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I never seemed to fit.
From the kids at school to church to society’s expectations to my own family, I never seemed to fit in. I never felt right. Everything about me seemed wrong — too-frizzy hair, bad skin, big teeth, pudgy but yet somehow still gangly, and socially awkward to the extreme. I felt like a puzzle piece trying to squash myself into the wrong puzzle.
No one, I felt, could ever like me, much less love me. I would chastise myself for even hoping for such a thing. It was, I knew, impossible.
When I got curious about God and began to read the Bible, I found that Jesus seemed to have a thing for people like me — for the people who didn’t seem to fit, people who maybe were a lot like me.
I began to wonder.
A decade later, God has healed me of a lot of my sense of being-wrong, of not-being-loveable. I have run up the unconditional love of my God, my husband and his family, and my church family too often to remain unchanged. Over the past year especially, I have felt like I have finally found the right puzzle.
Then Eve died, and everything changed.
Where did I fit into this world? Where does someone like me, a mother of a dead child, go? What kind of a puzzle is there for her?
At church, there is a small group for young married couples who don’t have kids, and a small group for young parents. My husband and I, we don’t fit into either. And when I look around at our small congregation on Sunday mornings, the reality is impressed into me again — you are the only one here whose only child is dead, and dead before she was born.
And I feel that not-fitting even in our church community that has so valiantly tried to support my husband and myself since Eve died. When I am out in the world, out among strangers, I feel even more like the odd woman out.
I see pregnant women and am at once jealous and pitying, and know that even though I am pregnant with my rainbow baby I will never feel at home at birthing classes or breastfeeding groups.
I see families with young babies and remember that I was supposed to be one of those new parents, that I am, but that a woman with a dead child would not be welcomed at a new mommies group.
I see hundreds and hundreds of strangers everyday, and I want to scream at them — don’t you know? Can’t you see it written all over me that my baby died inside of me, and I can barely breathe? I know that if I said any such thing, I would be condemned as a crazy woman. And sometimes I wonder if I am a crazy woman.
I tell my husband how I feel, and although he is compassionate and sympathetic, although he never fails to listen with love, he admits that he does not understand. I feel alone in our own home.
When my baby died before she was born, I was transformed. The puzzles that I used to fit into so comfortably into are constricting and foreign.
I want somewhere to fit, a place where I belong.
The babyloss community is one of those places. But there are only a couple of local babylost mothers; the rest I connect to online. And although I treasure these online connections deeply, I cannot live my life on the computer.
Out in the world, outside our too-large babyloss community, no one believes that babies can die before they breathe. I didn’t believe it myself, before it happened to me.
And so, where do I fit?
I have come to twin conclusions.
The first — that I do not fit anywhere, and that’s okay. I don’t have to fit. Fitting, perhaps, is not as valuable as I have believed.
The second — that I fit with God. Although I may feel lonely, although I may feel excluded at times, I am never turned away by God. There is a safe place in the palm of God’s hand that is shaped and kept just for me.
This may sound trite. Perhaps it is trite. But I believe that it is true. Since Eve died, faith is what has kept my head above water. Without God, I would be dead myself, or worse. Instead, I have wept and raged and questioned my grief out to Him, and I have not been turned away.
No matter my place (or lack of it) in the world, in my community, and even in my own family, I found one the Place where I will always, always fit.
“. . . For in the same way that the Father raises the dead and creates life, so does the Son. The Son gives life to anyone he chooses. Neither he nor the Father shuts anyone out.”
~ John 5:20-22“The spacious, free life is from God, it’s also protected and safe. God-strengthened, we’re delivered from evil — when we run to him, he saves us.”
~ Psalm 37:39-40
What role has faith played for you in your loss, grieving, and/or healing?
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About Beth
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Beth,
This was a beautiful piece. Thank you, for sharing the thoughts that so many of us feel. Many ((hugs)) to you – you are definitely not alone, here….
Thanks so much, Lori. Hugs.
Sounds so familiar. I don’t even feel like I fit in with the babyloss community I have here – all of the women I know who have lost children have living children as well. My friends struggling with infertility make me feel guilty – at least I was able to conceive a child. The women who’ve experienced miscarriage and stillbirth make me feel guilty, too – at least I got to spend a little time with my son. I feel like I’m walking around with a sign on my back loudly declaring “I am the mother of a dead child” – and that this somehow makes me an outcast. The wet blanket at the party of life, who never really feels laughter and can’t remember how to truly smile. The people who knew me before don’t seem to understand that I’ve lost that part of me that is loud and cheerful and smiling and hopeful – they know I’m someone different, but no one seems to know who this new person is. I suppose I don’t even know, and I don’t even feel like I fit in with myself.
