May is not my month…or is it?
Losing a pregnancy changed me. Through all my pain, stress, and grief, the worst part is, no one ever talked to me about this. No one ever told me how painful and isolating a miscarriage could be. No one in my daily life ever shared their experience with infertility or pregnancy loss, although many people in my family went through it. I don’t know if it is because we are afraid that if we talk about our miscarriages, that everyone on the outside will know how we feel on the inside, or if we aren’t talking about it because it is layered with a hidden shame. Shame, that our bodies couldn’t be “normal.” Shame, that we couldn’t give our partners the gift of parenthood. Shame, that we couldn’t grow our family in a traditional way and watch our extended family members become grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins. Shame, that if we speak about it, then it becomes real. Shame, that somehow we are less than because we have failed to become parents. A deep, intense fear that we won’t feel normal ever again and that we will live isolated, lonely, unfulfilling lives. It took me years to talk openly about losing my first and only pregnancy and even longer to ponder the reality that I may need to accept a Childless life. To say I am healed is an omission but to say I haven’t made any progress is even more untrue. I will never forget the morning I woke up to actively losing our baby. I will also never forget the extreme joy I saw in my husband’s face when I told him that we were going to have that baby. No one tells you that for some people regardless of how far along they are in pregnancy they will still experience contractions. The morning I miscarried, I rocked back and forth on hands and knees begging my body to cooperate because I had to start a new job in less then 3 hours. That is the expectation. Miscarry. Flush. Move on. Especially if you aren’t deemed “far enough” along by others. They will tell you how lucky you are that you never heard the heart beat or saw your babies features in a sonogram. If you are “lucky”, a few days off work and then BAM back to the real world. No time to grieve. Something died INSIDE of you and you are expected to just rush right back into your daily life like everything is normal. People get longer off work for a kidney stone! After the miscarriage, people will tell you that “you can always try again” or that “you have all this time to think about yourself now!” I think instead of trying to stifle someone for feeling grief, maybe just let them feel. When people ask me if I have children, I really quickly belt out “NO!” because what I want to say is “None that are living.” or “We tried but my body couldn’t seem to figure it out.” When people tell me I should “just adopt” or that if i “relax it will just happen.” I really want to scream. I do. I wish I didn’t have to talk about my parental status and that goes back to the beginning of this all. Why aren’t we talking about childlessness, miscarriage, and all that is in between. Why isn’t there a seat for us infertile, childless humans at the table and why are we seen as less than?
Today is bereaved Mother’s Day. Its been almost 6 years since my miscarriage. Its been 2 years since I walked away from fertility treatment. Its been 6 months since I turned the would-have-been nursery into an office. Its been 2 seconds since my heart ached thinking about the possibility of who my children could have been and the life I would have had with them. And over and over again, I will continue to heal myself, my marriage, and my relationship with the world.
Living every day with grief and depression isn’t easy and getting stuck in a gray cloud is so much easier than trying to fight but I know I have to fight. Even if this is not the life I pictured myself living, it is my life. I have a life to live.
Loren Mustard 2023 Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts, feel free to share yours in the comments. ❤
