Friday, February 28, 2014

Getting back into the water







I remember the first time I "got back into the water" blogging.

I had just written a somewhat controversial post.

Maybe I really was feeling bitter? I don't know. I just know that my coping skills had ended. It was just one too many belly shots to handle.

I didn't know how to block people on Facebook. I didn't know how to unsubscribe for a time. I didn't even realize, "Hey, I could just get off Facebook."

Instead, I blogged.

And I got bit. Badly.

In hindsight, it really was a good learning opportunity for me. It helped me establish some boundaries in my writing, and helped me protect myself as my heart bled out in words. It helped me create my own coping mechanisms when facing others' pregnancies without (hopefully) offending them in the process.

But at the time, getting bit was seriously not fun. (Actually, the antithesis of fun.)

And I remember facing this blank page on the computer a few days later, with the cursor blinking at me. "Will you write again?" each blink seemed to ask. "Or will you give in to fear, and be bullied out of your safe place? Are you brave?"

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Today, that same cursor has been blinking at me all day in my mind's eye. Waiting. Wondering. "Are you brave?"

Last time I got back in the water, it was after a horrible experience. It was like plunging into the waters below.




Today, as I get back in the water, it is after the most amazing experience of support. It  should feel like dipping my toes in the warm Bahamian ocean . . .


 But instead, I feel terrified.

Not of getting hurt.

But of disappointing.

I know it is the selfish part of me that is afraid. The one that wonders, what will everyone think of me? What if I never write a post that has that many page views again? What if people followed my blog expecting brilliance, and I only deliver normal?

As my mind reels through topics I could blog about, I receive one of many stories from you. A reader. Someone who is going through absolute heartache. A heartache I know all too well.

And I suddenly realize -- "Rachel Marie, this is SERIOUSLY not about you. It is not about being brilliant. It never was."

It's about YOU. The person sitting on the other side of this post.

You could be here because you had a pregnancy loss. Maybe you are going through a loss now. Maybe you found me recently, and are just curious how to support others. Maybe you and I are friends in real life, and you read just to support me.

Whoever you are, this blog is for you. And not for me.

Please forgive me for thinking -- even for a second -- anything different. Forgive me for my fear of writing again. Forgive me for thinking that you, the most amazing community, might be anything less than gracious to me when I stumble.

And thank you. Thank you for being a stranger, and taking me in. For caring so deeply about my babies Olivia, Caleb & Elliott. For trusting me so implicitly with your own babies' lives, your deeply personal stories, your tears and hearts. Thank you for honoring my intent in my recent post with your comments. Thank you for opening your hearts to grieving families.

And thanks for being here as I stumble along through my own journey, reaching out, hoping in some way, we really are better together.

Much love,

Rachel

1 comment:

  1. I appreciate this post so much, Rachel. It's truly beautiful to get messages from women who are grateful for your transparency. It's the good side of the often-merciless internet that keeps me coming back, too. Knowing someone out there is craving a word of comfort -- just to know they're not alone -- brings me back, too. You inspire me to get back to standing beside people in their hurt in real life as well -- even though sometimes it means revisiting our own pain or past. Thank you!

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