About 7 months ago I wrote a blog about my pregnancy loss, and shared it on Facebook. I felt (and mostly still feel) intensely private about the whole thing, but I feel miscarriage is too much of an unspoken thing and I wanted to not contribute to other women feeling silenced about theirs.
But there was another really important reason for sharing my experience, and it was very humbling.
I didn't want to believe that I was someone who needed attention and validation, but I am, and after some reflection, I also wanted to share that part of myself.
And that's because I think we all need love, and we all need love the most when we are hurting.
I posted that blog, and comments started pouring in from people, friends and acquaintances. They rolled in fast for most of a day. I went to a show with Zach that night, and I remember feeling like I could breathe in a way I hadn't in 2 months.
After that day, the body aches stopped. The crying in my car and the shower stopped. The missing of my lost little one won't stop ever. Even another pregnancy can't heal that.
But I'm not exaggerating when I say that my choice to open up, and the ensuing soothing and comforting sentiments from friends (both via facebook as well as those who reached out more privately) helped restore my basic ability to function.
Thank you, friends, for loving me. It literally made all the difference for me.
Thursday, September 6, 2018
Thursday, February 15, 2018
The aftermath of a miscarriage
On December 6th, 2017, I took a day off of work. We decided to go see some sights, and take Zoey to a mall up in Kelso, WA to sit on Santa's lap for a picture. She was in a great mood, and happily sat on the Big Guy's lap. We went to a local coffee shop and did some shopping. We got Zoey a book about being a big sister--we were so excited, it was only 2 and a half weeks until we could feel safe in telling people about the new surprise.
On December 7th, I had a little spotting. I felt a little scared but I knew of several women who'd spotted throughout their first trimester, no problems. I called my OB's office, but the dating ultrasound was already planned for the next day and they weren't going to get me in any sooner anyhow. Plus, I wasn't cramping so they weren't too worried.
On December 8th, we went in for the ultrasound. I could tell pretty quickly that the technician wasn't seeing what she needed to. She shared that there was a gestational sac, and she was maybe seeing something that looked like a crown to rump measuring about 6 weeks, but maybe we were just not as far along as we thought, but I knew that was wrong. That day I guessed we should have been about 10 weeks along.
Our little one passed from me on December 9th, and my heart hasn't quite been the same since.
Right after, when I told people, I told them I was "ok." That wasn't a lie, but I guess I also really need a more in-depth definition of ok. I'm not quitting anything--my job, my family, my life. So it's more like "I'm ok, but..."
I'm ok, but I'm also good in a crisis. This was easier for the first 2 weeks after it happened, and then it got harder.
I'm ok, but I haven't been able to concentrate as well at work, or get as much stuff done. I feel like I've let a lot of people down.
I'm ok, but my battery drains so much quicker. Some days, the grief is physical and it hurts to move by the time I get home (not in a metaphorical sense--my muscles are screaming at me).
I'm ok, but I actually really hate feeling sad and not being upbeat. So I try to ignore it, and I can for a few days, but then it spills out sideways and any time I get truly alone I start crying involuntarily.
I'm ok, but I keep trying this ineffective tactic of telling myself about all the people who have it so much worse. I keep telling myself at least I have a healthy little girl to distract me, and while that's true, if that's your only trick, you wind up inadvertently telling yourself that your pain isn't real, so it doubles down on itself to show you just how real it is. Because at the end of the day, even if one friend had 3 miscarriages and I've only had one, or another friend's first pregnancy was a miscarriage and she didn't have a baby to snuggle with to comfort herself, or another friend is still waiting for any positive pregnancy test, that doesn't mean that my pain isn't also real. But in reality, I'm still working on that one.
I started seeing my own therapist, and she is great. She's warm, and empathetic, and I think most importantly, it's 45 minutes that can be all about me, and I literally pay her to sit and nicely listen to my emotions--so I don't have to feel bad about being a burden on someone else because it's literally her job. Should I be taking this to my husband or my mom and dad or my close friends because they're awesome and want to support me? I don't know, maybe? I can't tell you why it's hard to do that but it is. I am, actually, ok, and I don't want to make anyone worried about me. Also, it's uncomfortable for me to cry in front of people. Like, any people.
The real truth is, for 4 weeks, I had a live human inside me and I love him so dearly and desperately. (Before I even got a positive pregnancy test, I was sure he was a him. Zach feels less sure and that's ok with me. I don't have any evidence that he was ACTUALLY a he, and if I get to heaven and he's actually a she, that's ok with me.) I don't regret a second with him, I just wish we had more time. I will love him for the rest of my life and always wish he could be with me. I've been offered the image, in a way that's meant to be comforting, that now he is praying for me. I don't know, that just makes me angry. Not at anyone who is attempting to be loving and comforting. Maybe angry at God? I'm not sure. That's my baby and he's not supposed to take care of me--I'm supposed to take care of him and was robbed of the opportunity.
