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I’ve never been good at writing about myself. I don’t consider myself to be a particularly interesting person. I’m a middle-America, common, garden variety housewife trying to run a household and keep up with two kids while keeping a home-based business afloat. There isn’t anything special about me. I just do the best that I can for my family, just like every other mother in the United States.
I have spent hours this week, staring at a blank screen, not knowing what and when to tell you about my secret. Hope? Fear? I’ve lost my mind? A roller coaster? All of the above? I’m not normally a public person because I see my life as so mundane, but I knew that I should let my readers know what was going on despite my usual ‘just the facts, ma’am’ demeanor.
The problem wasn’t that I was having trouble admitting it to you. The problem was that I was having trouble admitting it to myself.
I was scared. Jeff was the only one who knew. He knew because he knew, not because I had told him. He always knows I’m before I do. I’ve never shocked him with a surprise, he’s always told me instead of me telling him.
So many unknowns. So much to paralyze you. I was blindsided. I always say there aren’t any accidents in life, only unforeseen blessings. I had enough sense to know that others wouldn’t look at it that way since Jeff was unemployed and the economy was struggling. I wasn’t looking forward to the rude remarks, the labeling of my child as an accident or comments on the state of my marriage or our decision making abilities when we don’t have his income or any health insurance. We all know that sometimes God has other plans but people can be horribly harsh when God’s plans don’t fit with their line of thinking.
I walked on eggshells, afraid that every meal would be my last good one and the hyperemesis would kick in the next morning despite my gut healing. Trying to figure out how to tell people because we both knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer. The problem with pregnancy is that by the time you see it’s going to make you sick, it’s too late to back out. What’s done is done and you’re just along for the ride. It feels a little like spinning a wheel- you’re taking a chance, and in this game of chance, I hadn’t volunteered myself.
I was scared of being pregnant but also scared of a loss. I wasn’t going to admit to myself that I was pregnant until I had to. I’ve had four miscarriages and been through hyperemesis in one of the two pregnancies I carried to term. The possibility of having to go through another 20 weeks of throwing up 40+ times a day was beyond terrifying. BUT we knew that I had undiagnosed celiac with that pregnancy and all of those miscarriages and now I’ve healed my food allergies, there should be no reason to see it repeat. Right? I was no longer obese, no longer dealing with heavy metals, the adrenal fatigue was gone, I was in such a better position health-wise. Right? That’s what hope whispered in the back of my mind but fear springs eternal. I still knew I had a hormonal problem to right before I could consider myself whole again in my own eyes and that problem could cost me a pregnancy.
It was too much, too soon, too fast, too overwhelming and all too scary.
Then it was over.
Blindsided or not, I was heartbroken at the loss. I was scared, yes, but I wasn’t sad or upset in the least when I realized we were expecting. Not for a moment. I would gladly welcome another child that God sent. Another child is worth any struggle through unemployment, any tight budget, any coping with hyperemesis, facing labor or any health issue. When I am gone my work won’t mean near as much as the life I have poured into my children. In my eyes, things aren’t worth much but humans are more precious than gold.
I’m a little shell shocked to be back in this place after so long. We know that my hormones not being balanced is what likely caused this loss. My luteal phase is only 9 days long. My health problems have wreaked havoc on my hormones and that was the last thing we needed to fix before I could declare myself past everything and completely healthy again. We’ve been working on it, but the going is slow and difficult. Tight budgets, a downright crappy economy and unemployment have gotten in the way. Testing and treatment is never budget-friendly.
I’m not stupid enough to claim that I’m completely healthy when I’m not. And I don’t believe my readers would believe I’m healthy when they can clearly see I still have more work to do. Even if I had not made this miscarriage public, it wouldn’t have mattered. People can clearly see when you don’t look as healthy as you should. I’ve looked at pictures of other figures in the food world who claimed to be the picture of health and shook my head because I could clearly see that they were not.
We don’t benefit our cause when we aren’t honest about our own weaknesses and areas that need improvement, especially when down the road it can be held up as evidence that we were wrong, we were on the wrong path and we took others with us. We loudly trumpeted the wrong way and we made a mistake. And that is why, to me, this miscarriage isn’t proof that I’m not healthy. It’s proof of how far I’ve come. Yes, I still have farther to go. But a year ago a pregnancy wouldn’t have been possible at all.
I’ve come a far, long way since 2006 but the hormonal piece of the puzzle still needs to be solved. Recovering your health is a journey, a process. My journey is not done.
So, please, do not hold me up and judge the merits of a traditional foods diet based on my loss or how far I still have to go. Hold me up and judge the merits of a traditional foods diet on how far I’ve come and how well it has healed a woman who almost died in 2006.
And in that judgement, you will see the strength of traditional foods and natural living in a toxic, messed up world.