My New Normal
Is this my new normal? Is this what it is to get back to normal? It feels more like a constant tension between what is and what could have been.
As I catch my reflection in the mirror at the gym, I should be comforted to see my stomach returning to normal. There is no longer any sign of the bump that was there (or the awful bloating that followed), so I no longer have to hide my stomach. I should be glad, but I’m not. It’s just one more reminder that what could have been is no longer my reality. I should be glad to return to cycling after months away, but instead, I can’t help but be saddened by my triumphant return. I had planned on returning as a pregnant woman who couldn’t do much more than sit there and pedal at a moderate effort, and instead I was pushing myself to limits that I probably didn’t need to on my first day back.
I wonder if my new normal is just this...everyday things constantly reminding me of the alternative that is no more. At work, a coworker returned from maternity leave the week I had planned to announce my pregnancy. It’s strange because she’s one of the ones I would have told a few weeks ago, and yet now, it’s as if nothing happened. My new reality is a bittersweet moving forward.
On a recent episode of This Is Us, there was a story line about mourning (because, of course there was), and they mention the desire for time to just stand still. In mourning, you don’t want to move on to the next big life event because it’s not how it was supposed to be. A light bulb went off in me (and tears, of course there were tears)... A part of me doesn’t want to return to biking and running and intense exercise. A part of me doesn’t want to plan fun vacations or go to festivals or do anything because they are all reminders that I’m not pregnant anymore...they are reminders that I have unexpectedly fallen back into my old life, which I had already let go of for this new path.
As time moves forward, I’m farther removed from the feelings of new joy and hopefulness, and I’m not ready to let it all go. Moving on looks strange because there are no memories to look back on… only personal experiences and emotions that will fade with time because they were so short-lived. I want time to just stand still, so I can feel what I need to feel for as long as I need to deal with it. I want time to stand still because I don’t need life to keep moving while I am not able to keep up with it. I want time to stand still because I have so much more to feel and process and deal with, but as time moves on, I have to let things go. I’m not ready to let it all go...not yet.
It is a weird limbo of wanting to feel normal again and yet not being ready to accept this normal. It’s so easy to go through the motions every day, most people around me completely unaware that anything has changed, yet I know I will never be the same “normal” again. I am not who I was at the start of this journey because any experience of this magnitude changes me. Day to day experiences slowly change who we are in small amounts, but they don’t call this kind of thing “life-changing” for no reason. There is a whole new level of messiness involved when the life-changing experience happens behind closed doors. While anyone who reads my blog posts knows what has happened, most people I encounter on a daily basis are in the dark. They may or may not have even noticed the change in my moods and habits over the past few months. To many people, I just seemed a bit distracted for a couple of months, but nothing more than that. Now, I’m just “back to normal” but don’t know what my normal is anymore.
I don’t think I want the same old normal. I realize a lot of my feelings of deferring my return to “normal” are related to the depression of the mourning experience. I don’t find joy in most things that I used to enjoy. I don’t really care about work, so I go through the motions. I don’t want to exercise, but I do it in hopes of finding myself somewhere in the process. I have trips planned, but I’m not excited or looking forward to them yet. I kind of just don’t care. However, I’ve been here before...I know what it is to go through a period of depression. I know that I will find my place again.
I will find the new normal, and I’ll begin to enjoy things again… I don’t know what will bring me joy quite yet because it probably isn't going to look the same. I may never have the desire to run a race again because who I am has shifted so drastically from who I was when I was out there training and racing every weekend. I also still have this hope that what I’m going through is a temporary deferral of the lifestyle change I had planned... I still have hope that I’ll be giving up intense exercise and alcohol again down the road when I’m able to try to get pregnant again - and that it will eventually work out. I have begun to once again feel the glimmer of hope that this will work out in a timeline that is not my own, but really walking in that belief takes time. I'm not there yet, but I will be... Until then, I'll just begin to learn what my new normal looks like.
As I catch my reflection in the mirror at the gym, I should be comforted to see my stomach returning to normal. There is no longer any sign of the bump that was there (or the awful bloating that followed), so I no longer have to hide my stomach. I should be glad, but I’m not. It’s just one more reminder that what could have been is no longer my reality. I should be glad to return to cycling after months away, but instead, I can’t help but be saddened by my triumphant return. I had planned on returning as a pregnant woman who couldn’t do much more than sit there and pedal at a moderate effort, and instead I was pushing myself to limits that I probably didn’t need to on my first day back.
I wonder if my new normal is just this...everyday things constantly reminding me of the alternative that is no more. At work, a coworker returned from maternity leave the week I had planned to announce my pregnancy. It’s strange because she’s one of the ones I would have told a few weeks ago, and yet now, it’s as if nothing happened. My new reality is a bittersweet moving forward.
On a recent episode of This Is Us, there was a story line about mourning (because, of course there was), and they mention the desire for time to just stand still. In mourning, you don’t want to move on to the next big life event because it’s not how it was supposed to be. A light bulb went off in me (and tears, of course there were tears)... A part of me doesn’t want to return to biking and running and intense exercise. A part of me doesn’t want to plan fun vacations or go to festivals or do anything because they are all reminders that I’m not pregnant anymore...they are reminders that I have unexpectedly fallen back into my old life, which I had already let go of for this new path.
As time moves forward, I’m farther removed from the feelings of new joy and hopefulness, and I’m not ready to let it all go. Moving on looks strange because there are no memories to look back on… only personal experiences and emotions that will fade with time because they were so short-lived. I want time to just stand still, so I can feel what I need to feel for as long as I need to deal with it. I want time to stand still because I don’t need life to keep moving while I am not able to keep up with it. I want time to stand still because I have so much more to feel and process and deal with, but as time moves on, I have to let things go. I’m not ready to let it all go...not yet.
It is a weird limbo of wanting to feel normal again and yet not being ready to accept this normal. It’s so easy to go through the motions every day, most people around me completely unaware that anything has changed, yet I know I will never be the same “normal” again. I am not who I was at the start of this journey because any experience of this magnitude changes me. Day to day experiences slowly change who we are in small amounts, but they don’t call this kind of thing “life-changing” for no reason. There is a whole new level of messiness involved when the life-changing experience happens behind closed doors. While anyone who reads my blog posts knows what has happened, most people I encounter on a daily basis are in the dark. They may or may not have even noticed the change in my moods and habits over the past few months. To many people, I just seemed a bit distracted for a couple of months, but nothing more than that. Now, I’m just “back to normal” but don’t know what my normal is anymore.
I don’t think I want the same old normal. I realize a lot of my feelings of deferring my return to “normal” are related to the depression of the mourning experience. I don’t find joy in most things that I used to enjoy. I don’t really care about work, so I go through the motions. I don’t want to exercise, but I do it in hopes of finding myself somewhere in the process. I have trips planned, but I’m not excited or looking forward to them yet. I kind of just don’t care. However, I’ve been here before...I know what it is to go through a period of depression. I know that I will find my place again.
I will find the new normal, and I’ll begin to enjoy things again… I don’t know what will bring me joy quite yet because it probably isn't going to look the same. I may never have the desire to run a race again because who I am has shifted so drastically from who I was when I was out there training and racing every weekend. I also still have this hope that what I’m going through is a temporary deferral of the lifestyle change I had planned... I still have hope that I’ll be giving up intense exercise and alcohol again down the road when I’m able to try to get pregnant again - and that it will eventually work out. I have begun to once again feel the glimmer of hope that this will work out in a timeline that is not my own, but really walking in that belief takes time. I'm not there yet, but I will be... Until then, I'll just begin to learn what my new normal looks like.
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