I had a suspicion that I was pregnant. Familiar symptoms began plaguing my body: nausea, sleeplessness, moodiness, and back pains. I was excited.
A couple weeks later the symptoms stopped. I took a few pregnancy tests, all of which came back negative. I was worried.
Then the bleeding started.
At first I thought that maybe I had been wrong. But I knew my body and this bleeding was very different from a normal period.
I have cried with many friends who have miscarried. I have comforted them, held their hand, or, if I couldn’t be there, offered understanding in comments and e-mails.
But when I experienced my own miscarriage, I couldn’t talk about it. Besides Ben, I shared the news with only a couple other people.
I was scared.
The comments well intentioned people would say held me back. I didn’t want to hear–
You’re young, you’ll bounce back.
You do have two little ones. Enjoy them.
Maybe it was for the best.
You weren’t trying, were you?
Frankly, it’s none of your business if we were trying. I also don’t care if it was for the best, that I have two babies, or that I have youth on my side. My heart was–is–still breaking.
That baby I was growing was real to me. I was visualizing her little hands, his first smile, her itty bitty nose, and the smell of his newborn skin. I wasn’t sure how I would handle three little ones under three, but I was going to try!
Still, my fear held me back from fully mourning.
The impact didn’t fully hit me until a month afterward.
It was then that I cried into Ben’s shoulder. He understood. He continues to comfort me each month when I am greeted by an unwelcome visitor. He is compassionate even when I am horribly angry for those first two days.
I am my worst critic.
When my period arrives, I begin asking the questions.
Am I not worthy?
Is it because I am a horrible mother?
What am I supposed to learn?
What about the feelings I had? Did I misunderstand?
After the questions end, I start berating myself. The thoughts are dark, depressing, and leave me feeling worthless.
The pain increases, the emptiness I feel in my heart grows bigger. I feel alone.
Yet I am becoming stronger.
I am learning to shut off my inner critic. I feel my depression ebbing away.
I am letting myself grieve.
Now, will you please pass the tissue?