I remember that moment of disbelief and panic and wait-a-minute-just-hold-on-can-we-freeze-time-and-go-back-5-minutes-ago-before-I-started-bleeding-and-somehow-change-the-trajectory-of-my-life?
Because I wasn't supposed to be bleeding. I was pregnant.
'Maybe it's just some spotting. Maybe there's nothing to worry about. Maybe I'll go to the doctor and they'll find a heartbeat after all,' I hoped to myself. I remembered how that had been the case with someone close to me-- even after more bleeding than this they had still, miraculously, found a heartbeat.
I made a make-shift pad out of rolled up TP and left the bathroom, hoping my face didn't give it all away as I said my goodbyes and left the family reunion.
But when I got home, the bleeding kept up; it definitely couldn't be confused as spotting now. I scheduled a visit with my midwives as soon as I could get in.
I lay down in anticipation for the ultrasound. I knew I was moments away from knowing the truth and was aching to hear the ultrasound tech say, "Oh! There it is! See the heartbeat, there?" Moments felt like hours while I waited for those comforting words.
I saw the image on the screen- a small, dark, empty oval. My eyes squinted, looking for that rhythmic, moving pulse but could see nothing.
"Looks like all the tissue has passed," she said, calmly.
"So... it's a miscarriage then...?" I tentatively responded.
"Yes. And it looks like the heart never beat at all."
Those were the words that hurt in a way I wasn't expecting. You'd think it would bring me relief. This was just some sort of natural way my body disposed of the ingredients of a baby that was never even whole to begin with. But I felt a flush of anger. I kept it to myself, but my thoughts swirled.
'How could she possibly know that?!'
It felt so invalidating. It felt like a slap in the face. It felt like she was saying, "You got your hopes up, you dreamed, you were nauseous, you grieved, and all for no reason. It was never a baby at all."
I don't remember getting home after that. I just remember how much blood kept coming over the next weeks, the cramping, the irritability, and how dirty I felt as I wrestled with the angry, angsty, agitating thoughts. I didn't want to rest. I found myself scrubbing every inch of my kitchen floor- working out the feelings through effort and sweat. I couldn't change how I felt, I couldn't stop the blood, I couldn't undo the damage, but I had to do something. I had to scrub something.
I lost that baby (yes, despite what the ultrasound tech said, I choose to believe it was a loss and it was a baby) when I was 6 weeks pregnant. 'Only 6 weeks,' my brain would often tell me. 'Why are you struggling? Why are you making this a big deal? It's not nearly as tragic as it would be if you were 20 weeks or if it was a still birth.'
But it was hard. It was really hard at the time. And it was mine. My grief. My choice to experience it as hard.
Now that I've experienced it, and now that I am all about holding the mom, I think about miscarriage, still birth, loss differently than ways I was taught/ cultural expectations. Here are 3 radical changes you can embrace too, if they resonate with you.
1. Just tell people who you feel safe with.
When you find out you're pregnant, tell them your news as soon as you want to. Don't hold back. Because if you do have a miscarriage, you'll want those people to support you. After a miscarriage, your body goes through a less-intense but still legit postpartum experience. The bleeding, cramps, emotions. Your hormones will have to get back to non-pregnant levels. You'll want support from those who you love as you navigate all that.
When we suffer in silence, we keep healing out of reach because we don't validate the pain. We just constantly push it away, and then it keeps resurfacing. Beliefs that we shouldn't burden anyone with the news until we know for sure it's more likely to be a viable pregnancy keep us small and unsupported while we experience that uncertainty, and then if miscarriage happens, alone in our grief. Talking openly with those we trust allows for connection with ourselves and others.
I am here for you if you want someone to talk to and process with you. You just email holdthemom@gmail.com and we can talk over zoom very soon.
2. Don't go down the "what if" rabbit hole.
Just don't go there. I remember my grandma blaming herself her whole life because she went bowling before she realized she was pregnant and then a miscarriage happened. Correlation is not causation. There is no way to prove that miscarriage happened because of what she did. There is no use in regret. We don't have a time machine. We can't go back and act differently. There is no "I should've known better." There is only "I did the best I could under the circumstances and what I knew at the time." It reeeeeaaaallllly doesn't help a woman who is grieving miscarriage when she's feeling the dirty pain of blaming herself.
3. You are allowed to feel about it however you want to.
It is yours. You can name your loss. You can bury it with a rose bush in your yard. You can have a tombstone made. You can celebrate or honor in some way their "would've been birthday". You can ponder on the milestones they would've had. You can talk about it. You can keep it to yourself. You can move on quicker than maybe others think you should, if it feels right to you. You can take your time to move on. You can try to get pregnant again right away. You can wait or choose never to try again.
My point is, what other people think you "should" do... well, it's really none of their business. They may advise or offer their opinions, but lean into what you want to do as part of your healing journey. Some people are afraid to tell others they're pregnant because of this possibility-- all the judgment and unhelpful advice if a miscarriage happens. The same people that are offering that would give judgment and unhelpful advice if you were to have a healthy baby. It's an opportunity to learn how to set boundaries. If you want any help with a situation like this, let's hop on a boundary call over zoom and work it out. (holdthemom@gmail.com-- or you can also DM me on instagram: @douladiane).
I know a doula who has experienced loss of her own and now has an amazing platform: Creative Ways to Grieve. I believe that when we make room for grief, really allow it despite its messiness and inconvenience, we will heal deeper, learn empathy, and even have deep spiritual experiences, such as sanctification through these heart wrenching moments.
I know a mom who runs an annual 5k called the Empty Stroller Run. It's in honor of those babies she has lost, and she even offered to do it for mine. I felt so seen, so loved when she offered.
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I wrote this post because I am aware of you. Even if you keep this pain to yourself, or it happened a long time ago. You are still a mom forever. You are enough, you are loved, you are amazing. You are grieving. It may take time. But you are not alone.
I'm here for you if you want to talk.
If you know someone who would benefit from this post, por favor share it with them!
See you on the blog next time! xoxoxox
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