Pregnancy and infant loss feels like one of those topics that you don’t really talk about, for me. Growing up, loss of any kind was something we never fully acknowledged. It happened and we just swept it under the rug and moved on like it didn’t happen. When I had my first miscarriage, it wasn’t any different.
At the age of 17, I had a miscarriage. I was 15 weeks along, and that was supposed to be at a point in the pregnancy where the coast was clear. I had made it past the point of concern, so to speak. At the age of 17, I barely knew how to read directions on mapquest–there’s no way I knew how to navigate any of the emotions, the feelings, the loss that comes with losing a child during pregnancy.
One day you wake up, baby in your belly, unsuspecting. The next day you’re significantly bleeding, in the hospital, the ultrasound technician saying they’re unable to hear the baby’s heartbeat. What did that even mean? Are you on the right station? We heard it last time? Do you know what you’re doing?
Coming to Terms With My First Miscarriage
This first miscarriage was challenging to navigate. Especially because I constantly felt the pull between being sad that I lost a baby–my baby–and relief that I wasn’t going to have to navigate an already difficult life experience with a child. I wasn’t ready at all to have a child, so at 17 it felt like a blessing in disguise. Like everything was working out for me.
That was a difficult experience to go through. Loss, grief, not knowing where to put those feelings and emotions; the pressure of feeling like I needed to be sad, devastated, that my life shouldn’t continue because I lost my child. But at the same time, I had feelings of relief that I didn’t have to figure out life with a child when I was still a child myself. I never let myself accept that it was completely normal to feel both.
Despite all the feelings I was navigating on the inside, the world on the outside moved on like nothing happened. Even in my family we pretended like it didn’t happen and proceeded with life. Since this is just what we did in my family, it came pretty natural to me. But, I still never really processed the emotions. I just suppressed them, pretended like they didn’t exist, like they didn’t matter.
Breaking the Silence Around Miscarriage
It wouldn’t be until years later that I’d even get pregnant again. I was 30 at the time and in a very different place in life. This time, being pregnant was different. Although I wouldn’t say I was ready for a child, I was in a better situation to raise one . . . or at least on the outside.
This time, I had confirmed the pregnancy with tests at home and scheduled a doctor’s appointment where we would listen to the heartbeat. Only this time, we never got a chance to hear a heartbeat. I was eight weeks along at this point and the baby didn’t make it.
Immediately I was brought back to when I was 17. This time I didn’t feel relief–it was just sadness, loss. Like something was missing, like I did something wrong, or I wasn’t good enough to be pregnant. A rush of thoughts, of things that I could have done wrong. Or since this was my second miscarriage, maybe I just wasn’t meant to have kids. And just like all vicious cycles, my family would pretend like it didn’t happen.
But, at 30, I had grown into the black sheep of the family. I no longer played by those rules. I talked about my miscarriage; both of them, actually. And I was open with friends and family. This is when others started being more open about their situations with miscarriage, infant loss, or infertility. And none of us were alone.
Why These Stories Deserve to Be Shared
My first pregnancy and miscarriage taught me that there can be lessons in difficult situations. And although I felt like I knew that while I was going through them to a degree . . . it’s not until I’m looking back and really remembering and understanding that it really truly clicked that I understood that even back then.
My second pregnancy and miscarriage taught me to stand in my truth. That although I experienced two very significant losses, they impacted me–and that impact carries on through my stories and how I live my life.
It was the second pregnancy and loss that taught me that the story needs to be told. That I was no longer sweeping it under the rug and pretending like it didn’t happen. It was my story and it deserves to be told. It deserves to be heard. And just maybe, me not sweeping it under the rug, not pretending like it didn’t happen or like it wasn’t a big deal . . . maybe sharing my story opens the door for another to share theirs.
Acknowledging the Emotions That Shape Us
Finally, my third pregnancy would give me my rainbow baby. She is eight and can light up a room with her big personality. She is fierce and bold and emotional in a way that I never could be.
I told her about both of my miscarriages. She often talks about her siblings who are in heaven. And there’s a part of me that she healed, just talking about them. Part of me that needed attention, to be seen, that I didn’t even realize that I needed that healing. I didn’t realize that it was even a wound. But she found it and healed it.
It wasn’t until writing this post, that I really gave myself permission to feel all of these feelings. I was still carrying the shame of not grieving in a way that I thought I should. Shame on feeling relieved at a loss when there are so many women who want children, who are actively trying, and I had the audacity to feel relief . . . I felt like something was wrong with me for a long time.
But, if this year has taught me anything, it’s that there can be a variety of mixed emotions in life. They can be happening all at the same time too. And it’s okay to feel all of them. Recognize them. Acknowledge them. Appreciate what they came to do, so that you can move through them.
The International Wave of Light is a global candle-lighting event that takes place at 7:00 p.m. local time on October 15th. I invite you to come together to remember the little ones whose stories were short, but still impactful and live on through their moms’ stories.
–Guest submission by Megan Farris
