I miscarried, and I’m okay.
It’s strange, the ways having a daughter transforms you. Some are cliché and obvious, and some you don’t anticipate. For example, I am now a feminist.
It’s hard for me to understand why I haven’t always identified as one, but here I am with a new and profound appreciation for feminist progressivism. Giving birth to my daughter connected me on what I can only call a spiritual level with ALL WOMEN.
All this to say, I love that there is so much sharing going on with regards to what it means to be a woman. Our basic biology is so amazing, literally magical; it’s inexcusable for us to live our lives ashamed of our periods, our pregnancies, and even our losses.
There have been so many wonderful posts from women sharing their experiences with loss – what an absolutely noble thing to do. In reading them and feeling the pain and heartbreak in these brave messages, the voice that’s been missing is one that echoes my own experience with miscarriage and so, here I go…
I bled. A lot. Then after almost two weeks of bleeding, “something” came out of me. The bleeding stopped immediately. Thanks to Google and, strangely, a site called earlyabortion.com, I identified that “something” as maybe a 5-7 week gestational sac.
The feeling that hit me was a sigh of, “Ohhh”, and my shoulders drooped. That was it.
I’m sharing this because so many friends told me to expect strong emotions, to expect to feel like I had done something wrong, to ruminate and torment myself and be overwhelmed with sadness and emptiness. I didn’t, I wasn’t and I haven’t.
Growing up, my Mom talked to me about miscarriages. When we started trying for a family, I read a lot and realized that 20% of pregnancies or so end in this way. It’s always been a “fact of life” to me, as natural and out of my control as menstruating. So my husband held me and hugged me while my shoulders drooped and then we moved on.
I’m writing this because there is no standard way to process a miscarriage. No one way is more valid than any other, and being devastated is as natural a reaction as taking it in stride.
My heart breaks for all the women who mourn and at the same time, to all the women who don’t – you’re not broken, or weird, or alone.
