Loss and Love

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” – Maya Angelou

It is with deep and mixed emotions that I write these words. I didn’t know if I ever would share, but I can’t deny that I write to process things. And I hope that any woman with this experience will find some comfort in my words – if only to know that she’s not alone in her grief.

2 weeks after finding out we were having a baby I started bleeding. I had been out running errands, came back home and saw that my cotton pants were soaked.  Naturally I was freaking out. I called The One in hysteria. While he was on his way to see me I called the local hospital (and also where I work) in hysteria. We spent the next couple of days in and out of doctor’s appointments and diagnostics. The end result was that it was too soon to tell anything and we’d have to wait and see.

The doctor did observe the interactions between The One and I. He said we were obviously very supportive of one another and to take some comfort in that because he rarely sees couples on our level. Looking back on this experience, I still take comfort in this.

I waited. I was worried, anxious, and even neurotic at times. There were more visits, more diagnostics; even more blood drawn. My HCG levels had not gone up as they should have. It was not a viable pregnancy and I had experienced an incomplete miscarriage. I had to be scheduled for a D&C and wait another week before the procedure would be done. I guess my body was trying to hold on because psychologically I wasn’t ready to let go.  

I give him as much credit as I could possibly give another human being. The One was as supportive as he knew how to be. He acknowledged that he couldn’t quite relate to how I felt. It’s true . . . one can only really relate if one has experienced it – the slight changes my body was making: the mood swings, the increased heart beat due to a vascular system working even harder to pump blood down to a growing cluster of cells, the random cravings and the tiny little things that were uncomfortable and inconvenient – yet still brought a smile to my face because I knew it was all for one tiny growing baby bean sprout. Sure, it was just a cluster of cells; but it was my tiny little cluster. Sure, it’s a common experience for women; but that doesn’t make it any easier.

The One didn’t question me when I’d sob uncontrollably before drifting off to sleep. I never had to explain myself. Part of it was hormones and part of it was grief and sadness.

I had missed a considerable amount of work. I knew that life would carry on and I would need to carry on with it. When I’d start crying I looked at the clock on more than one occasion and told myself I had 5 more minutes to be sad. Five more minutes to allow myself to cry. Five more minutes to grieve and feel sorry for myself. It took a couple of weeks and an unnecessary amount of retail therapy before I stopped needing 5 more minutes.

It’s a form of sadness that has been genuinely difficult to describe. It’s a loss of the feeling of life and a loss of the excitement over what could have been. It’s a form of sadness that is understood only by other women who have experienced the same kind of loss. It was through this experience that I felt a sense of sisterhood I had not yet found among women. In fact, I had doubted that type of bond even existed. And it was this grief that somehow served as a conduit.

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.” – The Beatles.

It was on my last memorable night of grief that I finally finished Women Who Run With the Wolves. For the public record, I’m reading the footnotes . . . and then I’ll probably start the whole thing over again from the beginning. Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote a footnote on the 2^nd or 3^rd chapter about a figure in Mexican folklore that is known for collecting the souls of miscarried babies and planting their seeds in another womb. So the little one never really goes away, it’s just given a new home. It’s a nice thought. And maybe Baby Bean Sprout just wasn’t ready to join our world yet. I’m ready when you are, Little One.

I lit a candle for you. Until we meet again, Little One.

And it was through this experience that The One showed me just how many forms love can take. Love is when he held me because he knew why I was crying. Love is when he held me and had no idea why I was crying. Love is understanding my need for writing, biking and retail therapy. Love is accepting a cantankerous old hound because he knows how much I love that hound. Love is his amusement when I offer him a key to my bike lock instead of my car because I’m not paying attention. Love is picking me up on a rainy night because I managed to get lost on my bike. Love is finding the best possible attributes for my worst idiosyncrasies.

Love was dealing with my hormonal mood swings of tears and bouts of anger. Love was telling me I’m beautiful even though my breasts were tender and overly engorged. Love was (and is) checking me out when I’m cringing in the mirror at my stretch marks. Love is joking about how when we were young and cute and thought we’d stay that way forever.

