Confessions

I have literally written this post hundreds of times in my head, desperately trying to get it right. Thinking, that somehow, I would be able to convey the fear and hopelessness with magic words that would come to me. Guess what, I was wrong. Completely wrong. I have no idea how to put these particular thoughts down. I don't know how to tell everyone that I just could not write. I sat in that hospital bed day in and day out and pulled up the blog countless times prepared to share with the world our journey. My fingers refused, my mind shut down and I gave up.

In middle school, high school, and into college I always kept a journal. I have a box of said journals and reading them now is such a humbling and sometimes humiliating experience :) Writing was always therapeutic for me. I could write the absolute truth down and feel validated. I could write those feelings and thoughts that I felt were "too" much, "too" real, "too" everything and no one would look at me like I was crazy. So, I kept writing and writing. For years, this worked well. However, I have to admit that once my first child came, the writing lessened a considerable amount. No surprise there, I'm sure :) But, I valiantly tried to keep up, specifically on this blog. And if you have read this blog before, you will understand how I failed most of the time. Hehe.

Let us speed up a bit to my water breaking at 23 weeks and me ending up on hospital bed rest at Evergreen. Countless people and tons of literature told me that it would be helpful to write everyday during this ordeal, to put my feelings and worries on paper,to record everything that happened. Write down how much she weighs each ultrasound, how much fluid you have in your amniotic sac, how each monitoring of her heart went. Put it down Lindsey, they said. Get it off your chest and it will help you feel better! Logically, this made sense. I can see that. Honestly, I could even see it then. So, I put on my big girl panties and gave it a whirl. After all, writing had been a source of solace to me long before this, so it would make sense that it would provide such comfort again. Again...wrong. A big fat WRONG.

I think I wrote about 2 blog posts while in the hospital. I also had a pen and paper journal to record those monumental happenings....and that one has one page written on. And since then...a year and a couple of months later...I haven't been able to write anything. Not emails, at least not anything substantial. Not letters, not cards, and clearly not blog posts.

It has taken me a long time...and a lot of therapy to come to this conclusion. I didn't feel safe. In the middle of a storm, writing should have been a safe harbor, but instead it was like jagged rocks that ripped up my boat. Every time I wrote something down it became more real. It was already too real for me, writing only helped it become permanently etched in writing for all of history. Writing it down meant that I couldn't change it, couldn't do anything about my situation. Ugh. I know that I already couldn't change it, but writing confirmed it in my head. I know it doesn't make any sense, but my heart said otherwise. I was only trying to survive each day thinking my baby girl was going to die and being separated from my son. Honestly, I don't think I could have handled it and so I didn't. I stopped writing and just got through each day. Sadly, I have sort of being doing that since then. So, I am sorry. I am sorry for you, for me, for my children. I'm sure it would have been nice to have that experience down for posterity, but perhaps now that I have slowly started writing again...it can come out.

Up next, a catch up of the last year. It is sure to be scintillating :)

Minus a cute Annabelle who was off to the side gnawing on my pearl necklace ;) She wasn't impressed with the photo session.