Originally published at Still Standing Magazine
(A phenomenal resource for those who have experienced or are looking to support someone who has experienced pregnancy and/or infant loss. Your story matters. Do you want to share it? You can write for Still Standing Magazine here.)

You keep telling me how brave I am.
I know you don’t know what else to say to a loss parent.
Sometimes I believe you.
Sometimes I do feel brave.
Sometimes you’re right.

You keep telling me how brave I am.

I think I am too.
I think it’s brave that I left the house today.
That I showed up to a baby shower after sobbing in the car.
That I return to work every day even though I work with kids.
That I messaged you and answered a call from a friend today.

I think it’s brave that I checked the mail even though I know the hospital bills and the baby-related coupons are still flooding the box.

That I didn’t leave Target today when there were multiple babies crying and my surroundings started spinning.

That I logged onto Facebook knowing that the first thing I’d likely see was another announcement or a picture of your living children.

I feel brave when I can do that.

You keep telling me how brave I am.

There are so many things that I can’t always do.
So when I can,
When I can face you,
When I attend a social gathering,

When I don’t walk completely around the store just to avoid the baby section, then I believe you.

I feel brave when I can do that.

You keep telling me how brave I am.

But sometimes…
Sometimes it feels insulting.

When I post pictures of my daughter,
When I wish her a happy birthday,
And my husband a Happy Father’s Day.
When I talk about my daughter,
When I say her name.

You think it’s so brave when I talk about the memories I have of her and my pregnancy.

You keep telling me how brave I am.

But here’s the thing,
A lot of the times when you say this,
It feels like a blow.

What if I told you how brave you were?
On your child’s birthday,
When you post a picture of the day your kid was born,
When you share memories of your children,
When you hang their stocking on the mantle.
Or save your favorite outfits of theirs.

Do you feel brave when you do that?

Or do you… feel like a parent?

You keep telling me how brave I am.

Sometimes I believe you.
Sometimes I feel brave.
Sometimes you’re right.

You keep telling me how brave I am.

But when I’m talking about my daughter,
Honoring her,
Telling you about her,
Sharing pictures of her with the world,

When I do this,
I don’t believe you.
I don’t feel brave.

I feel like a parent.