Permission to Grieve

I spent a great part of 2009 mentally working through a bunch of emotional junk related to my miscarriage, or more accurately, my miscarriage and my fertility struggles. From time to time, I'd try holding down conversations about it. While others nodded their heads and politely chimed in at the right times, I was left still alone, wondering if anybody ever really got that same feeling I did. This was hardly their fault; I didn't feel like I'd really adequately expressed the whole of my experience to anyone -- so not only was it isolating, but it was also inexpressible.

Many months were spent with murky questions, unable to even express how I was feeling, let alone why. The conclusions I came to are still very preliminary, but it seems we restrict ourselves from experiencing pain when we feel our experience hasn't earned that right.

I deemed myself wimpy and overly emotional when I felt sorrow for the miscarriage, especially the further out we got from it. After all, I hadn't been terribly far along; I already had a child; I hadn't had to work and pray with all my might to achieve the pregnancy like I had with Betsy. It failed to meet an unspoken but very real Criteria of Pain. Earlier on, I'd felt guilt for the depth of my sorrow as I struggled with conceiving Betsy. Some women never had the joy of experiencing marriage at all; some women didn't have a uterus; some married too old to have children, and some even lost children to death. Knowing all of the trials other women had -- trials that were much more painful than my own -- there was a sort of silent obligation to bear up my burden cheerfully. (We all know I didn't really live up to it, but that's another story.)

Whether the emotion be grief, frustration, discouragement, sorrow, or even something the likes of hostility, it must be acknowledged. It must be worked through. We must ask penetrating questions of ourselves, and beyond that, we must mend ourselves, inside and out. There is a difference between trying to control an emotion and trying to ignore it. Healing comes in its own time, and in its own way, but it always comes through the same channel, which is the Savior. When we try to sidestep healing by invalidating, minimizing, or ignoring the emotion, it festers, just as an untreated wound would. It irritates; it itches; it incites pain and is more prone to another injury. Further, when serious internal wounds like broken bones are not properly dressed, it often heals incorrectly and incompletely, leaving the capability of that limb permanently compromised.

This analogy could be taken further, of course, but I think I've been on my soapbox plenty for the month of January, thank you very much. I promise to put it away, at least for a while.