Like Beth, without my faith, I’d be dead or worse. I’ve seen the face of God in the faces of the people who have been gentle and loving with me, even though they don’t understand – the people who’ve helped me fit in where I don’t feel like I belong. I remind myself that I belong with God, because He too knows what it means to watch a Child die.
Grief is a lonely thing, isn’t it?
I love what you said about not even feeling like you fit in with yourself, Amanda. I can totally identify with this. I bet it will get better, for all of us who feel that way, but I wonder how long it will take… Big hugs.
I’m right there with you in that I feel it’s absolutely ok to not fit in anywhere, well…save with God. Though we all have such similarities, there are always those differences that are enough to make us feel so, so isolated—I totally got what you were saying about where you fit in at church, even when they are so wonderfully trying to support you…it’s hard.
Lots of love, friend. Lots of love!
Thanks, Lori!
I used to find comfort in my faith, in believing that there *is* a plan and there *is* a reason, even if I can never understand those reasons this side of heaven. But somewhere along the way that comfort has left me and been replaced by doubt and anger – I find no comfort in a God who would give me a baby only to snatch it away from me before it’s ever born not once, but four times. I am angry at him. I don’t mind saying so, because clearly no lightning bolt is striking me down for it – I would almost feel better if it would – at least then I’d know he’s still around, still listening to me, still cares about me. I feel abandoned by him, forsaken. And I find no comfort in platitudes from others. I feel comfortable yelling at him and telling him how angry I am and how much he’s hurt me – but I don’t dare say that to any of my church friends, who offer only platitudes in response, or tell me that I *shouldn’t* feel that way – until you’ve lost four babies and walked in my shoes, you have no right to tell me how I should feel. I will not let other believers twist scripture into making me feel guilty or less than for having the gall to question God or be angry at him. So my experience has been that God has either turned his back on me or is punishing me, and my church friends have judged me for being angry about that. And the only people who understand are other babyloss parents.
Big hugs, Melissa. I totally understand that anger — and how could you not be angry, after 4 losses? I can’t even imagine…one has been horrible enough. I know that if we had another, we’d probably quit trying to have biological children. You must have amazing strength to have been willing to keep trying, and I am in awe of that.
I think it’s totally healthy and good (gasp did I just call it that lol) to question and vent your anger to God. Who else is there to vent it to, anyway? He IS ultimately responsible. And the Psalms are full of anger and questioning, so why would that be in the Bible if it was wrong? Keep raging to Him, friend, as long as you need to. There are no easy answers. I wish there were.
Wow I completely agree! I tell people who have lost a baby (I’ve lost two, then was victim of an adoption scam), that God is big enough to handle our anger! I know I felt alone and abandoned by Him too and know others who have as well. I have no answers for why these things happen & hate when people say “wasn’t she worth everything you went through?”. I smile and say yes, but want to say…”do you really mean isnt this child worth two dead ones? And my heart raked over the coals by a scam artist?”. People have no clue and offer platitudes that they hope are helpful, they aren’t. I’m so very sorry for your losses and pray this isn’t the end of your story!
I have lost five babies. Five perfect formed little people – each one beautiful. I understand your anger and your questions. And the platitudes! We are no less faithful or loving to admit the pain we feel. Anyone who says differently is wrong.
Please do not give up on God. He knows, more than they do, exactly what you’re going through. He can help.
Beth this is really beautiful! I have always struggle to fit in which sometimes surprise people but for a girl that changed school over 20 times it was very hard to make friends. I am thankful for this lack of “fitting in” it has truly caused me to seek out Jesus and find friendship with him. Beautiful, inspiring post as always!
Thanks, Tesha!
Beth, this was so beautifully written, so fitting, like you have taken words from my mind. My daughter’s name is also Eve.
Thankyou xx
Another Eve! Warms my heart. Hugs.
Can totally relate to this! I have felt very socially awkward lately. Pulling away from friends who haven’t had miscarriages is so tempting. You want to scream, “I may seem like everything is okay but I am changed!” However, I know that is the worst thing I can do, so it’s been good for me to still reach out even though they might not get it. They love me and are so dear to me. Our pastor said something really helpful a few weeks ago. “Sometimes facts whisper but feelings scream.” It was a blessing to me! My feelings are so all over at times, but God is steady, even if I can’t “feel” Him. Thanks for this post!
Oh I love what your pastor said. So true!
Wow, those are my feelings exactly. I relate to EVERYTHING you wrote- the supportive people who just don’t get it, feeling out of place everywhere. I hate that we’ve all lost children, but I’m glad that we have others to relate to.
