Some days I feel good. Actually, some of those days I feel great. The pain of post-birthing has subsided. The few hours of pain from drying up my milk last week (I had been donating it) are long gone and hardly remembered. I have little energy but I’m getting more each day with the little exercise I’m allowed. I’ve done some things I enjoy: I finished a couple of sewing projects, baked a freezer-full of bread, almost finished our wedding photo album, almost finished Seraphim’s photo album, read at least a dozen books so far. Until about two weeks ago, most days I only shed a few tears before bed, talking with K about Seraphim.
Then it seemed like a torrent of sadness hit me right after the one month point. I thought if I got through the first two weeks, it would be uphill from there. It seems like mountains and valleys will be the route of my emotional recovery, however.
I had been immensely looking forward to being churched and all that went with that. I was thankful for the Church’s wisdom in allowing me 40 days to stay at home, wrestle with God on my own, recover from giving birth, not be required to be around dozens of babies and children for unrelenting hours. I was looking forward to meeting with our spiritual father and talking through some of the residual pain, especially what has turned into anger and bitterness lately. Everything seemed to fall apart around the time the Metropolitan died and plans changed.
I realised then that my stability is really very thin still. I can cling to goals and plans and lean all too heavily on them. When things break down, I fall. I guess it’s good to know now, before I start work. But in reality, that just makes me all the more afraid of what’s to come.
I start work again next week. I got an extra week because my OB was out of town this week and she wanted to see me before I resume work. So I get 7 weeks off instead of 6. It has lately been seeming not nearly long enough. But I guess eventually I have to throw myself back in to reality.
As it is, I stayed home from church last night and this morning. I just couldn’t bear breaking down again in front of everyone like I did yesterday morning. I’d rather talk to my spiritual father first, but that might be several days off at this point.
I have been thankful, though, for how understanding my husband has been through this. He didn’t argue with me when I said I didn’t want to go to church. I almost wanted him to so I could justify myself. He didn’t seem to think I needed to. Even the priest told him that if I didn’t feel comfortable coming back yet to just take my time.
It’s nice to be given grace. Unfortunately I know I won’t have such understanding people at work.