The Mental Picture

I have misrepresented this pregnancy immensely. I have done an awesome job of documenting every time I really get ready.“You look great, Saige!” “Look how cute you are pregnant.” “You don’t even look pregnant from the back.” “I can’t see it in your face at all.” I will be honest. It is nice to hear. It is encouraging. But, it isn’t the truth. Pregnancy is so much more than gaining your baby weight and wearing maternity clothes. I can take pictures and post them. I can’t really take a mental picture and post that to show what my real pregnancy looks like.

I write this with the most sensitivity that I can. I know that when it comes to fertility, miscarriage, stillborn birth, pregnancy, labor, child raising etc. there are a lot of different emotions flying this way and that. I do not mean to offend anyone in my attempts to be honest about my pregnancy. I want to be real. And, let people know it isn’t what it looks like, because we can’t take mental pictures to post on social media.

My first trimester was really awful. I was in a dark, scary place emotionally. I hated this child inside of me. It had stolen my life. I even found myself thinking that death or miscarriage would be better than being pregnant. I can usually combat depression and anxiety by being active, eating well, and reducing stress. And, I can combat being sick/nausea if my mental/emotional health is stable. But, right now, I didn't have either. I was spiraling down a dismal hole of doom. I felt like an awful mom and wife. I was literally a zombie. I couldn’t wait to go to sleep, because I don’t have to worry about feelings while sleeping. I would lay in my bed every morning as long as I could to avoid life. Poor Flynn would watch T.V. until he got bored of that and bring his toys into my bedroom and play with them on the floor or at the foot of the bed while I just laid there… feeling nothing. My goals for the day were literally “make my bed.” I tried working out, but I was sick and apathetic. And, it reminded me of what I used to be able to do. I just didn’t care. I asked to be released from my church calling. I hardly ever made dinner. I avoided going out of my house at all cost. I was so ashamed and confused. I had wanted to be pregnant. I had made this choice. I did this to myself. And, now I desperately wanted nothing more than for my life to be how it was.

Collin suggested I go to therapy. I cried… and cried some more. I cried a lot. I knew how I felt was wrong. It couldn't be right to wish the awful things I did. I most definitely needed help. I began going to see a therapist, and I quickly realized that I was going to be just fine. But, I had a ton of faulty thinking to work on. Thank goodness for therapy. I had been trying my hardest to feel anything. Times like these have happened before, and I can even feel my Spirit suffer. Which, is the most alarming thing of all. I don’t feel the comfort of the Holy Ghost. Scriptures are just words. Church is just a place to go. It’s empty. Keeping me in there is this; I have a deep embedded testimony of doing your duty. The idea that, I know I should do it, and I will. That is the only thing that really keeps my going through the numb times. Finally, after therapy, I could feel some hope. I could see an end that could be happy.

Fast forward a few months. I am doing okay. I still tell people I am excited for the baby to come and really happy. I say this because it seems like the thing to say. It beats an awkward look when I say, “I actually don’t really care about my baby; I am fairly indifferent. I try my best to not think about it too much, because I feel guilty when I don't feel anything.” I told Collin the other day how I felt really bad, because I wanted to have this baby, mostly because I just wanted him out of me so I could feel like me again. I want to move like I think I should. I want to sleep like I think I should. And, I want to eat like I think I should. Recently, I just don’t care about eating. I don’t have room in my stomach, and I will get heartburn not matter what. I just don’t care, and I LOVE eating. I want to feel like “Saige.” Right now I feel trapped. I would love to feel a strong connection with my growing child inside of me, but it isn’t there for me. In all honesty, I had baby #2 out of sense of duty. I didn’t get baby hungry. I don’t really like babies or little kids. I just don’t feel it. But, I know I can do it. I am doing my best to be optimistic and hopeful. I am beyond terrified, scared out-of-my-mind to be in labor again. And, then, I have a baby to take care of… which is scariest of all.

There’s my mental picture to post.