I'm not okay, I swear it.

 Disclaimer: The title "I'm not okay, I swear it", is to explain that unlike a lot of women that can make the step of returning to work after four to six weeks, I cannot. It does not mean I'm going to harm myself. It does not mean that I'm not going to continue to heal through all of this. Please understand that, sweet readers. I'm "okay" in Christ, but "Ashley" is struggling...and I'm making the steps to continue allowing Him to be my healer. This is a glimpse into the dark side of grieving, but I am not letting it consume me. I am not letting it win. Thank you. - Ash

When I was thirteen, I began cutting myself.

I'd use razors usually, though I'd also scratch until my arms were sore.

My acts were partly peer led, and partly self-soothing. If you aren't a former cutter, you can't understand the euphoric peace that floods across your body the minute you drag the blade against your skin. I would often run my fingers across my scabs and torn skin, loving that my pain could be manifested into a physical representation. Somehow, in a ceremonial way, I felt that I was releasing all of the negativity that weighed me down.

This wasn't true, of course. I was using avoidance through self-harm. Instead of facing the disgustingly ugly truth of my emotional pain, I preferred to distract with physical pain instead. Instead of processing through why I hated myself and dealing with my raging emotions, I stuffed them inside with cuts to my arms.

After I found God, I completely stopped cutting. He took those emotions I'd been feeling, and He channeled them to the foot of the cross. I can safely say that managing my emotions has been a beautiful work in progress since my Jesus accepted me into His family. Until I could experience that dance of healing, the change wouldn't take place. I was simply lost in my own bloodletting.

**

There is a certain culture I've witnessed in the Christian grief community. Noticeably, a Christian mourner is less likely to go off of a deep end than someone who has nothing to hope in. This is understandable. In ways, it's beautiful. Yet in other ways...it puts this insane pressure on the Christian mourner. Also, simply knowing who Our Father is, we are expected to be strong because our strength is in Him. To show any less is a disgrace to His healing power. One can't be a witness to His power if we appear powerless, can we?
For me personally, at times I've questioned the "Christianess" of me. I was watching A Duggar Loss, which showed The Duggar Family discovering their 17 week old baby's heartbeat had stopped. As soon as the ultrasound tech confirmed that she didn't see a heartbeat, Jim Bob and Michele immediately quoted "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I was shocked. Honestly, it confused me. Though after this was spoken, significant tears began to fall...it still baffled me; the automatic, almost robotic response. I don't begrudge the Duggars of this. I think they are living, walking examples of unshakeable faith in God. But I could not do that immediately. Ever.

Here is where my problem lies. Though my faith is unshakeable, my flesh isn't. While so many people have responded after grief with joy as an automatic response...that's something I simply struggle to do fifty percent of the time. Though I know my Carlie Wren is in heaven, and had a better Tuesday than I'll ever have this side of heaven...I struggle back and forth between being devastated and joyous about this. I've read perspectives from Christian bloggers who speak of returning to work in four weeks. I so long to be like that. I long to get past all of this, so I can move forward and not feel like the slightest push toward taking a step sends me into an anxiety attack. Does the fact that I'm struggling more than "most" Christian women mean that there is something inherently, spiritually wrong with me? I'm too weak, where other women have been so very strong, right?

Is the picture of me, completely, a picture of God and His strength? Or can I simply not shake these things aside because I'm simply not strong enough in my faith? I don't know the answer, but I can't help but envy these women who move forward quickly; who can compartmentalize grief and daily life and somehow come out more content than they were.

So, this is what I do know. 

The following is my own raw, beautiful wreckage that Carlie Wren left behind.

My name is Ashley Calvert. I have been off of work since July 10th, when I was admitted into the hospital due to incompetent cervix. What I thought was a routine check up turned into one of the scariest moments of my life: knowing I was dilated; knowing it was too soon for her to survive. We prayed til we couldn't form words anymore, and I fought against infection and bleeding.

Fourteen days later, I laid my baby girl to rest. I couldn't leave her graveside, and a huge, bloody hole has been punched in my chest since July 21, 2012 when she was born into heaven. I am a mother, but my arms are empty.

I tried to go back to work on August 6th, but the Wednesday before, I had my first post-partum appoitment with my doctor. She strongly suggested I take more time. When I had three more break downs that day, I realized she was right.

I tried to go back to work a second time on July 27th. I lasted about two and a half hours before my husband had to come get me. Everything in the office was a trigger. From the people I'd previously talked to about my pregnancy, to seeing tiny, pen-scratched numbers on Wednesdays of each week on my desk calendar, marking how many weeks I was along. I angrily whited out the numbers, and when I came to November 28th, with DUE DATE written in huge letters and circled, I lost it.

I've developed anxiety attacks about returning to work. I had my first counseling session today.
I'm taking anti-anxiety medication to help with the bouts of anxiety. I've been on them since I was in the hospital. I've had thoughts on four occasions of overdosing on pills, though I am always able to rationalize my thoughts out of that valley. Before all of this, I was a very care-free individual. Even in my darkest days before I got saved, I'd never had suicidal thoughts.

 I haven't had a normal sleeping schedule since before I entered the hospital. Even now as I type, it's nearly 2:30 a.m. I've been on sleeping pills since the hospital, too. Some nights they work. Some nights they don't.

I worship to my very core these days. This experience has made heaven a tangible place for me, not something merely pushed to the back of my head. During times of worship, I almost feel I can reach out and grasp it with my bare hands. I long for my heavenly home as I long for breathing.Worship has become one of my favorite things to do.
I read my Bible with passionate longing.
I have floating ideas in my head of ways I want to help women who are/were in my shoes. If I don't do some of these soon, I might explode.
I dream a million, trillion times bigger than before. I lack the blind naivety I had at one time that "everything will work out." My eyes are wide open instead. I prefer it this way.
I love my husband harder.
I love my husband for who he is, not for what he does or doesn't do. It's amazing what you learn about a person in the midst of a horrible crisis.
I know the next child we have will be the luckiest child within a 200 mile radius, because we are going to be good parents. We are going to love that child like our lives depend on it. After a day of work when we're too tired, we will still get up and play outside. We will remember absence, and we will remember being full. We will be such a beautifully wonderful family.

Until then, I'm left trying to build a masterpiece out of the wreckage.

 Through my brokeness, might you rise me up again, Lord? Might I achieve the joy that surpasses all understanding once again? Can you make a beautiful story out of the mess that is me? I fear I fail you with my weakness. 

  So for the sake of Christ, I am well pleased and take pleasure in infirmities, insults, hardships, persecutions, perplexities and distresses; for when I am weak [in human strength], then am I [truly] strong (able, powerful in divine strength).

- 2 Corinthians 12:10, Amplified