Numb.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve been able to even think about writing. I feel creatively blocked most of the time. The majority of my energy goes into the everyday tasks of being a working a mom to an infant. I have settled into a routine that mainly consists of just basic functions to keep our household and myself going, and I pour absolutely everything else I have into Nora.

I considered, for awhile, that maybe I simply had healed more than I realized from the trauma and pain of losing Evelyn. I don’t cry every day anymore. Most days, I don’t even feel capable of crying. Thinking of her feels less heavy and I can look at things that remind me of her without crying. I laugh a lot again. I have so many moments of pure joy in my life. Being a mom (to a living child) feels like I’m living out my dream come true.

I was reflecting last week in therapy about how I’m really doing, and honestly, I don’t know. I’m certainly happy but tired. I’m grateful but stressed. My brain right now is so focused on the running list of things I need to get done every day (and the things I know will never get done) that it’s really hard to create space for anything that slows me down, and the thing that will slow me down is my grief.

I inadvertently created a way of coping by what I’m realizing is just being “too busy” to grieve.

I think this is actually something that a lot of people do in early grief as a protective measure to avoid the intense and earth-shattering pain of those initial days. And while I definitely made sure I always had the company and distraction of a comfort show playing in the background at that time (how many rewatches of Brooklyn 99 is too many?), I really allowed myself to be fully immersed in my grief. I didn’t realize how much that would benefit me at the time in terms of helping myself to heal as much as possible. My motivation behind the grief-immersion was simply to feel as connected to Evelyn as I possibly could. She was no longer physically connected to me, and I wanted to do anything I possibly could to feel close to her.

It feels different now. My grief is, of course, different because time changes how it looks and what it feels like. But I’ve also fully numbed myself to my grief in order to protect myself. My brain simply cannot take on anything at this point that would cause more of a mental load. I don’t feel like I have the mental capacity to become completely undone right now, even momentarily. Between taking care of a baby and starting a new job this year, my plate feels really full. Numbing myself to the pain seems like the safest option, and I’m really afraid of what would happen if I allowed myself to feel the full impact of navigating a holiday season (or really, any time) with my living daughter who would not be here had her big sister lived.

I feel this low-level sadness creeping in the closer we get to Christmas. I already see ways in which Evie isn’t included. I miss her so much and feel like I’m always grasping at opportunities to keep her as close as possible. Part of me wants to fully let the grief to roll in so I can connect with her in a deeper way, but I’m afraid that once I let that happen that it won’t stop.

So I keep going.

My full spectrum of emotions is staying contained right now because I really feel so numb. In some way, I miss the intensity of the early grief days because I knew Evie was always close. I worry now that she’s somehow slipping further from me. The guilt creeps in and tells me that I’m not doing “enough” for her. It tells me that this numb feeling isn’t okay and that it would be better if I were sad all the time.

I also fully believe that Evelyn knows I love her and I don’t need to always have the capacity to fully process the reality of my life without her. Sometimes, it’s okay that the intense feelings just stay under the surface.

One day, a strong enough wave of grief will come and melt the numbness away, and when that happens, I’ll survive that day, too.