Content Warning: This article deals with pregnancy loss, reproductive health, self-harm, miscarriage and maybe upsetting.
I recently miscarried a five-week pregnancy. It really sucks. I wish there were better words for this experience but that sentence really sums it up. The facts are the facts. I got pregnant and the week after I found out, my body rejected it. I am bleeding heavily as I write this and the cramping has not stopped. The pain has been crippling at times. These are simply the facts. The rest is emotions and interpretations.
I found out on my youngest son’s second birthday, the day he first went to preschool. That day and the week that followed were full of emotions, gratitude, joy, and caution. But the weeks of stress and anguish that happened prior were too much to handle.
My body slowly absorbs stress, increasing cortisol, and then finally is overtaken by it. Ultimately my body knew something was not working. I love my body and trust her to know what needs to happen. But as soon as I began to bleed, I knew something was wrong and my heart fell.
I have had many miscarriages like this in my life. This one is number twelve or thirteen by now. The majority of them occurred over 16 years ago when I was young, impoverished, and my stress levels and health were often compromised. I had nearly forgotten what it felt like. But then, all the memories came flooding back on a red tide that I held in my hands.
Miscarriage is exhausting. The iron loss, the energetic depletion, the hormone drop which has led to depressed states, anxiety, and just plain sorrow. The feeling of powerlessness, hopelessness, and furious rage. It’s all come back to me and I hate it with a fiery passion.
But hey, life is full of disappointment. Bad things happen. Look on the bright side. At least you know you can get pregnant. You’ve already got three healthy kids. Be grateful! It was just a small collection of cells and tissue. No big deal!
These statement are jarring, aren’t they? Reading them after my disclosure above is probably turning your stomach, or at the very least leaves you feeling empty and deeply uncomfortable. I know because I do. These are statements I often hear in my head these days. I’ve heard them in series and movies. Heard them escape kind-meaning people’s mouths. But they are just the wrong things to say. They are incredibly inappropriate and hurtful. It pisses me off that I’ve said most of them to myself.
Truth be told, being a life coach does not preclude me from struggling with life’s tests. G-d no! Just the opposite. During the height of all this pain and loss, these terrible things were running through my head every time I stopped playing games on my phone. Every time I stopped distracting myself, the ideas of failure, of being worthless, of my body’s inadequacy would repeat like a shitty never-ending track. It would trigger my desire to hate myself, hate my body, to think I was being punished, and on and on. These things happen often to people who miscarry. They happen to me. Being a life coach doesn’t mean I am navigating this effortlessly. But being a life coach has taught me a few things to do at these moments.
In the past, I would have self-harmed, chain-smoked for days, numbed myself on high-fat, high-sugar foods, shut out all the people who loved me, busied myself with house-cleaning, acted like I was fine on the outside, and secretly recited the litany of my self-hatred and body loathing for weeks.
Instead, at those moments when I’d stop scrolling, think I was worthless for failing to carry to term, I’d take five deep breaths. I’d breathe because it’s hard to stay low when my brain is flooded with oxygen. Then I would take a bite of dark chocolate, drink a few deep gulps of water, text my supportive female crew with my pain, reach out and touch my husband’s hand, and pet my cat. I would repeat to myself “even this is for the good” and “I trust in you, Shekhina, my Creatrix, to know better than I.” I promise you though, saying these things did not feel great at the time. They felt false and hollow. But the fact is, you say something enough to yourself, you begin to believe, then you begin to act as though it is true.
These actions are the acts of loving self-preservation that I have taught myself over the years. They are constructive, not destructive. They are nourishing, not negating. These acts give me strength and support, they do not strip my soul of hope. I used to hurt myself often, more with words than with action. But I hurt myself often, nonetheless. I don’t do it anymore, gratefully, but it’s taken years to retrain myself. You can do it too.
I don’t write this to cause anyone pain. I don’t want you to relive your miscarriage by reading this, G-d forbid. I write this for the opposite reason. I want you to know that it’s possible to emerge on the other side of this with sanity intact. It is possible to survive this. It is possible to heal from this. It is possible to thrive.
It can be done. I believe in you.
