What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish

It’s pretty ironic that I’ve started re-writing this piece several times now because I don’t know how to share with you how I’m feeling. I think the main reason is I don’t want to share this experience any further some days. It’s painful and exhausting, not to mention I don’t want to have another mom or person going through grief to read this and think I somehow have it all figured out. Quite frankly- I have no idea what I’m doing. At the same time too, I don’t want to invoke anymore pity for myself; that’s been one of the most uncomfortable parts about sharing. If I’m going to share though, I do want to be as authentic as possible. Really.. this list could go back and forth, and on and on. I have chosen to try and finish the playlist I have on my phone. First, to honor William and his life and the impact he left on me and others who love him. Second, I want to keep sharing for the other grievers to know they may feel alone on their personal journey, but there are a lot of us out in these woods. We can be here together even if we’re on different paths. Sometimes they do cross and it’s extremely comforting (at least for me.) So, dive into another song with me.

This artist, Billie Eilish (and her brother Finneas) have written some of my favorite songs. Five years ago, I went to their show at a small venue in Minneapolis by myself shortly after a terrible breakup, before I started dating Alex. I was so excited to check “go to a concert by yourself” off my bucket list, and it being Billie Eilish made it an easy choice for me. Some of my most vulnerable moments were (and since have been) triggered while listening to her music. This song is absolutely the one that means the most to me now though.

“I used to float, now I just fall down. I used to know, but I’m not sure now, what I was made for. What was I made for?” Those are the lyrics the song starts with, after a soft, melodic run coming from Billie. I have had many times in my life where I’ve felt the weight of depression. I have struggled with depressive and manic episodes with Bipolar I and I have survived them all up to this point, but some were a little touch and go for a bit. After William died, I expected to have a downswing… really everyone expected it from me. That’s not something I say flippantly either- there are people who have seen me come out of a suicide attempt when I was 20 years old, and although the last ten and a half years have been full of therapy and self care, there was still a worry or expectation that watching my son die would push me in that direction and I think that’s understandable. It definitely did push me toward that space. In the several weeks after saying goodbye to him, I intentionally and proudly utilized the skills I had pretty much perfected since that attempt in 2013. I really did keep myself (with a lot of help from my close circle) from staying in it for more than a week at a time. I was starting to feel like I was getting back to feeling more stable for longer periods of time, especially after there was another baby on the way.

When I found out I miscarried though, it was like I was pushed off that edge I was balancing on. The three and a half week stretch in between finding out about the miscarriage and Christmas was… dark in my brain. I continued to talk to Alex, my mom and other close friend and family, our couples therapist, along with my individual therapist, but my mind felt just like this song. I was having moments of existential crisis in the car on my way to work. I was crying as soon as I woke up because I genuinely felt like I couldn’t get out of bed. My body was sore, I was getting headaches, my thoughts all revolved around how to make it better. “How do I get out of this damn hole, even for a moment?”

Alex and I watched The Barbie Movie in that time period and it was exactly what I needed. This song was exactly what I needed to realize that maybe I didn’t need to get out of that “damn hole.” Maybe I needed to cry and scream and learn “how to feel” again. I don’t want to ruin the movie with any spoilers if anyone reading this hasn’t watched it, but the feeling I got at the end of that movie and the feeling I get listening to this song is one of very quiet and gentle hope. “‘Cause I… I… I don’t know how to feel, but I want to try. I don’t know how to feel, but someday I might.”

The grief I have felt from William living, watching him suffer, and watching him die has rearranged everything for me. In my career, my body, my relationships, my mind… it’s all different now. Then, when our second pregnancy ended in me having a D&C procedure, I was forced to stop trying to navigate it all and just survive. I didn’t have a choice whether or not I put on a brave, optimistic face when I left the house. Now though, there is a sense of hope like it’s said in this song… “Think I forgot how to be happy. Something I’m not, but something I can be. Something I wait for.”

As generalized as this sounds, sometimes things in life take us down, and while it’s our instinct to try and fix it or make it better or move forward, maybe that’s not what he need to do to live through it. I keep seeing William lying in his hospital bed sleeping. I will never forget how much I loved seeing his eyes open, but I’ll also never forget how proud of him I was when he stopped fighting the sedation and just rested. That was what he needed- to just sleep; just rest; just survive. Maybe sometimes it’s not about thriving, maybe sometimes we just need to recognize that we “don’t know how to feel,” and that “someday [we] might” know how to move forward. That quiet, gentle hope I mentioned. And maybe we just need to find that pride I felt for William for resting, in our own lives.