Masks

I think it is safe to say we all wear masks depending on those we are around.   My self confidence is a work in progress and I notice as the years go by I get more and more comfortable with myself and care less how others view me.  Of course, I am a bit of a people pleaser, so I guess I do care, but I'm more comfortable being myself and shedding the various masks.  But in May 2010, I was introduced to a new array of masks.  Those to cover up the grief and sadness.  Those to protect my delicate heart.  Those to mask the anxiety in another pregnancy. Those to appear 'normal.'

There are many people in my life where I am so lucky to not have to wear the masks.  I can shed them and be myself.  They frequently call or email and remember those dates.  They say Oliver's name without flinching. They know the anxiety I have during this pregnancy and don't blow it off as me worrying too much. They will be there to celebrate the birth of another baby, just as they were there to listen and just sit during my darkest time. I can talk about anything and I don't feel judged.

There are others who don't really understand or try to understand and I find myself positioning my mask before encountering them.   It is easier just to not discuss the grief or anxiety I have and just talk about other things.  If I start to bring up a possibly uncomfortable topic and I can feel the tension, I quickly change the topic and put on the 'normal' mask.  The 'I may be having a really hard day, but I'll act happy for your comfort' mask.  But 5 months have passed and the hard days happen less and less, but they still sneak up and are a part of my life. 

I think the hardest thing is when I meet new people.  I don't quite know which mask I'll need.  Sometimes Oliver never comes up and I don't have to protect myself from the possible things I'll hear.  Other times I talk about Oliver and the typical, 'well they say usually those things happen for a reason' or 'I'm sure he is in a better place' come up.  I used to cower behind my mask and shrivel inside, but I'm getting better at nicely educating people and telling them, 'well actually he was perfect, from what they could tell. There was no medical reason for his death.'  I still rarely go into details, unless someone actually seems interested in knowing more. So the 'normal' mask stays on and the pain of losing a baby isn't shared.  But then again, don't most wear that mask, not revealing their inner scars?  Yes, you don't have to tell everyone about the hard times in your life, but I'm finding more and more that I want to know the real version of people.  I want to feel the happiness and pain, because I wanted people to do the same with me as I tell them of my son or tell them about the happy birth of my daughter. I'm ok listening to all of the hard things in their life, because I've been there.  To the darkest part of my life and back again slowly into the light.  I want to give people the opportunity to shed their masks and be themselves.

I want to know what makes people who they are and that includes all happy and sad times.  I have a hard time with those that just want to take part in the happy parts of ones life.  If they can't be there during those moments of despair and darkness, they I don't think they deserve to be there during those moments of true joy and happiness.  I know it is hard to stand there through the darkness and watch a loved one be miserable, but that to me is what true friendship and love is about.  I have to say that it probably took this tragedy for me to really understand that and know that I can weather the storm and help others too.

I guess I'm realizing more and more that I want to be with those that don't have to wear masks.  Where we can all check our masks at the door and enter as ourselves and not be judged. Where I can be a happy mother and a grieving mother. Excited about a new pregnancy and filled with anxiety too.  Where I don't have to pick one or the other because it is more acceptable.   Just be me.


 To read other posts about the masks we wear, visit Faces of Loss.