Let There Be Mourning

If you’ve ever waited for a pregnancy test, you know how long three minutes can feel. I’ve busied myself around the house, taken a shower and counted to 180, only to realize I forgot to say Mississippi in between.

Before McCoy was conceived, whenever I took a pregnancy test, only to see the negative appear, I’d try to pretend I wasn’t sad. I’d think things like: I honestly knew I wasn’t this month. I just had a feeling it wasn’t going to happen yet, trying to avoid the disappointment.

But then, sadness would overcome the denial. I could barely admit that I’d already thought about when that pretend baby’s birthday was going to be and what our life would look like in just a few short seasons. I’d already dreamed of sharing a September birthday with that precious love. Or it being born on my mom’s birthday in April.

And of course, once the sadness sunk in, I’d feel shame. This is so silly. Why did I let myself get excited? My period is only one day late. And I’m so lucky to have Chris. Why can’t I just be content with what I have?

It was a vicious cycle of hope, denial, sadness and shame.

Something I finally learned in the waiting, though, was to let there be mourning. To let myself feel the sadness of the loss, or, in this case, the perceived loss. For a brief moment, the future we were dreaming of had felt so close. In order to move forward, I had to learn to grieve what I thought was coming.

This is not moping for weeks on end. It is not getting angry at Chris, instead of feeling the pain. It’s letting the true sadness wash over us. It’s sitting with it, feeling its weight. It’s saying this like: I feel sad I’m not pregnant this month. I really hoped it was going to happen. I’m OK and I’m grateful for my life. But I do feel sad that we didn’t make a baby last month. It hurts right now.

When we allow ourselves to mourn - the baby, the relationship, the life - we thought we had coming, we make room to appreciate the one we are meant to have. We more clearly see the good in our lives. We appreciate the beauty all around us, in the now.

I’m learning lately that there is both bravery and freedom in the admission. When we speak the sadness we are no longer held captive by it. And when we are free from it, we are able to find joy again.

You Can Do Hard Things.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was seeing an OB in Atlanta. Eight weeks into my pregnancy, we moved to Charlottesville, so I found a doctor here. Four weeks later, I decided it wasn't quite the right fit, so I found a new practice again. By the end of the first trimester, I was on my third OB and feeling a little bit like the Princess & the Pea. 

For my first appointment with my third doctor, I wanted to arrive early. I mapped to the office, but, as I pulled up, realized I had selected the wrong location. I called them, panicked, telling them I'd be a few minutes late, as opposed to the preferred 15-minutes early. I arrived a little scattered and asked if I could use the restroom before the appointment (I know, I know.). They said yes, but asked for a urine sample. After consuming 32 ounces of water on my drive to the office, this would not be a problem.

I rushed to the restroom and filled the cup, placing it next to the toilet. A moment later, as I grabbed toilet paper, the roll fell off the hook and knocked over my urine sample. Every last drop spilled all over the floor, spreading quick across the room - the way liquid does so magically on tile surfaces.

I was mortified. And there was no way I could switch OBs again after my long journey to find this one! :) I told the woman at the front desk and she, along with all of the other receptionists, had a nice long laugh.

I like to think I made a lasting impression? 

I tell you this because sometimes - especially during seasons of change - life can feel a lot like my office experience. You're doing your best, trying to make everything work and yet, despite your efforts, things keep going just a little awry. Not horribly wrong. Just a little off kilter all of the time, requiring a lot of adjusting, patience and focus.

I felt a lot like this in my early 20s and have learned from friends that motherhood can be very similar. You're doing your best, but the learning curve is so steep. How can you possibly expect yourself to get it right every time? These seasons require massive amounts of grace and patience for ourselves. 

During these early days in Charlottesville, some moments have felt this way for us. We made a lot of major changes at once - new city, new house, new baby, new church, new friends, new clients for Chris - it's only natural for there to be some bumps along the way.

Some days, life feels like it takes a lot more effort than it did in Atlanta. We have to be more positive, flexible, patient and focused, just to navigate a typical day. And, some days, even with all that effort, it still feels like we're not quite getting the hang of it. 

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One of our family mottos (which we learned from the amazing Brené Brown) is that we don't want to live for the quick and easy, regardless of how often our world tells us we deserve instant gratification. We want to create lives that are abundant and honest and true. Doing this requires trusting that the best things are hard-earned and long-awaited. It requires being unafraid of real work, difficult conversations and tough decisions. It requires more grit than we sometimes feel we have - being willing to hang in there just a little longer than expected before things fall into place.

But we must also remember: when we're doing hard things, we have to give ourselves - and one another - extra doses of grace and patience. We have to be gentle with ourselves. We have to understand that, sometimes, you're going to spill the urine everywhere. And what do you do when that happens? You clean it up. You laugh it off. And you begin again. 

