If you know me, you know I am absolutely terrified, and somewhat grossed out, by babies. The entire process of having a child just sounds like my worst nightmare – an alien growing inside me, eating things I eat, pooping/peeing inside me, giving me uncontrollable mood swings, and the WORST part, the “alien” would have to come out of my vagina. Oh. Hell. No! Not to mention, after my body has been completely used and abused, I lose sleep and completely revolve my life around a tiny thing that cries and poos.
I wish I was one of those people that believed the idea of childbearing was a beautiful miracle, but unfortunately I’m not. I’m not one of those people that hates on others for being mothers or wanting to be a mother, I just know it’s not for me. Well, unless something changes in my head and I become one of those women whose ovaries flutter at the sight of a ‘fresh out da womb’ baby. Which THAT would be a beautiful miracle. The things I’ve mentioned above are not abnormal – people talk and think like that ALL the time, but what does seem to be “taboo” or “unspoken” in the language of childbearing, are miscarriages.
Did you know that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage? Probably not. And why is that? Because people don’t talk about it. There are a lot of reasons people choose not to, but the most common factor is that women feel guilty and they don’t know how to express their feelings…and it’s even more intimidating to express those feelings when you think NO ONE else has experienced it (because no one is talking about it). It’s a heartbreaking cycle. And today, I’ve decided to personally break that cycle.
On January 13, 2015 I had a miscarriage.
It was a Monday. It was painful. It was excruciatingly emotional.
I woke up on Monday morning and had started my period. I was excited because I was late, but the pregnancy test came back negative. I put in a tampon while doing a happy dance. Everything seemed to be okay. As the day went on, my cramps grew stronger, but I told myself it was because I was on the Nuva Ring and rarely had periods throughout the year. My day went on just as a normal day would – I worked, ran a few miles, made dinner, showered, Netflix(ed) it up and went to bed. I was sound asleep.
At 12:30am I woke up screaming and in fetal position. I was in so much pain out of nowhere that I couldn’t process what was happening.
I was home alone so I called my mom and told her to come over to help me. As she was on her way, I went to the bathroom to change my tampon and there was blood everywhere. At that point, I knew in my gut that I was having a miscarriage, but I wouldn’t let my head and heart accept the reality of it.
As soon as my parents arrived, we immediately drove to the emergency room. I got into a room within 5 minutes or our arrival and was given an IV of morphine. The pain didn’t go away. The pain came and went. I was having contractions, yet my head and heart still did not want to accept the fact that I was: (1) even pregnant and (2) having a miscarriage.
I’m going to spare you the details of the procedure because it is very private, but if you have any questions or want to talk about it further, please feel free to comment below and give me your email or phone number.
The hardest part of all was how I questioned my feelings. I was an emotional wreck. I had anxiety, I cried all the time, I was confused.
I kept asking myself – “Why am I so heartbroken? You didn’t want a baby, you didn’t even know you had a baby, so how are you so sad? You didn’t lose anything. Why are you still crying?”
On the other hand, I was also asking myself – “How could you not know your body enough to know you were pregnant? You killed your baby, Tracey. If you just paid attention, ate better, drank less, this would not have happened.”
I’ll be honest, that was one of the hardest months of my life – which is crazy because of my true feelings about babies and pregnancy (remember my first paragraph?). But, no matter what your situation or viewpoint is on babies, being a mom and having it ripped away from you is the most emptying feeling ever.
Before you go feeling sorry for me – don’t. Miscarrying is a natural and common thing, and instead of feeling sorry for me (and other women who have miscarried) just be there for them. Accept the way they mourn and handle the situation by being there in anyway you can. For those women who have experienced a miscarriage, know that you’re not alone and that it doesn’t have anything to do with the person you are. You WERE and ARE a mother, and a good mother at that. Do not let anyone diminish your sense of motherhood. Because in reality, what you experienced is the hardest part about motherhood – losing your baby.
It’s taken me just over two years to comfortably talk about what happened on that night in January, so thank you for listening.
Peace. Love. Miscarriages Happen.
XO. The Welcome Woman