February was hard.
I was sick for a time, I was still trying to ignore the pregnancy, and I had a hard time accepting it. I both wanted to keep the pregnancy and I wanted it to end all at once.
Mostly, though, those darker days were just hard.
I spent some days just crocheting on my blanket, making another granny square every so often. Some days were good. We got out, we ran errands, or we played inside.
But I kept hope bottled up, not wanting to believe that I would carry my baby to full term. I kept waiting for the cramping and the blood.
In the middle of February, I finally gathered enough courage to call for an OB appointment. This was my fourth OB, but I had heard great things about her. When I talked to the receptionist, my voice kept cracking. I choked back tears and gasped for breath.
Finally, though, the appointment was made. A month from the day I called.
After I hung up, I collapsed on the floor and cried.
Having a panic attack over something that should be so trivial rattled me. I knew that something was desperately wrong, that this shouldn’t have been so hard.
Drew and I started talking about seeing a counselor and what the risks were if I took medications. We decided to try herbal teas and essential oils first. If they didn’t help, we would take further action.
But they did.
I still had my moments. Many moments. But I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared for myself, my baby, or my girls. I also made some small changes in our home and how things ran. I’m still making those small changes.
Our bodies’ chemistry is amazing. Sometimes we desperately need something as minute as a cup of brewed herbs to give us the vitamins and minerals that we need. Sometimes just a whiff of an oil is enough to calm us down. And sometimes? Sometimes, it takes getting down and dirty and into the nitty gritty with God before we’re healed.
I had to be in a place where I could think clearly before I could work through my own junk. I think that’s true for most of us. And when I finally could start that work, I was ready. That doesn’t make me weak. It makes me stronger for admitting that I need help.
This post is part of a 31 Days series on Raising My Ebenezer, part of my story and my own testimony of God’s goodness and faithfulness. As the song Come Thou Fount says, “Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thine help I’m come.” For the month of October, I’ll be writing our story, outlining the Ebenezers in recognition of His mighty hand on our lives. His doings and His workings because of and sometimes in spite of our best efforts. My hope is that you’ll see a lot of Him and little to none of me. Because in the end, it is by His help that we have come this far.