Not Fine

“She’ll be fine.”  Those words, when recently uttered in reference to one of my girls, were enough to send me into an emotional tailspin.  The truth was my daughter was sobbing and not fine, but the chord that was struck resonated deep within my own soul.  Living 2000 miles away from all of our family makes it incredibly easy for people to assume that my life only consists of the happy moments reflected in the pictures posted on social networking sites.

 

I’m not sure if my family even realizes that my natural bend is to be an introvert.  I can think of many times in life when the task of upholding my end of a conversation seemed nothing less than hard work.  I also stink at accepting compliments, encouragement and, as I’m realizing this week, sympathy.  I truly struggle with how to juggle those sentiments when they are tossed my direction.  It can be plain stressful.  I've often felt the need to encourage the other person when I’ve had to relay bad news of my own.  The option of remaining quiet and placing one foot in front of the other simply seems easier.  The end result is a false impression by some that I’m strong or that life’s bumps and bruises somehow don’t hurt me as much.

 

The real kink in my plan is that while it’s easier to verbally keep mum, my emotions tend to dance across my face like characters on a stage.  More often than not, my expressions can be read like an open book.  What’s a girl to do?  Well, this one tends to lay low, keep conversations short, and let everyone else assume that I’m busy.  It’s an incredibly lonely predicament.  After examining the situation backwards and forwards, I think I’ve finally figured out what I desire most.  I WANT TO BE UNDERSTOOD.  I don’t need to hear the words, “I’m sorry.”  I don’t need someone to jump on a plane and come take care of me.  I just want people to realize that my life isn’t always easy; sometimes it’s just plain hard.  I want them to understand that sometimes the very little amounts of my time are all I have to offer.  I want them to understand that I’m doing the best I can.

One look in the mirror accurately reveals the transformation that’s occurred over the past two weeks.  Just 17 days ago group photos with our families captured a glow of happiness and my yet to be announced pregnancy.  Now the reflection in the mirror is weak and pale, which my doctor confirmed is a result of the substantial blood loss during my miscarriage ten days later.  All I’ve been able to convey to my family and most of those around me is that I’ve been sick.  There never seems to be a good time to interject the truth into our conversations.  Very few know what's transpired the last two weeks; most that do were out of necessity.  I suspect some will be hurt at the notion that I couldn't or didn't confide in them when in reality my silence has nothing to do with how I feel about anybody.  These types of discussions just consume time and energy that I don't have at the moment.  The truth is I’m drained.  Returning home from a 5,000 mile, 4 week road trip right before this happened hasn't helped much either.  So for now, I’m taking my vitamins.  I’m resting when I can.  I'm drinking a little more caffeine than normal.  (I also get cold more easily and I'm dropping things left and right.)  I’m missing adult meetings and opting for those that benefit my kids (who still don’t know why mom’s been so sick).  I’m placing one foot in front of the other, but please don’t assume I’m strong.  I’m merely doing what has to be done because I have no other choice.  In the depths of my soul I recognize that even this was filtered through the hands of my loving Savior.  I know I will be fine another day, but for now I’m simply tired.