Self Portrait

I was inspired by some of the photographers I admire to pursue the art of the self portrait this week. I feel like there are new developments in the person I am, and I feel like the only thing to do is capture it. Creating this portrait then inspired me to write, something I have felt less than inclined to do in the past year. Somehow, this photograph helped me decide to share.

Ryan and I have not been vocal about the pursuit of living children since Mason died. The reason for this is because I decided I was finished being pregnant then. For about a year, we were sure that I never wanted to be pregnant again and our family would thereon out be grown with adoption. 

However, an epiphany came to me in March of last year. I felt peace wash over me and a message that praying and believing that I could carry a living child was allowed. So, we began praying and believing. 

I chose not to share this then because I always carry this pressure that outsiders would think that a living child would "fix" our grief, that a living child is all we sought. We don't need that kind of projection on our choices, nor judgment for trying to conceive. The testimony I want to have all of my life is that our babies aren't the end goal- Jesus is. Even in deep pain, we still have a Good Father. I've wanted to continue to show that life can be abundant even without living children. Because it can and will. 

At risk of oversharing, I was extremely fertile when our babies were conceived. Every time, on the first cycle. We were extremely cautious after Mason. So, we believed that since Ryan came back in September, I'd be six months pregnant by now. A friend joked that at the homecoming she wanted to jump in front of me and intercept my fertility, given my history he'd look me in the eyes and it would be over. It made me hopeful and a bit cocky.

But here we are, six months and some very strange cycles later. I saw my doctor this week, with a late end of cycle and 4 negative tests. A blood test confirmed negative, but he is pretty confident that I'm not ovulating for whatever reason. I will wait to begin the next cycle and try Letrozole.

On the grand scale of infertility, I know this is not comparable. I know it is six months (two of which were kind of expected) and not six years. I hope my friends struggling so long with infertility know that I am aware that this is short, fixable, and merely a toe-dip in your world. 

But I am wrecked. I feel broken where I once was sure my body did its "job". As a woman, I feel foreign to myself and angry. I'm shocked at best. Ryan is away for perhaps another month, and the loneliness (even though I've been surrounded by sweet friends) is real. I can't truly explain exactly how I feel with words, and so that's where my self portrait came in. 

I wanted something to do with my hands, and the only obvious thing was the piece of needlework. I chose colors for a baby blanket in August and started on it the very day Ryan came home. It was a tangible thing to represent our belief and hope- this is being made intentionally. It will be used for the next baby in our home. 

I still believe that, but I don't know when or how. I never did. Another friend mentioned to me this week that after loss we still have this false sense of control, and it's true. I thought I even had control over when another child would be placed in our arms. 

That's why I chose this shot. There are a few obvious technical mistakes and I still love it. I felt everything was controlled when I sat down but you can see the yarn coming unraveled by the chair and my eyes followed a car driving past the house as I tried to gather it all back together. I lost focus on what was happening, and created a true-to-me self portrait. I feel alien from the moment this week, navigating through this new unraveling in my heart. 

That is where we are. Where I am. I choose transparency again, in hopes of framing how we'd like to be reacted to in this part of our journey. Please don't offer any self cures or suggest what route you believe should be taken. We do have plans for adoption, but that would require some stability for our family- at least knowing we'd be in the same state for longer than 6 months. We eat healthy enough. I track my body well. I use oils and no unsafe medications. We don't want a surrogate. We aren't sharing to seek the counsel and solutions we know many others may have, we are seeking support and prayer in the wait. Please, don't be dismissive.

As always, we are still so thankful. While this week has revealed some new layers of grief, we know that we are loved. I also know that recently I may have been defensive at kind comments that imply you're praying for our family to grow, and for that I apologize. It's truly appreciated. We have, however, come to pray with a "yes and amen." We know that our plans don't always match His ways and so we seek both- a living child and the peace to live with a "not right now." 

9 Lessons from 9 Months of Deployment

Ryan came home over a month ago from a tour in Afghanistan and Iraq... and life has been a whirlwind of plans coming together ever since. Between traveling to SC to work on our house and list it for sale and coming home to a gnarly sinus infection, draining is the best way to describe his leave. Even though it has been a busy month, I've been trying to soak in just being together again.

Today he went back to work so I sat alone with my coffee this morning, folding towels and really allowing myself to decompress from the past year and start to understand the deployment.
By "understand", I just mean process and see its role in our relationship. I know there will be more interrupted years of deployment so it's important to me that I allow it to mold itself into our life together- an integral part of military family life is distance. That will never change so if I'm unable to get comfortable with it, it'll just be a nuisance and nothing to learn from. I'm always looking for a lesson.

