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Day 8 - Social Mathematics

I went back to work full time 4 months after Jack passed away. I needed and wanted to get out of the house. I wanted a place that “needed” me and they treated me like family immediately. I met tons of new people in the first weeks/months. With every interaction, I’d do the social math of “do they know about Jack?” That felt like my identity (it probably always will) and so it felt like all these people didn’t really know me -  I had no stories to tell about my 5 month old and no new photos for my desk and no physical living human being to bring in and show off so Jack was a part of me that they didn’t know. A few people went to high school with Ike and probably knew about it from Facebook. But generally most people didn’t know. Sometimes a person would ask “do you have kids” or sometimes it would come up in other random ways. But no matter how it came up, explaining you “had” a kid usually captures everyone’s attention whether they were involved in the conversation or not. And it usually makes the person who asked “do you have kids?” wince a little. 

Often I do social math in various situations. Like is it worth speaking up when someone is talking about UVA and say something that shows I’ve had experience there and then I’d have to explain why and the entire thing becomes about me - I’d do the math and decide it’s not worth it. Or at a new doctor, do I explain or does the dermatologist for example not really need to know? Or someone is talking about pumping, do I chime in or listen and observe. If they don’t know about Jack, is that moment a time I want to bring up Jack & commander the convo?

Bringing up the story of your child dying is a heavy thing. It isn’t a flippant comment you add to a convo - it opens a huge conversation and sometimes I don’t have the emotional energy for it. 

I have to be careful how I answer questions too. I’ve accidentally said “ I had a baby last summer” and before I can get out anymore of my sentences, the other person responds with “congratulations!” And then you feel like a jerk for having to say “but…” and explain the rest. It’s wretched. And then I catch myself managing the other persons emotions (which I’m not responsible to do) as they try to reel back in their words.

That’s exhausting. Grief is exhausting. Social math of when and where and who you share with is exhausting. Give yourself grace if you’ve experienced deep hurt and you just can’t _____ some days (you fill in the blank). A wise person once told me, in grief the only thing that isn’t optional is breathing and I’ve held onto that for a while now. 

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