This is part three of the series, and you can read the first post here and the second post here. My disclaimer is this: this is my experience and I don’t expect it to mirror anyone else’s. I am sharing my personal, singular story, in hopes that one woman, who feels like they are the loneliest person on the planet, may read it and feel a slight thread of hope in their despair. It is so important for us to share our story, as we feel led and comfortable to do so, because our stories help other people walk through theirs. I feel called by God to make sure that my story is told, for that one woman. Maybe that woman is you, or a friend or sister or cousin or colleague. Whoever she may be, know that you are walking in a sisterhood and there are women out in the world who want to hold your hand, wipe your tears, cradle you in our arms, and comfort you in any way possible. If this post is the only way you find that out, then I feel my calling has been met.
I have literally put off writing this post until the last possible second, because getting in touch with my feelings and sharing them with the world is not my favorite thing. But through doing just that, sharing my story and meeting other women who have been through this, I have been healed in places I thought permanently damaged. So here I am to pour my heart out for one third and final time. Thanks for hanging in with me through this.
I’ve always heard people say that there is really nothing you can say to someone who has had a miscarriage that is productive or helpful, and I never really understood how true that was until I went through it myself. People always said they were sorry to express their sympathy (and sometimes empathy), but it isn’t their fault so it’s not something they should be sorry for. The only thing that ever brought any comfort were the two words “that sucks”, which sound so flippant and insensitive, but it is the only thing that is actually true about losing a pregnancy.
There was also not really a “worst part” of this process – nothing was any harder or more emotional than any other part. So while I want to say that the worst part was the feeling of emptiness after the D&C, it is not really true. It was also terrible in the room when I saw the sonogram image come up the first time and I knew something was not right. It was terrible when I felt relief at not being pregnant, because what kind of person feels that way except a terrible one? It was mind-numbingly painful being forced to wait for an entire week for news that I knew would never come. It was heart wrenching to call our parents and tell them that we had lost the baby. It was a kick in the gut to sign pre-op paperwork that contained the words “missed abortion”. From the moment it all started up until writing this, it has all been awful and it has sucked. And that is the best way to describe it.
There was one thing that always remained in my mind though. I kept telling people as I talked more and more about it that Chris and I are hopeful people. I fully believe that one of the reasons I am able to go through seasons of heartbreak like this is because I have not, and never will, place all of my hope in a single event like having a baby, or buying a house, or having a parent live a long life. My life does not balance on the things that I know will never last because I’ve chosen to place my hope in something eternal and ever lasting. I’m not saying this to preach to you or try to coerce you by any means.
Everyone goes through loss and tragedy in their lives. But people have asked me before how I seem to travel through these things with what looks like ease and my answer is that even in my darkest moments of grief, I have this foundation within me that holds me up and is a very small pinpoint of light on my darkest days, reminding me that this loss will never break me. In fact, I believe that nothing will ever break me, because my foundation is stronger than I’ll ever be. And I place my hope in that, and when I tell people that Chris and I are hopeful people that is what I mean.
We aren’t hopeful that we get pregnant again or hopeful that things will work out or hopeful that we will feel better one day. We already know that we are capable of those things because we are hopeful in Jesus. I wonder if that makes sense to people who aren’t Christians because it is certainly something that I can never fully explain. But it is in there, and it helps me get through things like this.
Something else I have thought a lot about during this process is whether or not we want to try for another child. When I found out I was pregnant with Jett, I was petrified. I have never been good with kids – I never really babysat growing up, never taught Sunday school, never worked in a children’s ministry setting… kids (still) scare the living daylights out of me. I still feel like I don’t know how to play with kids to this day, and I have a five year old! But of course when Jett was born, things came naturally to me that I never thought I could do. I breastfed like a champ for ten months. He learned how to walk and talk and use the toilet and all those things they learn how to do, inept as I felt as his teacher. I also just now feel like I’m starting to figure him out and how to talk to him, work with him, teach him, discipline him, as he is forming his own personality. Parenthood is a freaking ride man.