Many of the things I learned, I had to keep re-learning. Every time I would reach the realization or epiphany, I would kick myself because "I already knew this". So deployment required me to give a lot of grace to myself. I think that should be the overarching theme of any deployment for any situation over any amount of time for any person at all: give yourself all the grace, and others too. Chances are you'll bump into more people that just don't understand than people that do.



I think what I'm taking away from this 9 months is much different from what my husband is taking away. Much different from what my friends or their husbands are taking away. Because it really is such a unique experience for each person. So if you're reading this going into a deployment... please don't see it as absolute advice or guidelines. Rather, just know that your experience will present its own challenges, rewards, and lessons.

Speaking to my own experience:

1. Heart goals are as important as physical goals. I started out with a plan to lose 50 lbs by the time Ryan came home. While I did lose a little weight and improve my health, I did not shed 50 lbs. Instead, I felt a calling to become a birth and bereavement doula. I spent more time and energy chasing that goal than I did losing weight. And in the midst of it, I was really hard on myself. Because while others can maybe do both, I just had to rest my heart and body when I could. Bereavement is a heavy, deep practice and self care in the form of rest became a priority for me over the deployment. When I received my credential, I felt so much relief over that struggle: I did set a goal that I achieved. I answered what I know to be a clear call from the Lord and so much pride washed over me. I became happy with my heart- which is just as important as being happy with my body. So, both!

2. "Stay busy!" can be the worst advice anyone can give a military spouse. CAN be. I know this sentiment is well-meaning. It is intended to help us not focus on the time passing or the what-ifs! For me, I know how to keep my hands busy. I also know how to really avoid looking in the mirror or showering for 4 days because there's no time between all the running I've been doing. I think social media feeds a "need" to always look like you're doing something cool. While I used to be all about literally doing something at all times, that type of busy-ness really feeds my anxiety. Ignoring that blurb about my own self, I constantly sought schedule fulfillment for much of the deployment, actually. It got to the point that I felt so distant from my friends sitting right next to them- because my brain was already in the next thing I needed to do. I learned about myself that I am now more physically introverted and time alone is a need I have, so that I can really be present for life. Next time, I will work harder to find a balance between over-scheduling my life and keeping my mind occupied.


3. Independence can be a learned trait. I don't believe I have always been a definite independent woman. I appreciate the ways I am able to depend on others, specifically Ryan, pretty much every day. When every part of life at home was on my shoulders all of a sudden, it seemed overwhelming. So I just bit off a little at a time. And soon I was managing all of the responsibilities that living alone can incur. I'm really proud of the independence I achieved when it's not my natural inclination to handle all things.

4. Accepting help is important to the process. In the same way that independence did not come naturally, asking for and accepting help once I found my independence did not come naturally either. I'm so thankful for neighbors and friends that don't take "no" for an answer. It's absolutely impossible to do everything on your own. Something will certainly break or go wrong. I had to learn that it's not only okay but sometimes the best idea to accept a hand when it's lent.

5. It IS hard "without" kids. Nobody ever said it wasn't hard without kids, but one time (ahem, the re-integration training) it was implied. I walked in when introductions were happening: say your name, how many deployments you've endured, and how many kids you have. I sat praying to not have to take a turn and get the pity looks when I claim my babies, until a young girl introduced herself and explained this was the first deployment and they had no children yet. The facilitator said "Oh, that's okay. It can be hard without kids too." And that really bothered me, so much that I was wishing I'd had the chance to chime in after all. The reality is it was extremely hard for me to live in my home alone without my husband. Deployment is hard for everyone, kids or not. Ours aren't in the home and personally, that was an added stress and sadness in my day to day. I also can't count the number of times it was actually said to me directly, "At least the kids aren't here to have to deal with too".... Ya'll. All I wanted all deployment was for my sweet babies to be here asking for Daddy to call or to be able tuck them in with his shirt. Standing in the hangar as our soldiers walked in, I was overwhelmed with a mix of joy and sadness that our children weren't there to welcome him home. Every experience for the rest of our lives, there will be three missing. That does NOT make any load lighter to bear. Aside from that, I know that those who are childless by choice do not think they had it any easier than those with children in the home. It's not a contest.

6. Stress affects the immune system very deeply. It took a good four months for me to really get a grip on deployment. Its a wonder why for the months between December and May I was quite literally ALWAYS SICK. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. My luck even landed me with walking pneumonia and food poisoning between sinus infections. I credit much of the time I spent sick to my addiction to busy-ness and some of it to unavoidable stress that comes with my husband working in a war zone. I feel that kind of stress is unavoidable, but recognizing it and managing it with self care and vitamins (go ahead, get the ~essential oils~ out too) is crucial to my health.

