My Contribution

Every once in a while (okay, it's actually much more often than that), I stumble upon a source of inspiration that seems like it was made just for me to find.  And I have to admit, I love that.  I love finding things that speak to me, that get me thinking, push me out of my comfort zone or remind me to return to a more intentional life.

A fellow blogger recently posted a page from the book War of Art  and it really struck a chord with me.  Especially the final paragraph which reads:

Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It's a gift to the world and every being in it. Don't cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you've got.

It reminded me that I really am a great many things.  I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, yes, but I am also a writer, an adventurer, curious, vulnerable, kind, independent, strong, imperfect, a novice photographer, compassionate, design-lover, guarded, protective, impatient, outdoor enthusiast, a loyal friend, honest, capable, cautious, and so much more. 

As someone who often holds back, whether from a desire to not make someone else feel uncomfortable or from a wish to not be the difficult customer who sends back her incorrect meal, I have to frequently remind myself to give.  To give all of the good that I possibly can out into the world, and do it freely.  Instead of thinking, no one cares what I have to say on this little old blog, to continue to write even if only for my own creative fulfillment but also in the hopes that it might create a single connection to someone out there.  That someone might think, I know exactly what she means, I go through that, too. 

I often talk about much lighter topics here in this space (think: bathroom remodel!) and sometimes overthink whether I should get into these deeper, more reflective posts at all. It feels a bit too self-indulgent at times. Is it interesting to anyone? Does anyone even care? But for my own authenticity I think it's important to share both sides.  When I began this blog, I made a statement that I would do my best to share the good, the bad and the ugly and while I haven't exactly shared the ugly, it goes without saying that I am certainly not exempt from the darkness. No one is. It is just often too raw for me to go there or doesn't feel shiny enough, and so I hold back.  

I think the statement above refers to more than just art or creativity.  For me it is a reminder that sharing ourselves -- our whole selves -- is what creates deeper connection and understanding between us. Who can actually relate to the person with the perfect life, with the perfect job, with the biggest bank account?  

Being honest, in a way that we are comfortable with, can help us develop more meaningful relationships and this is something that I find utterly important.  Perhaps it's the HSP in me, or perhaps everyone feels this way, I don't know.  But I've never been one for surface level relationships.  You show me yours, I'll show you mine.  

So here's mine.  My truth.  Earlier this Spring, Chris and I experienced one of the greatest losses I think one can ever face. I had a miscarriage.  My inner restraint has held onto this loss, somewhat for my own grief process, somewhat because I wasn't ready to talk about it, and somewhat because I never want to make someone uncomfortable by dropping that bomb into a conversation.  As someone who has never been very good at knowing the right thing to say in an unpleasant situation, I would never want to make someone else feel that way, at least not intentionally.  

How have we healed? How have we handled it all? At the time, I wasn't sure I would ever recover. As dramatic as that sounds, it was probably the darkest time in my life.  You go into pregnancy knowing that there are risks, but never really believing that it will happen to you.  Hearing those words in the ultrasound room absolutely broke my heart.

Time is really the only thing that has helped ease the sadness (along with a whole lot of love from family and friends) and we have emerged on the other side -- still carrying a handful of that sadness with us -- but also knowing that we are going to be okay. Trusting that whatever is meant to happen, will happen.  Believe me, those words did little nothing to ease the pain in the early days but I genuinely do believe that now that the fog has lifted.  With all of the health struggles I have had over the past several years, there was certainly a whole lot of self-blame and disappointment in my own body and the fact that it kept letting me down in those early days. But not anymore. 

As difficult as this has been to process, and as little as I want to revisit those feelings, this is my contribution.  I'm giving you all I've got.  If my candor reaches someone else experiencing a similar loss and gives them even a glimmer of hope or sense of togetherness, that's all I can ever hope to do with my writing.  

I am grateful for the acceptance you allow me. The acceptance to share this story (and many other stories, of all kinds) here in this space. Thank you.