Thanks, Mandy. Hugs.
Dear Beth,
Thank you for this post. Melissa, I can relate so well to you as well. I lost twins earlier this year. They were healthy, but shared a placenta and couldn’t thrive. I’m so angry at God who could create such beautiful babies but put them in an environment where they could not thrive. I’m just so very hurt and angry. I do not understand why God makes sick babies, or healthy babies with poor environments. It is just so very cruel. I feel very distant from him and hurt. I find myself questioning my faith, doubting and am filled with anger and resentment. Fortunately, most of my friends tell me to “give it to him and let him have it..” He is big enough to take on our anger…I just don’t know if he’s there or listening. This is such a painful road and I want nothing of it. I want my baby boys! I also found comfort in my faith, once upon a time. Everything is different now. Now I’m not sure that he is there, not sure that he listens or answers prayers. At least, he doesn’t answer my prayers. Beth, all I do now is sit at the computer. It’s the only place I can find any connection to those who understand. No one calls to see how I’m doing. No one offers to come and visit. It’s like pulling teeth to get a sitter so that my husband and I can go to grief counseling together. The computer is my solace now. I can barely function to take care of my spouse and the other children. I’m just so broken.
I’m so sorry for all who have lost children…it just does not make sense.
~Jen
Oh Jen, I just want to give you (and every single babylost mama) a humongous hug. I’m so sorry your twin boys are dead. How devastating, and unfair! And you’re right — it does not make any sense, not a bit. And I totally identify with what you said about feeling so broken, unable to function even at the most basic level. It sucks. The only thing I can do is keep taking my rage to God, because I have no idea what else to do with it. Sometimes I feel heard, sometimes not. Sometimes I feel better, sometimes not. But I try to hold to that “God assured us, “I’ll never let you down, never walk off and leave you’” (Heb. 13:5 MSG), even if I feel left and forsaken. Hang in there, mama. You (and all of us) are doing a great job.
Augh I wrote a huge reply and it looks like my browser ate it instead of posting it! Anyway, I don’t have the brain power to totally rewrite it, but just know that I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong, Jen. You’re doing a great job. The anger and rage — so normal, so understandable. Keep going, mama. I wish I could give you a big hug in person. I’m so sorry your boys are dead. It’s not fair.
Just over a year ago, I faced the hardest decision I will ever make, to remove my infant sons life and let him die. He was 17 days old and we’d been trying off and on for 9 years to get pregnant. In that moment, that horrific decision to end my only child’s life, as I held him in my arms, I felt the complete absence of God. I held my boy and watched him die and I felt no comfort, no love from God. Indeed, I felt like he had simply turned his back and looked the other way. Afterwards, when they had taken my son, I was desperate to find some sign of God, to feel He was there, but I found nothing. I am not an atheist. I believe there is something more, God perhaps, and my son is in a good place. But I do not feel God in my life. Everyday I feel my son with me, and that comforts me. But I feel God turned away when I needed Him most.
Oh what a horrible, horrible decision to have to make! Hugs, mama.
I don’t know if this will be reassuring…but I didn’t “feel” God when we learned Eve had died, when we were in the hospital waiting for her body to be born, when I held her for the first and only time… I have never felt so alone. I questioned if God even existed. But later, as I looked into that, nothing made sense except God’s existence and caring, even in the face of such horrific loss. Not trying to convince you, Vicky, just sharing my experience. For me, the waiting to “feel” God always seems to trip me up. It’s more of a brain connection for me, I guess. Although I wish we could feel a divine connection all the time!
Love this Beth. You expressed so beautifully and perfectly what so many struggle with. I have never fit either, in many ways. So grateful we always fit with Him. Love to you…
Thanks so much, Kelly. <3
Beth,
Thank you for this post. I have felt this way more times than I can count. I’m so blessed to have wonderful people around me, and yet I often feel so very alone…so odd, completely out of place. I have met a few wonderful women(in person) who are angel moms but like you many of the the people I’ve “met” are online friends and even there I feel out of place and often remain out of the loop, as I don’t completely fit there either. I had lost a child, and my womb before many women are even considering having children, who can truly understand me?? I have asked so many times. But my heavenly Father understands me, when I don’t even understand myself.
Big hugs, Hayley.
I was telling my friend on the phone today about how hard it is to find where I belong after losing my son 3 months ago. Every place I used to go now feels strange. Connecting with friends is difficult. God and I are good, yet going to my church is uncomfortable. Being around people is awkward. And the isolation this leads to is crippling. Thank you for the reminder that God and His grace really are enough. It really is with Him that I belong. And He hasn’t left me alone. And I am hopeful and after awhile as the grief continues to heal He will put me right where I belong.