7. Embrace Self-Compassion. This part is absolute advice for everyone. I was so hard on myself so many times when I thought I shouldn't feel or think a certain way. When I had a pity party, it got worse because I would punish myself for feeling bad. The truth is while feelings are not logical, our thoughts can be. Logically, any military spouse enduring deployment can see that a lot is on their own shoulders. We have to learn to be gentle with ourselves and allow a bad day or two or three or seven. Self compassion helped me learn from my mistakes. It also helped me be more optimistic as well as gracious with others when they make mistakes. Military families are resilient- and resiliency comes from embracing compassion and understanding of ourselves.



8. You're not a bad wife if you turn the news off. About two weeks before Ryan left for Bagram, Bagram was bombed. In all our preparing for the deployment, I had not prepared my mind for the realities of war. Suddenly they were all at the forefront of my thoughts and I could not control the fear that crept in. This really affected our relationship in the days before deployment and in the first few months. I caught myself glued to every media outlet that mentioned the Middle East, believing that I am not a well-informed citizen, then I must not care about what is happening there. When our friends lost member of their flight school family to a fatal crash stateside, the fears began spiraling out of control. Bad news almost every day, all around the world- even home. It was a normal occurrence that if I hadn't heard from Ryan in over 24 hours I would fully expect to arrive home to a government vehicle in my driveway waiting on me. I understood how often this unhealthy thinking occurred when I did it at my Momma's while I was visiting home. As I was walking out the door to spend the night in a different town, I let her know that in the event I could not be contacted or found she would be called or visited. She looked at me in horror that I had planned out and expected any minute that I would be receiving a casualty notification for her son in law at any given moment. It had only been 42 hours since I'd heard from him that time. I realized I needed to change something or I was doomed to catastrophize for the remainder of our deployment and every deployment after.
So I turned the news off.
And it didn't magically absolve my fear, but it did stop feeding it. I finally knew how to control that aspect of my anxiety and I could sleep better at night. Its absolutely alright to turn the news off. I honestly haven't turned it back on. I have a much better handle of reality and goodness in the world when I'm not watching it.

9. I can do hard things. I knew this. I'm a resilient person. I'm a brave woman. I live as a bereaved mother. But this was different and I'm still not sure I can explain how difficult it was. Either way, it got done and it feels like a huge achievement for myself and for our marriage. I wrote, I studied, I photographed, I spent time with the Lord, I loved on my friends. I lived each day with some type of intention (a fun memory is my daily photo project).
Roughly adjusting back to a two-person home is a blessing not lost upon me. That's not to say that reintegration hasn't presented its own challenges and lessons. But I'm so thankful I get to do hard things with him home now rather than 8,000 miles away. I'm thankful he is safe and his mind is sound. I'm thankful I get to do more hard things down the road, always as Mrs. Coker.

The Love of a Quietly Grieving Man

I am convinced that I am a magnet for rude comments.

If there is someone who will say the wrong thing, I will meet them.


She was thinning out my hair about a month ago- ripping some final remnants of the Eden hormones from my head. She was telling me what a mane it was, asking why I let it get so thick and unmanageable. She was abusing my confidence, assuming self care is nothing to me. She said there was no wonder I kept having headaches. My hair was ridiculous. It went on and on for about ten minutes, through the wash, the initial trim, and into the middle of shearing my scalp.

"It's usually not like this," I said. "I mean, it has always been pretty thick, but this is mostly the accumulation from all my prenatals."

"Well, no excuses missy. You have to take care of this stuff. How old is your youngest?"

Finally, ready to snap, I carefully said, "She's just a few minutes old forever. She's in Heaven. If you're asking how long its been since I've taken the vitamins, its been almost two months."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

A few moments of peace and quiet... then, backtracking.

"Was she your first?" Yes.
"Did you name her?" Eden.
"Do you have a picture?" Here.

"That is sad. But on the bright side...."
Oh God.
"On the bright side, you and your husband now have a little more time to just enjoy each other without kids getting in the way."

"I mean, I guess?"

"Yeah! You're young! Have fun! When your first kid comes, a man just turns into another child. You'll have your hands too full. Enjoy him as a man before you have to become his mom."

And all the other women's faces in the hair salon wore shocked brows and gaped mouths. I saw them in the mirror as my face turned deep red and I looked down to hide the tears spilling from my eyes.

"Well, I don't think so. I know my husband will be more than eager to help me parent our children. He was eager to be a daddy to her."

"You'll see. But who knows, maybe he'll be a good father one day All men are different right? Okay! All done. Feel better?"
No. Get me out of here.


I am a magnet.



-She was right about our age. We are young. We do have time to build our family. But we already started. This isn't a blessing in disguise- Eden was a very wanted baby: waited for, planned for, and prayed for. We are young, but we decided together that we were ready to be parents.

