The Curious Journey of Healing from a Miscarriage
Today marks eight years since I lost my first and only baby to miscarriage on September 20, 2015. What a long, heartbreaking, and, at times, lonely journey it’s been! I’ve often felt isolated from people in my grief. The ensuing years of infertility have left me feeling empty and stripped of everything that makes me feel like a woman.
I’ve struggled with anxiety and deep depression at different points throughout this journey. Unexplained weight gain, cycle changes, vitamin deficiencies, and more have left me unrecognizable in a lot of ways from who I was before my miscarriage. This downward spiral of my health has spurred me recently to make some drastic changes (more of that in an upcoming post!). I feel like 8 years in, I can finally breathe again. I am not drowning anymore in grief and hopelessness. I can lift my head and smile every day, not forcing it. It’s taken me years to get to this point of healing. So why then do I insist on bringing this up and remembering one of the most painful points of my life to date?
I want to remember for several reasons: First, I want to remember, and yes even celebrate, that I am a mom. I have empty arms, but I had the amazing privilege of carrying a sweet life, even if it was just for a short time. Second, my baby deserves to be remembered. I find myself thinking often about who they would be. Would they have their dad’s blue eyes or my feisty personality? What would they be learning in school? Would they hate broccoli and love ice cream? These are random facts that I won’t ever get to know. Third, I believe that it is SO important to freely talk about this. For years, I avoided talking and opening up because I was scared of being judged. I was also scared about what people would say to me.
So today I am writing to remind myself of these things and also because I want to give people a handy dandy guide of what NOT to say to people who have suffered a loss. Things like “at least you know you can get pregnant” or “you can always adopt.” These are just a fraction of the things that have been said directly to me. They were most often well-meaning but cut to my already bleeding heart. Instead, here are some things to say that show people experiencing loss that you’re here for them. Things like “I am here for you” and “What do you need from me?” Don’t try to fix things. Show up and be willing to sit with people in their pain. And, if they’re like me, give them space and grace to grieve alone.
God has given me the grace and strength to get through this journey of loss and infertility so far. I am so grateful to Him. And to my darling husband Josh, thank you for sticking with me through the countless tears, rage, silence, and crazy mood swings. I pray this will help someone reading know that you’re not alone in your grief!