Fake It Until You Make It
I hear people using this phrase: “fake it until you make it”. I’ve always heard it from actors and musicians. I never thought I would turn into a “fake it until you make it” sort of person. But this has been my life since Ryan left this earth. I learned quickly about the “mask”. I put my mask on religiously every morning before stepping out of bed- when it comes off is a different story. I would like to think I can wait until the end of my work day to take it off, but I simply don’t seem to have as much control of the removal of my mask.
People love me. I know people love me. But my pain and suffering hurts them- and I don’t want anyone to hurt anymore because of my accounts. That’s were this mask comes in. I can fool people into thinking I am doing just fine when I wear my mask. I remember people telling me that they were worried about me, but then a few weeks later saying that I am doing much better. Are you serious!? I think people were saying these things to make themselves feel better. It always makes me angry when people said they were worried about me! What was I doing that made you so worried? I got out of bed; I took showers; I put some makeup on; and I made it to work majority of the days. I was living… I am living.
I find myself always going back and repeating in my head “don’t judge my path if you haven’t walked my journey”. No one knows how they are going to handle a life ending loss such as losing a child. Because that’s what losing a baby is.. It is life ending. I will never be the same person I was. People may think they know… but they have no idea. I thought I would die. I thought I would crawl into my bed and never get out.
But something special happened. The first morning I had to live without my son, eyes black and blue and swollen from all the tears shed the day before, I got up. I got in the shower. I GOT UP! I didn’t stay in bed. I didn’t die. I was very much alive. My crazy heart refused to let me in the hole. The deep, black hole I so desperately wanted to stay in. But morning after morning, I got up; I took a shower. As the weeks went on I added more to my routine. I got up, I took a shower, I ate some breakfast, I went for a walk with my dog… I even ventured out to visit my best friend.
For a moment there I thought I was really going to be okay. And just when I start feeling- well, anything but terrible, the waive of grief comes crashing down over top of me again. I stayed in bed for the whole weekend. I let myself rest. I let myself feel the sadness, the heartache, the physical pain of losing my baby. I didn’t want to fight the grief, because it just strengthened my love for my baby. If I didn’t love him so much, this wouldn’t hurt so bad.
I get mad at my husband. He has good days, great days even. I am happy for him. I wanted him to be happy.
I am barely living each day. I barely get “okay” days, let alone great days. I still have not had a good day since Ryan’s been gone. I have days with good moments in them, but I would never consider them good days. I experience moments of happiness, but there is always an undertone of sadness. I continue to fake it. And sometimes I fool myself and I am thankful for those days.