They say “life only gives you what you can handle”, but I’m starting to think the powers that be may have misjudged my threshold for pain and suffering. I recently had a miscarriage at 11 weeks pregnant, and for those that have not experienced miscarriage, it’s hard to articulate this specific type of mourning. I didn’t have a baby bump, I hadn’t bought any maternity clothes or started decorating a nursery. But, I held my breath and saw a heartbeat during many ultrasounds. I had 11 weeks of time to make the impact of this loss a heavy one to carry. 11 weeks is pregnant enough to start making plans for the future. 11 weeks is pregnant enough to start thinking about where the crib might go. 11 weeks is pregnant enough to feel the absence of what might have been. 11 weeks is…pregnant. And then suddenly, you’re just…not.
The purpose of this post isn’t to rehash the specific physical details of my personal experience. I like to be open, but I don’t see much use in sharing that part of this story. But, suffice it to say, the process of losing this pregnancy has been painful and extremely traumatic physically, mentally and emotionally. Over the last few years, my mind, body and spirit have been through so much unexpected heavy trauma, adding this to the list has been a lot to deal with. I have felt a deep well of sadness during this season. I’m just giving myself time to grieve and work it all out without the pressure of feeling like I need to figure it out quickly. I’m working through things day by day and taking stock of how I feel along the away.
This entire experience has felt like a strange dream where everything happens so quickly and you have no control. One day, I noticed some mild spotting (and I called my doctor immediately, which goes without saying is always the correct response) and then over time the bleeding became worse and I knew it was the end. A visit to my doctor confirmed the loss. It felt impossible and surreal; suddenly we were staring at an ultrasound of my empty womb where a baby with a strong heartbeat had been just a week before. How could this be? We left the appointment tearful and completely devastated. I felt like a zombie, both completely numb and totally overwhelmed with emotion at the same time. I just couldn’t make sense of it.
As a woman, you feel the immediate weight of guilt and responsibility, despite what logic tells us. Of course I know there’s nothing I did to cause this and there’s no way I could have prevented it. I also know I’m not the only woman this has ever happened to. I understand miscarriages are extremely common, despite being something most people don’t talk about. In fact, part of me was preparing for an outcome like this because of how conditioned I’ve become to bracing myself for bad news. It’s a defense mechanism to protect myself when things don’t work out the way I’d hoped, but it doesn’t actually make it any easier to face a tough break. And of course, all expectant mothers experience some amount of anxiety and nerves. Every appointment you hold your breath a little until they find the heartbeat. We’re always carrying around that fear that something could have gone wrong from one appointment to the next, always checking in with our bodies, counting kicks, just waiting for the day they finally arrive, safe and sound. I felt that way as a first-time Mom with my son and all the familiar feelings came rushing back this time around. You hope for the best, and sometimes it just doesn’t work out…
I struggled a lot with whether to share this at all. I felt like curling in a ball and never talking to anyone again, and also screaming “I had a miscarriage!!” at every single person I saw on the street. It’s been a very confusing time to be me. Ultimately, what made the decision easier was knowing that women in this situation feel so alone in their pain (I did) and even though it’s deeply personal, I think sharing what happened to me could make someone else feel a little less alone. There is such a stigma around talking about miscarriage. Yes, because it’s sad, but also because it tends to happen early in a pregnancy, before most people have told anyone outside of their inner circle. That means the grieving happens privately, without the support that is so critical to healing. And even though there may be a desire to talk about it, it feels strange to announce a pregnancy by announcing that it ended.
For me, I have been surrounded by good friends who have also experienced their own loss firsthand and being able to talk about my feelings openly and honestly with them has helped me to process what I’ve been through. Sometimes, it feels better to know we are not alone in our grief and that there is a network we can tap into while we figure out how to heal. I’ve also had a lot of love and support from my family and of course, my husband, who is also grieving. It goes without saying, but this was heartbreaking for both us in, even though we experienced it in different ways. Regardless, we’re both hopeful for what is to come for our family in the future.
Here’s what I’ve found helpful during this time:
Accepting help from friends and family - My best friend offered to watch Charley, which was a HUGE help, and my Mom was able to fly in last minute. Ask for help, or say yes when it’s offered.
Take time off work - I love what I do, and during treatment it was an escape from the cancer world, but I needed to take a break from work to focus on my healing physically and mentally. That meant opening up to co-workers, but ultimately, it was what I needed.
Talk about it - This will probably come as a surprise to no one, but talking helps. A lot.
Adele - This one might be tough to swing, but if you can pull some strings and have Adele release new music during this time, that would be ideal. Easy On Me came out just in time for me to sob uncontrollably whenever it played, which worked out really well for me.
Sharing this feels like a big deal, but I also know that writing has always been my way of processing big feelings and something I find helps me move forward. Sweeping this under the rug and acting like it never happened, while tempting, would not serve me well in the long run. So, I’m dealing with it head on and every day I get closer to feeling like Me again. I’ll carry this loss with me forever, but little by little, it might get easier to hold.