Love is choosing to see me in the best possible light and this is a choice he makes every day. Rather than chalking my forgetfulness to an air-headed person, he tells me I’m forgetful because I’m a writer and I’m too busy remembering the very important details that most others won’t notice. And obviously there’s only so much memory one person can hold. 

"The best love is that kind that awakens the soul; that makes us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. That's what I hope to give you forever."  - Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

Online Dating: A Perspective From The Irish Lass

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." - Rumi

I tried my hand at online dating. I decided I was ready for something wonderful and genuine and thought actively pursuing it was an excellent idea. In hindsight, that was a horrible idea and this has turned into one of the experiences in life that I've looked back on and asked myself, "What the hell was I thinking?!"

I went the wrong way at the crossroads. 

I developed my online profile as something sweet and simple with a generalization about my life and interests. My photos were flattering, tactful, and not provocative in any way, shape or form. No cleavage, no sultry poses; just a lot of smiling and a few photos of the hound. 

My inbox blew up. It was overwhelming when I'd log in every other day or so and have 50+ messages to sift through. I was beginning to turn into a shallow person. I started deleting messages without reading them because I couldn't possibly read all of that (and some of them were sickening, anyway). Anyone that looked like someone I wouldn't be friends with in real life was ignored. Pity. 

I ignored the shallow people and became one myself. 

I initially thought the process was brilliant because it allowed me to sift through men that came across as creepy, said inappropriate things, or were just too pushy. Why would I want to give you my number after an exchange of five messages?! I've never met you. I don't want to text you and I don't want you calling me, either. 

There's something wrong with my generation. We're all in a rush to the finish line. We want to connect. We want to love; but we don't want to make ourselves vulnerable. My own observation is that we're hungry for a genuine connection with someone, but still remain isolated and lonely. One of the major contributing factors is the veneer, the facade, the veil and all of the emotional barriers we put up in self defense. The internet perpetuates this problem. 

I see it more often than I'd like. A photo of some random and unsuspecting person goes viral and the rest of the world rips the person apart for being (by societal standards) unattractive, obese, fake, and my personal favorites: slut and whore. Because we're not stairng someone directly in the face there is no filter and the most judgmental, condescending and hateful words are spewed into the cyber world. Just because it can be done; just because we have something to hide behind so we feel emboldened to say whatever we want to knock someone down only to make ourselves feel better about our own insecurities and mundane lives. What the hell is wrong with us?! 

Either grow a pair or be kind to others. That's all I have to say. 

Considering that this trait seems to be tailored to my generation specifically, I've come across a lot of unfiltered words. The men with whom I've exchanged dialogue thus far don't handle rejection well. I've been called a snob, someone with major wounds to heal because I wasn't interested in sex, a flake, a bitch and someone deserving of rape because I have a bad attitude. I feel as if I've been introduced to the worst side of humanity and it was beginning to make me a very jaded person. I don't want that for myself. 

It's not just the harshness and cruelty; it's the misrepresentation of oneself and a blatant disregard for the feelings of another human being. I still can't wrap my mind around how we've evolved to be this way. 

Oh yes . . . crying because I felt unlovable, flawed and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. The answer? Nothing. Nothing at all. 

I eventually dreaded even checking my inbox, so I shut it down. I'd rather keep my sanity, thanks. A friend asked me last night why I don't just meet someone the old fashioned way. Does that even happen anymore?! So . . . meet someone at work? Granted, it's a very large organization, but I'm generally running from one thing to the next and don't have time to look into the dating field while I'm working. It just strikes me as wrong and a bad idea. 

The other option would be tango. There are currently a few issues with that. I won't be able to afford those outings for a while because money is too tight and that's what happens when one moves twice in less than 6 months and puts her dog first (he will always come first). My current hours don't really allow for me to have much of a night life because I have to be up so early. Lastly, I don't want to be a part of the polyamorous sect. That's just not in me. I'm not saying every tango dancer lives that kind of life, but I do know it's prevalent in a few crowds and I want no part of it. 

Polyandry aside, tango is pretty awesome. I look forward to returning when I can. 

