After writing my blog yesterday about my miscarriage, Papa thought it was too personal. My father said it, but many others thought it. I like it when a random guy on the street tells me I look hot. My friend once said that for every guy who says it, there are many men and women who think it but don’t say anything. It makes me feel that I look good that day.
I’ve hit this “too personal” boundary not only with my father in my life, but with few other people. For some chemical imbalance in my brain, I want to be very personal. I don’t want to talk about politics or how hot it is in the city. I don’t even care what your plans are for 4th of July weekend. I want to get personal and quickly.
Sometimes, I share too much. Sometimes, I share too much with the wrong people. Sometimes, I share too much with the wrong people, at the wrong places, at the wrong time.
When I started writing this blog, it was like taking off my clothes in front of strangers. Not that I know what that feels like. My clothes kept closed to the world. I thought that taking off those clothes were going to bring me over the boundary’s border. But the boundary kept moving away. The boundary turned out to be not a vertical line drawn on the ground, but a sine curve. I though it would end at the dip, but it extended forward. A never-ending wave only hitting extreme lows of self-expression and extreme highs. Moving me forward, closer and closer to my truths and to my people.
Oh how I love the sea.
Olia Rights 
So you don’t care about my holidays and such? I’m mad at you 🙂
I am with you, brother. I am the same way. Skip the banal. Skip the fluff. To me, either go for deep downs or the other side, the mystery of life mixed with imagination.
Oh, what fathers must endure when they have daughters! While at the same time, he must be thinking, “My daughter is so brave. How did I cultivate such a courageously outspoken woman?” he is also feeling the injury to his legacy, the pain of the loss of his grandchild. These men of the prior generation had to steel their emotions in order to persevere against numerous threats and scene changes. They just have a different composition than we do, and than our husbands do. I know, because my father is first generation American from Hungary. When I mentioned my miscarriage at Thanksgiving, he silenced me. I was sullen about this, and reflect on it not infrequently. Your blog above is actually what made me realize that these grandfathers must feel the loss, too, and don’t know how to process it. They didn’t speak of such things, back in the day.
Now that we’ve had multiple miscarriages, I ask why? Why are women not better prepared for loss as a possible outcome of the lifecycle? I think perhaps if we’d been better prepared, it may not be as devastating–but it is always devastating. But it it also beautiful, because it strengthens us, and perhaps it even prepares the womb for life in ways we cannot understand.
Do you know how thankful I am for pregnancy symptoms now? Do you know, I see a halo around the fatigue; I tolerate extreme pain from pubic symphysis dysfunction; my groin aches even while I’m lying down; off smells make me puke; getting up is a chore… And I say, “Thank you, ma’am, may I have another?”
I also worry, at 26 weeks, that we may not make it to the finish line, or that we will meet with catastrophe in so many ways. I won’t be convinced until baby’s here that all the striving amounted to another grandchild–and, I think, neither will our parents.
I didn’t like that my miscarriage (especially the late one, followed by surgery) was swept under the rug and hushed out of existence. Talking about it can be very therapeutic.
So, please, follow your heart and blurt it out, because you might just help another woman see the halo.
I love that you cut straight to the personal stuff.
On another note, people in other countries are probably having really interesting 4th of July weekends…and I bet you had a really unique, untraditional Australia Day without even knowing it! Bwahaha. ❤
You are inspiring. I too get too personal too fast. But have realized in my fifties – I will find my people….all is good. Love to you
“What cannot be said above all must not be silenced but written.”
― Jacques Derrida