I feel like I’ve just gotten past those really freaking hard years where you have to do everything for them, and stay up all night, and cry a lot. I’m not sure I want to do all that again to be honest with you. And I definitely don’t want to have another baby unless I FOR SURE want to do all of it over again.
But the rub I keep coming up against is that I never really wanted to do it with Jett either! And look here – I have a child whom is so treasured and loved.. so what if by saying no to that I am keeping a beautiful human from entering the world! But God would never do that – I don’t think he would ever keep someone he has planned a life for on this earth out of it because one of us says no. And what if I turn 50 and regret never having another kid? What if my husband resents me for years because he wanted to have another child, but didn’t want to push me into it? What if we do, and I resent my husband for the rest of my life? What if, what if, whatttt ifffffff. As a person who just likes answers, I am really struggling with this.
Social media is a blessing. I believe it with all of my heart, but I also know I feel that way because I choose to see and use it as a blessing. Yes there are terrible, hurtful, negative people you can encounter through social media, but as humans with free will we can absolutely choose to block those people, not interact with them, and not give them more attention than they deserve. All that being said, and as big as a healing element in this process that social media was for me, it still seemed to have this power over me that I had a hard time controlling.
For one thing, for that week between my first sonogram and having to decide to go forward with the D&C, I spent a lot of time on the couch, watching Criminal Minds and scrolling through social media. Without fail, I always found myself reading about other people’s experience with pregnancy loss. They all seemed so emotional about it and felt so many things that I was not feeling. (Remember, I’m a seven on the Enneagram, and sevens repress their feelings and reframe everything into a positive light.) It made me feel like I wasn’t dealing with things the right way, or how I was supposed to. Was I crying enough? Was I angry enough at God? Why did I have these random feelings of relief? Why didn’t I just want to give up? It was all very confusing to me at the time, until I was talking to someone and they asked me how I was really doing. Not just that “how are you”, “fine” conversation. But this person is invested in me and my well-being, and in a completely honest answer I told her that I was working through it the only way I knew how. That reminded me that every person on this planet processes feelings and emotions in completely different ways. There is no wrong or right way to do any of it – there is only my way for me to do it. Nobody can tell me if it is wrong or weird; and I don’t have the luxury of accusing anyone else of grieving incorrectly.
Another thing I noticed was that I started to resent people for having normal lives. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard? But that is what social media and unhealthy grief does to people. When I felt that resentment creeping up on me, I put my phone down. I learned when my mom died that life goes on. Your life my feel cracked and broken for a long time, but other people do not share that same sense of longevity of your pain and grief. And it is not my right to resent people for moving forward, living their life, and carrying on as if nothing happened. Tragedy and loss leaves scars on people in many different ways, most of which we will never see. Just because it appears they are going on about their life as if nothing has happened to you or them, doesn’t mean that behind that beautiful photo or witty caption, there is a broken, healing heart that is just trying to move through the pain in their own, beautiful way.
Then comes the pregnancy announcements. I swear that during those three or so weeks of all of this, I saw more pregnancy announcements than I had ever seen in my life. Every time I saw one, I wondered if we shared a due date. I was around 12 weeks along when I had my D&C, and that is typically when people start making announcements, so I could only assume that was the case. I was excited for people but also resentful and guilty for being relieved that I would not be having a baby on that date. I mean. How does one body encapsulate so many different feelings?
I can probably never put into words all the feelings I’ve had over the course of the year but I can say this: finding women to talk to about it has been essential to me. If you’re reading this and you have been through pregnancy loss and you did it alone, please please find one person to talk to about it. It could be me, a counselor, a trusted friend, your pastor, your sister or sister-in-law, anyone! I’m not saying you have to shout it from the rooftops but I beg of you to confide in one person that will just let you get your feelings out into the open.
If you know someone that is going through this, don’t try to fix things for them or tell them things will be okay. Just listen. Just be there, hold their hand, wipe their tears, hug them, and be present. Sometimes that is all they need.
Thank you for sharing your story and your heart, Skye. Your voice and perspective are speaking hope and healing into the often unspoken hurt and heartache of pregnancy loss. ❤️