It's even been suggested that I look for someone with money. I sincerely hope they were joking. In fact, I've even had a few propositions along those lines when I was a bombshell in my early 20's. For the love of all that is sacred and holy, that is the most shallow bullsh*t I've ever heard. I know people do it. I can't. I'd resent the guy. I'd resent myself. I'd personally rather live in a van down by the river, or under a bridge, or pitch a tent or something. I won't be bought or owned. 

Where do these people come from?

The darker side of humanity I've witnessed lately hasn't just been in the dating world, either. I purchased a dog house off of craigslist. I had no means to pick it up and the guy was kind enough to deliver it for me. Over e-mail exchanges he sent me boudoir photos. I'm no longer thinking that was an accident. I've been trying to pin him down to pay him and he only responds with e-mails about him being in the hot tub and sipping wine. Just let me pay you, guy!! I'll admit I'm slightly concerned because he knows where I live. What creeps me out is that he's never met me in person because I wasn't at home when the dog house was delivers. The only photo he's seen of me is on my gmail profile . . . and I'm wearing Minnie Mouse ears and huge cat like sunglasses. There is nothing provocative about that photo. 

I've been asking myself lately what the hell is wrong with the world and why everything in my life is broken, chaotic, or bizarre. I've been hearing a lot about Mercury in retrograde. Mercury is wrecking my life!! I was out with friends last night and one of them told me (regarding my recent interactions with the male population) it's just because I'm young and beautiful. I thanked him for the compliment and he laughed over my dread of turning 30. I know I'm not seeing the bigger picture right now. I know I shouldn't be so harsh on myself. I have to go back to repeating my mantras of saying positive things about me until I believe them. 

My therapist has some good insight on this recurring phenomenon in my life: I'm too trusting and there's something about the type of trauma I've experienced that is buried deep in my unconscious on a level that I'm not aware. It's like a freaking radar to others who have experienced harsh blows in life. Unfortunately, these just happen to be people that aren't trying to deal with their issues and instead project them on others. 

I'm gradually getting back into my ritualistic form of spirituality. I finally put my alter together last night. Falling asleep to my candles burning was comforting and being back in nature on a regular basis is soothing. Making room in my studio apartment for belly dancing is my next task. I'm still semi-living out of boxes. I still can't find things. It's still chaotic, but I'm beginning to feel a sense of peace; and I'm reminding myself I'm exactly where I should be. 

Playing with scarves and glittery things?! You betcha. I'll move like no one is watching (because no one will be watching - this is mine). 

Self-Awareness and the Subconcious

“Seven long years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I climbed for thee,

The bloody shirt I wrang for thee,

Will you not waken and turn to me?” – Scottish Lore: The Black Bull of Norroway

One of the recurring themes in my life lately has been love, and what love truly is. My morning meditation book spoke of a young woman from Scottish folklore who went to a seer to gain knowledge of her future love. The woman suffers many trials to save this man, who has come to her in the shape of a bull. She must climb a hill of glass with shoes made of iron. She obtains these shoes as the result of a seven year long apprentice service to a smith and in the end must wash her lover’s bloody shirt to disenchant him. One moral of this story is that love is not equal – at least not usually in the beginning; one partner may need to be patient while the other discovers a similar depth of affection. The ability to be constant, consistent and reliable is learned over a long period; during this time, many relationships falter or come to grief. The glassy hill of love presents a great challenge to the faithful lover. The spiked shoes of iron are not made overnight; and many shirts filled with wounds may have to be laundered before old loves and hates learned in past relationships are leached out of the present one. Constancy, perseverance, and patience are the skills we learn in the apprenticeship of love.  

I do my best to live my life with nothing but love for others. It's a lofty goal and I fail at it often. 

Needless to say, my morning meditation blew my mind – it offers the truth of what it means to love another. These are honest truths and I think we have to deal with our own baggage that drags us down until we can truly open up to someone else and provide them with consistency, patience, and a willingness to tough out the bumpy patches in the road. I’ve been doing this entire process for a very long time; not just by lacking in patience, but also by putting unrealistic expectations in my mind. Of course he’ll love me as genuinely as I love him. Of course he’d never hurt me. Why on earth wouldn’t he want to spend more of his free time with me? Of course he’d keep my best interests in mind . . . . . No. That’s just not how it works. The reality is that it takes a hell of a lot of work on both sides to build something beautiful and both participants have to be willing to bend and challenge one another.

