mondays are no good for anyone

I’m emotionally drained today. You know that feeling (I hope you don’t, but you probably do) – shaking, hot, sick, regretful. In a fit of tears last night, I swore I’d never befriend another woman. Today, I realize that I’m painting all the amazing women I am lucky to meet and befriend with a larger unfair brush meant for a petty few. Yep, I apologize for even thinking bad things about my ladies. Sorry ’bout that.

I’m very entrenched in grieving and I’m not yet close to being back to the fun, happy, joyful me of pre-Tectonic baby. Everything seems to hit me as more intense, touching, meaningful. I do regularly find myself getting choked up if anyone shows me kindness (shout out to my peeps, yo!). With this loss and the moving through grief, I’m learning the hard lesson that “get over it” is considered a supportive response by some people, and that there’s stupid truth to that cliche about “knowing who your real friends are”. The short story about Monday’s sadness is that two female “friends” (Y & SF, who I’ve talked about previously) were chatting about me over email in a really nasty way. When one of them hit send, she hadn’t noticed that my name was in the cc: field – at least I hope she didn’t notice. It was a really harsh string of hateful words from both of them over several emails, and if they wanted me to see it, that’s a bigger kick in the ass than I can consider right now. (“nasty” and “hateful” confirmed by an impartial observer to verify if I was being too sensitive as mentioned in the second sentence in this paragraph)

I sit here trying to decide if I wish I’d never seen those words, or if I’m grateful that I have.

I now go to a monthly support group for pregnancy loss, and last meeting part of the discussion came up about how acquaintances, family, friends can really shine and be supportive, or they may be uncomfortable, thoughtless, tactless, impatient, intolerant, even cruel. I had still really hermited myself and hadn’t emerged back to regular relationships, so I didn’t quite get it, how these women and men were being cast aside in their time of real need.

Today, I get it. I don’t want to get it. I don’t want to lose the Tectonic baby AND friends. I want to be held and loved and checked on and cared for. I don’t want this hateful pain directed at me. I didn’t mean for the Tectonic baby to die. I didn’t mean to pull into myself. I didn’t want to be broken in the dark. I didn’t mean to ask for help from the wrong people. I didn’t mean to communicate so terribly badly.

I am again filled with such an appreciation and love for everyone who’s sent an email, left a note, hugged me hard, checked on me, held me while I cried. On the ongoing theme of darkness into light, these are the people who are my sparkly, always freshly charged, mag-lites.

Yes, I’m ending a post comparing wonderful people to mag-lites. I’m going to grab some lunch and probably obsess more this afternoon before deciding what I should do about these two poo-heads, if anything.



2 thoughts on “mondays are no good for anyone

  1. Do nothing about poo-heads. Nothing at all. It’s as simple as “no, thanks”, when one of them asks you to come for drinks (not ‘dinks’, as I had initially typed) and the honest truth when they ask you why you don’t call anymore.

    Look, there’s nothing wrong with sharing your opinions about a friend with other friends, but here’s the trick – if you wouldn’t say those things *to* the person, you shouldn’t be saying them *about* the person. Because that person’s email address could show up in the Cc: field unannounced and/or unexpectedly.

    You need people. But more than that, you need people who want to be with you and who want to hold you and gently help you back up on to your feet. Y and SF can not be those people; at least not right now. If you want to be charitable, look for reasons why they did those things. Ultimately though, you need to get yourself screwed back on before you can prop them up. You don’t need to be charitable right now. You don’t need to try to work things out with people right now.

    Right now, you need to be selfish (because there is a time and a place for this) and to think of your own needs. It’s okay to do that. You might feel guilt about a lot of things. Grief does that somehow…but it’s okay, gypsyhick. It’s okay.

    Mag-lites shine brightly for an awfully long time.

  2. I say, write out a nasty letter. A truly, horrible, biting, bitter, mean, nasty letter. To each. Point out the one’s unfortunately large hips, and the other’s inability to get out a sentence without sounding like a retarded Muppet on crack. Think of their deepest, darkest secrets, and find a way to twist that around into a shameful, hurtful sentence or five.

    Then burn the letters. And remember that, by not sending them, you win.

    Though – before you burn the letters, send a copy to me, because I really like reading dramatic things. 😉

    Seriously – give it a few minutes, or days, or weeks, and eventually the right answer will come. Which may be, do nothing. Or it may be to do something. You’ll know when you’re meant to know. Some of the people who said the worst things to me after my 2nd miscarriage, I have never addressed it with, and the friendships have faded and it’s over. Others, we worked it out and it’s okay.

    And for those friends I lost, new ones stepped up and took their place. And they’re still burning bright.

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