How to Find a Therapist

First of all, the response I received from my post about therapy was amazing. Thank you to so many of you who sent support and shared your own experiences with it. I know how tender it can feel to speak about a topic that can be taboo. But, I've said it before and I'll say it again: the only way to reduce shame around personal - sometimes darker - topics is by bringing them into the light. That monster in your closet? It's really just a hanger with an oversized shirt when you flip on the lights. Not so scary after all! I believe so fully in flipping on the lights in every area of our lives where we can and I'm grateful for a community that is so supportive.

Beyond sending me a whole bunch of "amens, I love my therapist!" emails, the number one response was this:

OK, I get it, therapy is good. But how do I find one? 

So many of you mentioned not knowing where to start or - worse - having had a bad session with a therapist who was not a fit and feeling too intimidated to try again. For those of you who are in that boat, know this: you're normal. Many, many women replied that they felt this way.

Finding the right therapist is so very crucial to its success. It's kind of like friendship - the juju and natural cadence matter. For me, I need someone who understands my values, is nonjudgmental and - honestly - that I could grab coffee with (if they weren't my therapist!). Some people might want a more academic or prescriptive personality and that's great, too. They key is finding someone who works for you. 

So how do you do it? Here are five steps to help you get started: 

1. Ask yourself what you want.

Do you want a male or a female? Do you want a specific religious background? Do you want someone who can prescribe meds? Do you want certain credentials, or are you all about the juju? Do they need to take insurance? Do you want the office to feel zen, more professional or like a living room? What will make you feel at ease?

I once saw a male therapist, which I thought would be no problem at all. But, for the topic I wanted to discuss, I realized a female would be a better fit. For our premarital counseling? A male was great. Chris and I both felt heard and understood by him. Consider what you want to discuss and what would help you open up.

2. Ask for referrals.

I guarantee one of your friends - or, at least, a friend-of-a-friend, has a therapist. It might require a little bravery to tell a friend that you would like to see someone, but, I promise you there are other people around you who are going to therapy.

I was in a wedding a year ago and I said something about seeing a therapist. Another bridesmaid said she loved her therapist and, before we knew it, we realized almost the entire bridal party had seen a therapist in her 20s. I promise people around you have therapists to whom they could refer you. Remember, therapy is not embarrassing; let's bring this topic into the light! 

3. Check existing resources. 

Many churches and colleges have counseling centers. Also, if you're comfortable asking your doctor, he or she may have someone to whom they recommend patients. Do you go to yoga? Your yoga instructor may know someone. Do you have a favorite blogger who seems invested in mental health? Many bloggers I follow have mentioned struggling with depression, anxiety and eating disorders and I have no doubt that, if they were local, they'd share their therapist's name. Don't be afraid to reach out beyond your most-obvious network.

4. Contact an author.

Years ago, I was pretty obsessed with the book Intuitive Eating. I was interested in working with someone on this topic, specifically, so I emailed the authors to see if they had IE coaches in Atlanta. It turns out they did! They emailed me right away with a list of local therapists who were qualified to coach people on their model, specifically. 

5. Research them.

Once you identify someone who might be a fit, ask them if you can set up a 20-minute phone call. Use the session to talk through the list of things you already identified matter to you. Check your juju here. Do they seem gentle? Professional? Thorough? Also, check their website. Do they have a blog or a book? Are they speaking anywhere nearby? Use every opportunity you can to get to know them ahead of time.

Remember: this is like dating. If you find one therapist who isn't a good fit, try again. Keep going until you find someone who is right for you. Your mental health matters and you're taking a brave step by caring for yourself. Stay strong, my friend. 

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Be Kind to Yourself Today

I've always been a structured person, which has, at times, led to seasons of rigidity. One of the greatest lessons of my 20s was learning flexibility. Being flexible with my diet, my exercise routine, my to do list. The decade taught me balance and healing. I learned that - for me - being healthy meant learning to move with the rhythm of the world around me, as opposed to gripping rules, always thinking I knew better.

Letting go of rigidity also meant learning to be more gentle with myself. It meant giving myself grace and trusting that I was good enough - no changes needed. This was one of the hardest parts of the equation. You mean I don't have to do good to be good? 

Winter, I think, calls for extra gentleness. The weather is harsh, the daylight is shorter. It's harder on our bodies (the dry skin! the chapped lips!). The season often lends itself to less playfulness and more hibernation. 

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The days will start getting longer in 15 days. Can you tell I'm counting? In the meantime, as they continue to shorten, I'm practicing extra gentility with myself.  I'm remembering that some days call for hard workouts, while others call for a little more sleep. Some days call for kale and cucumbers, and still others for hot chocolate and popcorn. 

What would practicing extra gentleness look like for you today? An extra-hot, long shower? Walking slowly home from work with a podcast, instead of rushing through the motions? Early to bed with a book? A seasonal latte? Buying flowers for yourself? Burning the good candle and opening the good wine, just because? 

I've found that we women sometimes need extra permission to treat ourselves well. If you're of that mindset, let me give you the permission: enjoy the long shower. Buy the flowers. Drink the wine. 

Soak in the goodness of your life, not because you've earned it but because you - inherently you - deserve the good.