I always think back to the analogy the Buddhist gave me about the pumpkin vines. We are connected. Love one another and share in both joy and pain.

Of course, dating in any way shape or form is the last thing on my mind right now. My plate is pretty full these days. I’ve just found an apartment – and my own space is something I’ve needed for a long time but couldn’t obtain until now. It has the perfect set up for the hound and I. It’s a bit farther away from work – but I figure when I can afford a bike and am cycling back and forth I’m going to be in wicked awesome shape. Also, the hound has a fenced in yard and a dog walker; I couldn’t have imagined a better scenario.

My sweet boy. We've made it, hound. 

While I’ve paid for rent for March and April, I won’t really officially be moving in until the very end of April or first week of May. I’ve committed to house/pet sitting for an entire month. I didn’t intend to even start looking for a place until I was done with that commitment, but I stumbled across this ad for an in-law cottage and knew that it was something I had to have. It has a small fenced in yard and a sliding glass door for an insert-able dog door. Also, the landlord has a teenage daughter who loves basset hounds. I’ve found a yard for Merlin, a dog walker, and a place to live all in one fell swoop. I literally pestered the landlord until I was first in line and went straight to the bank to give him rent and a deposit the very next day. I beat out the one gal that was on top of the list by my endless persistence. 

I’m not sure if it’s the excitement of the last few days or my commitments that leave me feeling exhausted. I feel as if I’ve literally been going nonstop since February. I’d love to have a weekend to just pack, or sleep, or lounge about for a while. That hasn’t been available to me in a very long time. I’m always doing something. If it hasn’t been apartment hunting,  trying to cross off items of what feels like an endless to-do list, it’s been catching up with friends. I love my friends dearly, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a breather and disappear for a week or two just for the sake of my sanity. Emotionally, physically and psychically I’m nearly tapped out. There’s not much left there to give. I just need to get through a few more days and then I can allow myself some much needed down time before I keel over from exhaustion.

My secret fear is that my boss will walk into my office one day only to find me curled up under my desk fast asleep.

I’m still working on being in the moment as well. Since I’ve had my new place, my mind is already scheming ways to section off a part to make a ‘room’ for my bed, where I’m getting furniture and also where in the hell am I going to get a fridge because the previous tenant ruined the one that was in the unit. Rather than driving myself crazy by thinking about how I’m going to pay for x, y and z and in what order these events should unfold, I keep reminding myself to let it go. It will work out. It's not worth losing sleep over as the result of me driving myself to madness with worry.

My slow decent into madness! I feel like I'm half way there already. 

While I’m grappling with my mind go to stay in one place, I’m wrestling with it on a subconscious level as well. I went to tango last night and noticed it for the first time. Perhaps this has been going on all along and this is the first time I’ve achieved a level of self-awareness that had allowed me to see it. What my cognition was telling me and the message that my subconscious was sending my body were two very conflicting messages.

 I do know that I tend to struggle when I dance with someone I’ve never met or danced with before. I had a new dance partner. I’ve never seen him before. He was polite, kind and didn’t display any kind of behavior that would make me feel uncomfortable. I knew he meant me know harm, yet I couldn’t get my body to feel that way. I could hardly follow because I was so tense. It wasn’t until the very last song that my subconscious got with the program and started cooperating – and then I was able to follow at least for a little bit. It’s a frustrating thing when I know what’s happening and just can’t get the subconscious, reptilian part of my brain/mind to turn off. As I’ve found common ground with others in my life, I can only hope my cognitive side and subconscious side will meet somewhere in the middle. 

I really have no idea what's going on in the vast subconscious of my mind - only that those two parts of me need to start working together.

Wrapping up, a brief tangent on tango. I've hooked my brother in for a second time. Last night had a lot of good dancers. I spent most of my time watching and still dream of the day when my boleos don't look like someone scraping dog poo off of their shoe. I'm either too tense or too self conscious - or maybe a combination of both. The good news about my new adventure in life being on my own is that I'll actually have room to do things that are good for me at home - like yoga and dancing. Life is looking up. Thank you for your support and words of encouragement; the power of a few kind words is immeasurable. 

"We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves." - Buddha