My heart has been through a lot lately. As a 48-year-old woman, with no familial connection to heart issues, I have been searching the depths to find out why.
Yes, I’ve experienced heartbreak. Some of that has been long and drawn-out…years and years of being shoved aside and misunderstood. Some of it was acute and has made me feel like I’ll never be able to breathe again. The pain in my chest was just as real as any pain I’ve ever known…and I’ve known a lot of pain.
These past few years have been rough on my heart. The stress of the media around Covid, getting Covid with my children (all at the same time), losing my job, dealing with a terrible choice in dating partners, losing my home in my divorce, the list is long. And the effects have not skipped over hurting my heart.
However, as I soaked in the tub this afternoon, trying to get my body to relax, I remembered something; a connection to heartbeats that was stressful, if not traumatizing. This memory had to do with the gestations of my four children and the loss of a fifth child in utero.
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Heartbeats are the way we find out if our babies are alive and well, or failing to thrive, or even dead. A heartbeat is the easiest clue into that realm, just under those layers of skin, fascia and protective belly fat. Those heartbeats are ones we hope for and hold our breath for, as pregnant mothers.
The first time I had an ultrasound, I found out the 14 week old embryo had died. There was no heartbeat. Defeated, and feeling betrayed by my own body, I returned home to miscarry the fetus that very night. Well…that didn’t go well. My heartbeat was the only one I was hearing on the monitor that night, as I hemorrhaged out. Luckily, they sedated me fast enough and did an emergency D&C to save my life. I had lost half of my blood.
The next heartbeat was that of my son’s. His little fluttery heart was like music to my ears. He was born a healthy and strong 7 pounds 12 ounces. Way too large for my body, but it all worked out well for him, in the end. Not so much for me. But in some ways I didn’t matter as much as he did. In my culture that’s not a stretch.
The next three heartbeats were my daughters’ beautiful little hearts. I heard them a lot, due to the fact that I was in the hospital at least twice a month having them looked at. My body was failing to thrive, being consumed by the little parasites I was forming in my belly. I say that in complete jest. But, my body didn’t like girls.
Every time I went to get an ultrasound, they were fine. I might have been losing weight (which I could not afford to lose), but they were doing great. It made little sense to me at the time, but I remained grateful that they were healthy. Despite my own extreme illness and discomfort, those little beings did great.
Lots of heartbeats and mine were the only ones that were under threat.
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Mine are no longer under threat. I’m super grateful for that. But, it seems that my heart thinks that it is. It beats too quickly. It sometimes feels like it’s choking me.
My mind knows I am fine. My mind also knows what I’ve been through and can “justify” what my heart is doing and feeling. But that doesn’t make it go away.
The only answer is to stop thinking about it. My good friend and psychologist, Rick, says that I have repressed too much anger. It is all bottled up and needs to be released. I’ve not allowed myself to properly get pissed about the injustices and pains I’ve been forced to endure.
He’s probably right. And I’ll find my way to process it. Until I do, I’ll be trying lots of ideas. Pounding Beethoven on the piano, doing terrible artwork, throwing snowballs…hell, I might even learn how to split wood. Who knows?
I’d love your suggestions. I’m not a violent person and I need to stay away from excessive adrenaline spikes. But…I also need to train my body to chill the fuck out.
Here goes nothing…
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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Photo credit: Jair Lázaro on Unsplash