 키워 줘서 미안해…”
I take a shower and see how my boobs have shrunk back down to pre-pregnancy size, and I cry. I cry because I want the nausea, the constant need to urinate, and the aching breasts back.
I cry and keep crying. I cry and beg God, the world, and my body, to give me back my baby. I keep hearing Mitski’s “my baby, my baby.. you’re my baby, say it to me..” in my head.
I cry because this might be the worst pain I have ever felt. I am heartbroken, knowing that so many women in the world and so many women whom I personally care for, have experienced this kind of pain, emotional and physical. I cry, hoping and begging God that none of my friends will ever have to experience this.
I cry because I am so afraid now. I am unimaginably scared that this will happen again. I’m terrified that I won’t ever be able to carry to full-term. I know that many women go to have a perfectly normal and healthy baby after a miscarriage, but what if I don’t? What if it happens again? And maybe, again?
I cry from the guilt that I can’t help but feel. Guilt at the thought of having a full-term pregnancy. Guilt at the thought of not being so sad anymore, of feeling like I “moved on.”
Oh my baby, my baby… I’m so sorry that I won’t get to know if you would’ve grown to be a a daughter or son. I’m so sorry that I won’t get to see if you would grow to look more like your mom or your dad. I’m sorry that you won’t ever get to hold the first present I bought, just for you.
You never grew past the size of a seed, but you will always be the first baby.
우리 아기 미안해…너무 미안해
그리고 우리 아기 너무 고마워. You gave me the first feelings of joy and anticipation of becoming a mom.
I want people to know that you existed, even if only for the briefest moment.
I haven’t logged into this in over two years. It feels pretty unfamiliar and awkward. But since I refuse to see a counselor or therapist, maybe I need to consider getting back into writing routinely, lol.
The husband and I watched Encanto somewhat recently, and I enjoyed it a lot more than I expected to. I cried more than once. There is one song that still keeps me crying, no matter how many times I listen to it.
“We Don’t Talk About Bruno” was all over my TikTok FYP.
As the first child of immigrant parents and an older sister, “Under Pressure” definitely had relatable lyrics.
But my favorite song is “Waiting On A Miracle.” It’s no competition for me.
I’ve said this a lot in the past few years, but now, I truly feel like I might have forgotten how to do this. How to express myself, honestly and freely.
Guess we’ll see if blogging is like riding a bike.
There have been so many thoughts and emotions that I wanted to write about. So many things to process, reflect on, and share. I’ve thought about sitting down and putting all into words, many times. In the end, I was too tired. Too physically and mentally tired.
Writing is my way of thinking, reflecting, and processing. That also translates to a certain level of emotional labor. And after what feels like an unending string of crappy years, the last thing I want is more emotional labor.
A collection 