It’s ok to not be ok.
I’m eleven weeks pregnant in this photo.
Long enough that the bloat meant my pants wouldn’t fit.
Long enough for a dot to grow to the size of a lime.
Long enough for plans to blossom and dreams to grow.
Only it was all a cruel trick. The baby, my little Sweet Pea was only the size of an actual sweet pea, my body had yet to recognize the loss.
I opted to wait for a natural miscarriage, to carry on life until the inevitable end. Only it didn’t.
For eight long weeks, we waited. Every week the same: an ultrasound and the news nothing had changed. Eight long weeks of carrying a child I would never know beyond the changes being created in my body- the severe nauseous, the bloating, the hormonal changes, all the typical symptoms of pregnancy but none of the joy to be found at the end.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jer. 29:11
How does one cling to this truth when carrying a lifeless being within? How does one go from being a mum to every moment blaming yourself for being unable to support the little one’s life? To society, having a baby makes you a mum- losing one makes you a statistic.
“According to the March of Dimes, as many as 50% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage.” WebMD
What a statistic doesn’t tell you is everyone is different, how every story is unique, how every moment grouped together is completely individual. I didn’t have the miscarriage that was announced by blood loss. I didn’t have the miscarriage that was late term. I didn’t have a miscarriage due to eating sushi or drinking or deli meat. It wasn’t managed by Advil, it didn’t feel like cramping, it wasn’t over in a few hours. My miscarriage was “missed”. It was three rounds of labor inducing medication, several ER trips, dozens of prescription pain killers and ivs, and two months of bed rest. My miscarriage was finding out I was pregnant on our three year anniversary and surgery two days before my birthday. My miscarriage lasted into what should have well into my second trimester.
I didn’t just lose our Sweet Pea; I lost myself.
I hated my body: first for failing to keep my baby alive and second for failing to recognize the loss of my baby.
How does one recover from the loss of their physical and mental self?
I don’t know.
I’m not writing this with an answer. I’m not writing this for pity. I’m writing this to support the so called statistics. I’m writing this for every woman who has ever lost a pregnancy. I’m writing this to say:
It’s ok to not be ok.
It’s ok to not understand, to be angry, to be hurt, to feel lost. Through it all, the dark nights, the hard days, the tears BE KIND to yourself. Cancel all the plans, curl up in a ball buried under the blankets, turn off your phone. I cannot stress how important giving yourself time is. Time does not heal all as the old saying goes, rather it just gives you better ways to cope with the pain. Listen to your time- to how you feel, not how a doctor or a blog or a forum tells you that you should be feeling. You are not a statistic, you are your own story.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4
I’m not ok.
I don’t know when I’ll be.
Until that day, I will continue to mourn, to value deeper the ones I love, and to search for ways to understand.
PS: Here are two reads that have helped me not feel alone in this: