Surviving My Miscarriage

Miscarriage. It’s a hard thing for me to say. It’s also such a taboo subject in our society that makes it much harder to talk about. I mean, when I look up the definition of “miscarriage” it says “failure.” While that is the absolute furthest thing from the truth, most of us can’t help but feel that exact way, like a failure. What most people don’t realize is how common this experience is. According to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, it is shown that anywhere from 10-25% of all clinically recognized pregnancies will end in miscarriage.

Before it happened to me, I felt for those I knew it had happened to but never truly understood the pain. What people sometimes forget is that a miscarriage is still a loss that you must mourn. For me, I felt like I wasn’t equipped to handle that loss. The pregnancy was a huge surprise which took me a bit to wrap my brain around and then when I did, I lost my baby. It was early, so we hadn’t found out the gender or told anyone other than close family. When I lost our baby, I didn’t know how to mourn. I didn’t know how to cope with the loss. I didn’t even know if I would have had a boy or a girl. How do you mourn a child you never got the chance to meet?

Those were the questions that plagued me. How did this happen? Why did this happen? All questions that could not and would not ever be answered. That’s when the guilt set it. Was it me? Was it something I did? Was there something I could have done to prevent it? Again, no answers. Because we hadn’t told many people, I had to continue with my life and act as nothing happened. I mean, it wasn’t exactly something I wanted to explain to people. That was one of my first mistakes.

I thought I was fine. I thought that I could handle it and the people around me would never know the difference. WRONG. It ate me up from the inside out. It affected me on levels I never considered. I couldn’t sleep no matter how exhausted I was from endless crying and energy I was trying to give my son. It also took a toll on my marriage. I don’t think either one of us really knew what to do and because I was so lost and in so much pain, I wasn’t able to communicate and lean on my husband the way I should have. It affected my work and every aspect of my life. I honestly didn’t know what else to do besides cry.

It wasn’t until I had nothing else to give, that I finally realized that I needed help. I reached out to someone close to me that had been through the same thing. LADIES, THIS WAS THE BEST THING I COULD HAVE DONE. I knew in my head that there were, in fact, other people that have gone and are going through the same thing, but I just felt like no one would understand MY pain. Heck, I didn’t even understand my pain. When I reached out to her, we ended up talking for a few hours on the phone. I am not going to lie and say I immediately felt better, but I did feel comfort that I needed. It was encouraging to hear that it did get better, that I would get through this and I was stronger than I thought. In situations like this, we gain strength from our common pain. If you have had a miscarriage, you know what it is to have that pain but each and every one of us has our own journey to overcome. However, that does not mean that you have to do it alone.

While my miscarriage is something I still struggle with daily, I honestly feel that without that phone call that evening, I would not be where I am today. If I had not reached out to her I don’t know if I would have been able to write this today. No matter how alone you feel, there are so many more people going through the same thing, or something similar, that can help you get through it. No matter what picture society paints for you, do not be afraid to reach out or ask for help or even give it to someone you think might need it. You never know how much it could truly change someone’s life. Don’t be afraid to be a light in someone’s life, because they may need it more than you know.