I am not Catholic. Much of my extended family is, and the family I married into is, but I am not. I grew up in the Methodist church and that is where I feel I belong. But when my little girl died, it was a Catholic practice that sustained me.
As I prepare for my Mindfulness for Fertility Workshop, I’m thinking about what little tidbits I can share with people that will make the biggest impact in the least amount of time.
I’m in the process of reconnecting with a friend from high school, but we’re on opposite sides of LA and we seem to have opposite schedules, so it’s starting slowly.
Other than that, I don’t have any local friends. We’ve moved several times in the past few years and I don’t get out that much. Plus, I’m not so good at small talk – I’m much better with deep meaningful conversations and that doesn’t really make it easy to meet people.
I love my baby. I love my baby so much. I never knew anything could feel like this. I love my husband a lot, but this is totally different.
Why then, have I been disconnected, irritable, and bored-feeling while I’ve been hanging out with my little one this week? Don’t get me wrong - I didn’t start yelling at, or ignoring, my kid all of the sudden. I just didn’t enjoy myself and I’ve been making stupid mistakes. (What? That thing can be ripped into bite-sized pieces? Who knew!) Along with all that, I’ve been ignoring this incredible urge to be creative while also not having the motivation to do anything about it. It’s also possible that I’ve been self-medicating with food. Pancakes twice in a day? Yes. That day was yesterday.