Anyway, if I don't want to cry with you, why am I sharing this? (I do truly appreciate all the love I've been shown surrounding this, but it really is hard for me to be emotional with people in person.) For two reasons. One, because my little baby is very real to me even though I never got to hold him or show him off, and I feel he deserves to be known about. Second is that so many women go through miscarriages and it's just not spoken about very often. It's not something to be ashamed about. In my not-online life, I haven't really shied away from saying what happened, so it's not a secret, but most of the time I do have a pretty good game face, and I don't want women who are struggling with this same thing to think that they have to be brave and strong. Because even though I'm feeling better now that I started talking to a therapist, because even though I'm ok, I'm not all the way ok. I'm not functioning like I was pre-miscarriage, and you don't have to either.
And if you've been though this and want to talk, I am all ears. It's hard, and I know what it's like now to feel messy inside. So if you need someone to feel messy inside with, I'm your gal.
I love Pink's music and I found this song, and it's everything I'm feeling: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFYm9LKsuUo
On December 7th, I had a little spotting. I felt a little scared but I knew of several women who'd spotted throughout their first trimester, no problems. I called my OB's office, but the dating ultrasound was already planned for the next day and they weren't going to get me in any sooner anyhow. Plus, I wasn't cramping so they weren't too worried.
On December 8th, we went in for the ultrasound. I could tell pretty quickly that the technician wasn't seeing what she needed to. She shared that there was a gestational sac, and she was maybe seeing something that looked like a crown to rump measuring about 6 weeks, but maybe we were just not as far along as we thought, but I knew that was wrong. That day I guessed we should have been about 10 weeks along.
Our little one passed from me on December 9th, and my heart hasn't quite been the same since.
Right after, when I told people, I told them I was "ok." That wasn't a lie, but I guess I also really need a more in-depth definition of ok. I'm not quitting anything--my job, my family, my life. So it's more like "I'm ok, but..."
I'm ok, but I'm also good in a crisis. This was easier for the first 2 weeks after it happened, and then it got harder.
I'm ok, but I haven't been able to concentrate as well at work, or get as much stuff done. I feel like I've let a lot of people down.
I'm ok, but my battery drains so much quicker. Some days, the grief is physical and it hurts to move by the time I get home (not in a metaphorical sense--my muscles are screaming at me).
I'm ok, but I actually really hate feeling sad and not being upbeat. So I try to ignore it, and I can for a few days, but then it spills out sideways and any time I get truly alone I start crying involuntarily.
I'm ok, but I keep trying this ineffective tactic of telling myself about all the people who have it so much worse. I keep telling myself at least I have a healthy little girl to distract me, and while that's true, if that's your only trick, you wind up inadvertently telling yourself that your pain isn't real, so it doubles down on itself to show you just how real it is. Because at the end of the day, even if one friend had 3 miscarriages and I've only had one, or another friend's first pregnancy was a miscarriage and she didn't have a baby to snuggle with to comfort herself, or another friend is still waiting for any positive pregnancy test, that doesn't mean that my pain isn't also real. But in reality, I'm still working on that one.
I started seeing my own therapist, and she is great. She's warm, and empathetic, and I think most importantly, it's 45 minutes that can be all about me, and I literally pay her to sit and nicely listen to my emotions--so I don't have to feel bad about being a burden on someone else because it's literally her job. Should I be taking this to my husband or my mom and dad or my close friends because they're awesome and want to support me? I don't know, maybe? I can't tell you why it's hard to do that but it is. I am, actually, ok, and I don't want to make anyone worried about me. Also, it's uncomfortable for me to cry in front of people. Like, any people.
The real truth is, for 4 weeks, I had a live human inside me and I love him so dearly and desperately. (Before I even got a positive pregnancy test, I was sure he was a him. Zach feels less sure and that's ok with me. I don't have any evidence that he was ACTUALLY a he, and if I get to heaven and he's actually a she, that's ok with me.) I don't regret a second with him, I just wish we had more time. I will love him for the rest of my life and always wish he could be with me. I've been offered the image, in a way that's meant to be comforting, that now he is praying for me. I don't know, that just makes me angry. Not at anyone who is attempting to be loving and comforting. Maybe angry at God? I'm not sure. That's my baby and he's not supposed to take care of me--I'm supposed to take care of him and was robbed of the opportunity.
Anyway, if I don't want to cry with you, why am I sharing this? (I do truly appreciate all the love I've been shown surrounding this, but it really is hard for me to be emotional with people in person.) For two reasons. One, because my little baby is very real to me even though I never got to hold him or show him off, and I feel he deserves to be known about. Second is that so many women go through miscarriages and it's just not spoken about very often. It's not something to be ashamed about. In my not-online life, I haven't really shied away from saying what happened, so it's not a secret, but most of the time I do have a pretty good game face, and I don't want women who are struggling with this same thing to think that they have to be brave and strong. Because even though I'm feeling better now that I started talking to a therapist, because even though I'm ok, I'm not all the way ok. I'm not functioning like I was pre-miscarriage, and you don't have to either.
And if you've been though this and want to talk, I am all ears. It's hard, and I know what it's like now to feel messy inside. So if you need someone to feel messy inside with, I'm your gal.
I love Pink's music and I found this song, and it's everything I'm feeling: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFYm9LKsuUo
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