Gosh 2021 was harsh

What an insane year. I thought I could have gone on longer to ignore this blog, but I feel I don't have any other solution available to me at this point than to write.

The crazy thing this year was Q3, when I found out I was pregnant just as a national lockdown had started. It was a surprise that was ultimately welcomed and cherished, up until we discovered I had miscarried. It happened just as we were far along enough that we thought we could share it with everyone.

Even though you know the true statistics of miscarriage and have long stopped believing that a woman's worth was her reproductive capability, you feel incompetent. It's hard to peel the layers earned growing up under the patriarchy, harder at least after experiencing a loss like this.

But each day just comes, relentless, and you're still alive. You can go back to the things that made you happy on a daily basis: hiking, episodes of Catfish, sometimes painting. They keep you on a low hum of agreeable acceptance, with support from your unflappable and kind husband.

Every now and then, you let your face crumple and some grief escapes your grasp. Some days you feel baby envy, a pinch in the chest. In those moments it feels impossible. But then in a few minutes, you're okay again. Very weird.

Last night (and the whole of yesterday, actually) I got the best sleep I've had in months. So a bit of the clutter has been pushed aside and there's room to make a plan:

1. Make stuff.
2. Make a schedule to make stuff.
3. Make a three-pronged attack: write words, write music, paint
4. Try to express how things that make you feel make you feel, as closely as possible to the truth.