Last Sunday was Bereaved Mother’s Day. It’s not a fun day, but it is an important one. With this poem, I want to honor the mothers who have or are experiencing the worst kind of pain to be found in motherhood.
If you have endured the ache and grief of miscarriage, I would love to know the name of your baby. Share with me in the comments if you feel able to. I sincerely hope these words give voice to the pain you have experienced. You matter. Your baby matters. You both are seen.
I like the title of this poem because Her Art really just looks like HEr ART. And isn’t the heart the essence of art? Done with love from a place of love? Whoever you are, you’re still making art. And we need you. Thank you.
It’s no secret that I love this time of year. It’s always so full of energy. There are new beginnings and hard-earned endings. People celebrate all through May, and it feels like the Christmas season of the spring. I always love a good holiday, but all this happy celebration (just like Christmastime) can punctuate the sadness and struggles you may be facing.
I know that a constant barrage of achievements and college degrees might make you wonder where you really stand. I know that watching wedding after wedding can be emotionally exhausting. I know that one more engagement might tip your heart over the edge. I know that Mother’s Day can be full of grief for whatever reason…missing your own mother, infertility, postpartum depression, miscarriage, not “measuring up” as a mother, etc & so forth.
I’m at the end of myself screamed the woman who desired a husband. I’m at the end of myself screamed the wife struggling deep within her heart. I’m at the end of myself screamed the mom exhausted in ways she could hardly explain. I’m at the end of myself screamed each one with burdens big and painful.And all the women screaming were shaking strong, tired fists and learning what sacrifice really meant. While differing heartache brought them here, they each sat in the wilderness just the same. When every women lost her voice there was nothing left to do, but seek Rest and pray for all this heaviness to depart. Continue reading “I'm at the End of Myself”→