-When our next child comes, it will not be called our first child! We already have one! This time now is not "before we have children". That time was over a year ago. This time is the time between our first daughter that died and her siblings.

-"Maybe he'll be a good father one day."
Ryan will not be a good father one day. Ryan is an excellent father now. Just like me, he loves his daughter and dreams of her and talks about her and talks to her and misses her.

I wish I had told her what its really like in my house- I wish I'd told her what it's like to be a grieving mother living in close proximity with a grieving father.

I wish I had told her that I'm not worried about ever having to take care of Ryan.

I'll gladly pick up after him while I'm picking up after our babies. Because most days lately he has to pick up after me. The wife that used to wash, dry, fold, and put away all the laundry in one day now leaves a load in the washer that he restarts...then restarts again the next day after I tell him to leave it alone, I'll take care of it.

I can handle a man that acts like a child, because with that thought I picture him in the floor wrestling our kiddos, making them laugh the way he still works so tirelessly to make me laugh on days that I've done nothing but cry.

I will smile on the days when I've packed his lunch along with the lunches of our babes, remembering that in this season there are some days he goes without lunch at all because I haven't cooked all week to send leftovers and theres not time for him to grab take-out.

When he sleeps in on weekends and I am up early with the cartoons, I will remember now, when he is coming home half the days in a week to find I have not moved from the couch, the dogs have not been fed, and the blinds are still drawn.

I am not afraid of taking care of Ryan, I owe him for taking care of me. We get to take turns caring for one another. That's my observation in this season. We will just alternate picking each other up, though I haven't quite mastered the part where I pick him up and its been more of his responsibility than mine.
I don't anticipate having a man-child that cannot care for himself because that's not anything like this man I'm married to, but in the event I do for a while... well thats ok because he has been caring for this woman-child when I couldn't care for myself. Thats what marriage is: taking turns.
It's tough to describe what else our marriage is right now. I can say that his love is a few things.

It's knowing not to mention my new gray hairs when I start picking on his.

It's noticing that my brain is mush when I tell him to take the trash out since the truck will come tomorrow even though he knows it won't come for another three days, smiling, nodding, and taking the trash and recycling bins to the road anyway.

It's looking at me when the mixed company starts talking about parenting struggles and our eyes doing the communication: "you ready?"... "let's go."

It's embarrassing himself at any cost to make me smile and feeling like a king when I've laughed.

It's patiently waiting for me to get done telling him that I don't know why he isn't breaking down the way I am.

It's reminding me that we are both feeling the same pain but reacting to it in different ways.

It's approaching each subject carefully, but being adamant that there is no tip-toeing around each other- it's encouraging me to be gentle but real.

It's getting up in the morning with a heart as broken as mine and going to work and dealing with the world and coming home to screen the mail and changing the channel when a Pampers commercial comes on and making sure I really want to see the Pixar movies in public and giving me space when I need it but never leaving me alone.

It's tears and it's smiles and it's happy and it's sad and it's wild and it's mundane and it's neat and it's messy.

My husband has never been one for showing himself. He celebrates quietly, he mourns even more quietly. It is so difficult for me to accept that his grief isn't loud like mine. It doesn't scream. You can read it all over his face and see it in his eyes, but it doesn't often come out of his mouth. I have had a really hard time being ok with this:

"Are you not sad?"

I always think that I have to remind him that we have a dead baby. I don't have to remind him. He knows it every second of every day the same way I know it. He is living it in the same time I live it.
He never asks me to stop being so vocal and visible about my brokenness, so I don't know why I keep asking him to make a display about his.
Perhaps the way I can take care of him right now is to allow him to act however he needs to act without the demands of "normal behavior for the grieving", without the demands that he meets my grief criteria. Perhaps I can take care of him by giving him the grace he continuously puts into me: "It's okay. How you are feeling and how you are acting and what you are thinking.. it's all okay."

In the months following the birth and death of our child, I realize why the divorce rate among bereaved parents is so high. It's hard for two people hurting so badly to do life together so closely and not say things that just hurt each other more. Had we not had a semi-developed relationship before this, had we not worked steadily and intently on communication and patience before I got pregnant, we may not have walked in on this new normal with much of a chance.

But now when more children come, we will be husband and wife that have walked through the Refiner's Fire and we will be mother and father united to parent all of our babies. I will not ever become my husband's mom. I'm his wife and the luckiest one there ever was to be taken care of by him and to take care of him the way that spouses do.

My prayer is that I can learn to accept the love of this man in his quiet grief and not try to change how he acts. My prayer is that I will stop assuming he is not hurting and start realizing he handles his hurt in different ways from me. My prayer is that we both keep reminding each other that our daughter's life taught us more about our love than her death can tear us apart. And my prayer is also that strangers stop saying stupid things to us.