Talking about Miscarriage

Before anyone worries, I have not miscarried Miss Maisie. She's kicking around in there as I type. But I did have one last year, and I've been feeling like I should address that experience again for a while. I felt like I needed to talk about it again, so I could really move on and focus all my energy on the child I am having now.


For anyone who doesn't know the story, you can read about my miscarriage here.

Miscarriage is one of those things that seems really unlikely and should be avoided, until you have one. Then you hear all the stories from all the people who've had one. Then you randomly see articles like this one from Jana on your Feedly and instead of scrolling past them uncomfortably, you force yourself to read them (still uncomfortably). Because that story deserves to be heard.

I've briefly mentioned on here that I don't usually like talking about my miscarriage. Or at least, I don't like talking about it with other women who have had a miscarriage. That sounds like the opposite of what should happen, right? But it's true.

In my particular case, there was no cause. It just happened. 

That's typically the way it goes. For all the rules and regulations imposed on pregnant women nowadays- avoiding lunch meat, queso, etc- the reality is that some babies are born to drug-addicted mothers and other pregnancies never progress past the first trimester. Obviously some miscarriages have causes- but most don't.

The pregnancy only lasted about 6 weeks- barely enough time to even know I was pregnant. There probably wasn't a heartbeat, ever, so it feels wrong to say it was a baby. My husband and I each told one friend- so altogether there were only 4 people who knew about this possibility.

I say possibility, because that is what it felt like to me. It felt like I was standing on the edge of a great adventure.

And when I miscarried, it wasn't like being pushed off a cliff and falling into despair. It was like I was pulled back. I was stuffed back into the same life, doing the same thing, and not sure I could feel the same way. I was in the same place, but I wasn't. And I had to face that reality and decide where to go from there.

I wasn't mad at God for taking my baby- again, I don't feel like I ever had a baby. I was sometimes- not always- sad.

Mostly I was confused. 

I did not like people treating me like I was pitiful or broken, so I probably came off as rude, unemotional, or cold. That's okay. I know my emotions and I know how to handle them- and at that time, I could only handle discussing it with a certain number of close friends.

Some women, and even men, are broken by miscarriage- at least temporarily. And that's okay. I'm not saying it is a sign of weakness to be upset by this- from what I can tell, that's how most people feel.

That miscarriage scar is on me, for sure.

Sometimes, though, I feel like it isn't as deep as it is on others. 

And I wonder if that means something is wrong with me.

But at the same time, I think...it was a logical response. I had never been pregnant before. I hadn't had kids. I didn't know what that pregnancy could have turned into.

And I don't wonder. Because...that miscarriage forced me to really consider what I wanted out of life. It forced hubby and I to decide how seriously we wanted to try and have a child.

I am really lucky, or blessed. I got pregnant again relatively quickly. This pregnancy has been very healthy, totally normal.

And if that one had progressed...I wouldn't have Maisie now. I can't be sad about that when I have her.

Not everyone gets that chance. Some go through the anniversaries of those dates without having a healthy pregnancy, or baby, to focus on. Some deal with multiple losses. I can't say anything to those experiences- be cause I haven't lived it.

But yes, I imagine that's harder than my situation.

I only know how I feel. I only know my particular experience.

And that's okay. It's okay if no one else feels the way I do. It's okay if no one else understands my reaction. I don't even understand it sometimes. I just...know that I'm dealing. And that's okay.

I believe stories deserve to be heard. 

And mine may not be like everyone else's. Mine may make someone mad, or make them think badly of me.

But it's my story. And I needed to tell it.