Thank you Beth! This was a wonderful article.
Thank you, Kim. Big hugs.
Love this Beth. After your child dies, you are changed forever, and you will never completely fit in again. Even as your grief changes you will realize that you know longer fit in to the loss community like you used to either. Your journey is forever changing and like you say God is the constant.
As far as God, I lost all of my children before I had a more intimate relationship with God. I actually sought out God more after my last loss. The day I had to take my daughter off support, I woke with an overwhelming peace and knew that was the day my life would change forever. Later I believe that was God holding my hand as He knew I needed Him the most at that time to be able to make that decision.
I feel like I want to speak to another point of view that has been mentioned with God being so wrong to give and take away. Again, this is my belief. I don’t believe in a God that takes away. I believe in a God that gives and comforts. I believe illness took my children away not God. Maybe God knew that my children would not have the long life that I would have like them to have but they did have life even if just the short weeks they spent in my womb. God did not make my daughter sick, but He did carry her to Heaven and welcomed her tiny soul. I’m not saying it’s not ok to be angry with God or whoever but you can not truly heal until you move through the anger, and that takes time.
I totally agree with you, Stephanie — that God didn’t kill our children, or cause them to die. The brokenness of the world is enough to accomplish that. I’m so sorry you’ve lost so many children, and that you had to make the excruciating decision to take your daughter off life support. Hugs.
Thanks Beth, I appreciate that.
Thank you for this writing, it’s almost how I feel. I always feel like I am lost in this world that once I knew so much about. The lost comes with something is constantly missing. I don’t think I will ever not feel that something is missing, because there is a huge thing missing in my life. Like you I feel I should scream I lost my baby before she ever opened her eyes or took her first breathe. But saying that would make me sound crazy to complete strangers. I often wonder if you can look at me and can tell what type of sadness I live with everyday, or does my good energy or smile disguise it. I am happy to know I am not alone in the filling of not fitting in. Again, thank you..
I totally feel the same way, wondering if strangers can see the loss written all over my face. Just before Christmas I also broke down in tears at the cash register at Costco when the cashier asked me if I had happy plans for the holidays. I wanted to tell her that my baby had died a month before. I hate that we all have felt this, but glad that if we have to go through this, we can come together…
beth i totally get the feeling of not fitting in and also the feeling of having the loss written all over your face. it’s so hard! big hugs to you.
Thanks, Jen!
I have always felt like I didn’t fit in growing up. I too was always that awkward, shy girl. Then, I felt like I didn’t fit in because I loved Jesus, when other young people I knew didn’t. Now, I really feel like I don’t fit in, not with those in there young 20′s, who are out partying and living carefree. Instead, I am the only one my age that I know of that has lost a baby. I am the only one who is single and cannot try again. I am the only one who doesn’t know if and when I will ever be able to try again. I am the only one who doesn’t have someone there to grieve with me. People just expect me to go back to being who I was before I had Lily. What they don’t understand is that person is gone and never to return. What peace and joy there is in knowing Jesus knows me better than I know myself and He sees me, all of me, even when the rest of the world doesn’t see or understand. He is truly all we need. Much love, Beth. Thank you for sharing.
I totally understand (or at least, understand a bunch of it). Thanks, Hannah Rose. Hugs.
Yes, my faith has helped me a lot to ease the pain. But this pain can be eased but not erased. I’ve a faith that we will meet again. When I’ m very very down, I think that to comfort myself. It’s true that my daughter’s death has bring me closer to God and my faith helps me to deal with it, tremendously. After all it was not me who made her grow inside all alone. There was some one who gave her life and then took it. It’s to Him that she went to, where else it could be? In the end we all have to go. Who can say that he is to live forever? So I believe me and my daughter will meet again. Not in this life, but in the life after.
Hi Beth,
Just found this article and wanted to say thanks. You describe much of how I’m feeling now. Thinking about my faith I feel i was so nieve now. The circumstances around my 2nd MC have just left me feeling so confused and angry- 4 times in separate places we received the scripture “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb….” And I wasn’t praying for ‘a word’ because I knew I was nervous and there are no guarantees anymore. There was another thing that I had to do (ironically about sanctity of life) and although I was nervous I was willing because it was a once in a lifetime chance to help the unborn. The stuff I had to research before would turn any stomach. And the very morning when I’m about to go to speak to my government I start to bleed. At the scan we get a parking ticket. SERIOUSLY GOD. What was the grand purpose for that one then?
As you can see it’s still raw. You prob wont see this but it helps to get it out.