Miscarriage. It’s a word I’ve heard many times before. It’s something that women I know have experienced. But, if I am being honest, I never thought it would happen to me. Not because I think so highly of myself that I am exempt, but because I always thought that when I got pregnant, it would go as planned.
I knew so many women who conceived without planning, so I just assumed that not only would it be easy for me, but I would carry full term without complications.
Unfortunately, life had other plans.
At the end of September in 2019, at nine weeks pregnant, I became one of the 10% of women who experience early pregnancy loss.
According to The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, early pregnancy loss is defined as the loss of a pregnancy “during the first 13 weeks of pregnancy”.
From the moment my husband and I saw the positive pregnancy test, we were overcome with joy, excitement, and anticipation. We were so happy to be expecting and to be starting this next phase of our life.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a planner. Immediately, I went into preparation mode. I started reading everything I could about my changing body. I thought about how we were going to tell our family and friends. I thought about how the nursery would be designed.
So, when we learned weren’t going to be parents, I felt like something was stolen from me, and my heart ached in a way that it had never hurt before.
I felt as if my body betrayed me. I’m a woman. I’m designed for this, right? So, what’s the problem?
Thoughts began to surface:
- Why me?
- Did I do something?
- Did I work out too many times?
- Did I eat something I wasn’t supposed to?
- Is there something wrong with me?
And the worse thought of all: Maybe I’m not meant to be a mom?
But I knew I had to speak against these thoughts, or they would overtake me.
I remember sitting in the examination room with my husband during our follow up visit. We wanted to get a second opinion because I was not having any signs of a miscarriage. No spotting. No cramping. No nothing. All the pregnancy symptoms I had were still there.
We prayed the days leading up to the appointment, and though we were a little nervous, we were very hopeful. We were sure that they had gotten it wrong.
As this doctor began the examination and spoke to us about what we were (weren’t) seeing on the screen, reality began to set in. We were going to miscarry because there were no signs of life in my uterus.
At the end of the examination, she explained that if we did not miscarry naturally in a few days, I was going to have to take medication to induce the miscarriage.
I remember her explaining to us that we did nothing wrong. There was nothing we could have done to change the outcome. In fact, she said that although conception and pregnancy look so easy, it’s actually not as easy as people may think. Conception involves everything in a man’s body and a woman’s aligning so perfectly to create life. In other words, the timing has to be so right along with the other processes in the body that follow to allow implantation and growth of the fertilized egg. And even when that happens, there is no guarantee that the process will go smoothly.
Although her words were true, they did not comfort me. All I could think about was my loss.
A few days went by, and my body still refused to recognize that it was no longer growing a baby. I guess my body was just as hopeful as my heart, or maybe just as stubborn as I am. Because of the risk of infection, we were told that I couldn’t wait any longer; I had to take the medication.
In the days that followed, the emotional pain was difficult, and I spent most nights crying.
In addition to the emotional pain, I had to deal with the physical aspects of the process. It took several weeks for my body to completely shed the evidence of the pregnancy and reset itself.
After a while of feeling upset and asking “why us?,” my husband and I made the decision that we were not going to question what happened. It happened. We were going to grieve our loss and deal with our emotions as best as we could.
We both cried. We felt the pain. Some days I was good, but other days, I cried at the sight of a baby commercial.
There were times when I replayed those weeks leading up to the doctor’s appointment, trying to “figure out” what happened and why.
The truth is, I don’t why. What I do know is that I did nothing wrong. There was nothing that I did to cause my miscarriage.
Like other times in my life, I had to realize that I am not in control. No matter how awesome my plans are or how eloquently I verbalize them, or how beautiful the notebook is that these plans are written in I. AM. NOT. IN. CONTROL.
I had to release myself from the anger and shame that I felt.
There are still moments when I think about what I would have experienced during that pregnancy. I think about the anticipation and expectancy that we had as we thought about the positive ways our lives would change.
But in those moments, I cling to my faith even more, and I say, “This is not the end of the story.”
To the woman reading this who has experienced a miscarriage(s):
- You are not alone.
- You are not broken.
- Your feelings of loss are valid.
I know hearing those words may not make you feel better initially because it didn’t make me feel better at first either. But it helped to know that I was not alone. That I had nothing to feel ashamed of. That I wasn’t and am not broken.
As you grieve, know that even during this time, God is still good. He still loves you and has good plans for you.
To the person reading this who knows someone that has suffered a miscarriage:
Please know that it’s okay to ask her about it. It’s okay to check-in on her. And it’s okay to check-in on the spouse too. So often, when we have a friend or loved one that has experienced pregnancy loss, the response is silence. We feel uncomfortable. We try to ignore their loss or say things like “Well at least you weren’t that far along.” Or, “At least you know you can get pregnant.” Or, “You can try again soon.”
Please understand that these sentiments do not help. They are insensitive. Instead, if you don’t know what to say, simply say, “I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t know what to say, but please know that I am here to listen if you ever want to talk.”
Those words are honest and reflect empathy.
My hope is that the stigma of miscarriage and pregnancy loss goes away and that they are topics we become more comfortable discussing.
xo
-P
Living Her Vision 
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