• juliannecondia

Front Row Seat: Conceal, Don't Feel.


Faye and I spent yesterday morning (okay, 15 minutes of our morning), twirling through the kitchen listening to Frozen songs.

This song stopped me right in my twirls. Tears fell from my face.

"Don't let them in, don't let them see, be the good girl you always have to be, conceal, don't feel, put on a show."

This year, I have found myself putting on a show. Concealing my feelings, when I've felt so incredibly broken or moving through my grief.

Miscarriage sticks with you. It stays. It's around. You get reminded. You carry it. No one can see it. Feel it. Or maybe even understand it. It's there.

It's there while the world keeps going, and so do you, because you're brave, strong and a fighter. There's been a tremendous amount of celebrations, new babies, new born talk and postpartum. It's not that I'm sad for them, I'm sad for me.

I wouldn't want my people to walk in my shoes. I'd rather it be than them. Always.

It's so wild to know I can relate, but I can't. I can only relate through my experience with Faye. This year, it changed.

I feel further from being able to connect about pregnacy, postpartum and all the stages. I want to be in on it all, but yet, my heart shatters. It's coexisting. It lives together.

But, there has been such a huge piece of me that stopped talking about my losses, because of the saddness or how it makes others feel. Of course I'd write about it and cry with Erik, but that's it.

It's felt lonely. It's felt forgotten. It's felt unbearable, at times.

I have felt like I've just wanted to scream, DO YOU SEE ME? Do you remember? Have you forgotten?

Open Adoption isn't a fix to the loss or grief. It doesn't balance it out.

Being excited about this next chapter doesn't make up for a harder one. The worst one. A painful one. These experiences are just different.

These experiences just exist in my world. So. That's why I keep writing. That's why when a friend asks how I am, I tell them the truth. It hits me at different times.

Our grief isn't anyone elses responsibility. And I've been tempted to make it so.

To be more gentle, patient and understanding. This is for me to work through.

It's my job. It's been a huge gutcheck. There's still so much growing and learning and healing I've got to do. And I'm here for it.

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