I felt like I should write a post – which is probably why I’ve tried so hard that I’ve restarted it three times, left it, and came back to it on a different day. I told LG that I was starting to write this post but couldn’t find a way to finish it. I couldn’t find the words that I wanted to say that were any different from how I was feeling just a few months ago. He told me that I should just write – 100 words or 1000 words it didn’t matter. He told me to just let it out.
I feel like I’ve started down this new path of TTC and seeking expertise in infertility, and I’m going to want to look back and remember – especially if I get to that light at the end.
But I don’t want to believe that there’s some kind of abnormality or defect in either of us or our stuffs. I want to keep thinking that we can get pregnant and have a successful pregnancy on our own.
But I know that I’ve been pregnant twice. I know that I’ve had two miscarriages. I know that I’m part of some statistic. I know that I’m in a situation where I’ve been referred to a specialist over being treated by a regular family doctor.
I also know that while I am not special in my experiences and it happens to many women; I’m faced with countless women who are having successful pregnancies and have never had to experience loss.
I’ve had to think about why that always makes my heart stop a little, makes me lose my breath, and makes my eyes water. Although my hope and naivety still prevails (if only just slightly), I long for the days when I didn’t have such heaviness in my heart, when I didn’t know what this kind of loss feels like.
So while I want to write about the time after my second miscarriage and my initial experience at the fertility clinic, I don’t have the words.
I’ve read a lot of familiar sentiments that I had about how women just don’t talk about their miscarriages and losses. Why don’t women talk about it? It isn’t just about opening the door to the conversation or sharing. Yes, we can breathe a sigh of relief when we let it go and tell others about it, but there are so many reasons women (okay, me, because I can’t speak for everyone) don’t talk about it other than a certain type of shame. It hurts to talk about it – to say out loud, “I lost my baby”. Every time you say it or even think it, you relive the loss all over again. Just when you think you’re having a good day and when you’re okay with talking about it, you choke on the words and it brings you back down.
I think because I took the step and blogged about our loss, I did open that door. I let others in and in turn let myself out. We received so much love and support and stories about other people’s experiences. But for some people, that’s all they wanted to talk to me about – and talking about it just sucked me right back down. I think that I just want people to acknowledge that it is still haunting me and know that I’m living with it daily. I want them to realize that sometimes going outside is me coping and living.
Miscarriage is just always there, even in my dreams. The thing about dreams is that you can only dream what you’ve already seen – even if it was just a face you saw passing down the street or an item you saw in a store, your mind doesn’t make things up it only shows you what’s already there. In my dream, I saw my first baby that I’d held in my hand months and months ago; but it wasn’t my baby in the dream – it had come from someone else. I woke up upset but not in tears because I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was I just remembering my miscarriages? Maybe I was just missing my babies. There was one other reason, but I couldn’t stand to even finish the thought – was I seeing how my next pregnancy will end?
Yes, I still have faith that we can become pregnant on our own without any abnormalities or defects or issues; but that fear and anxiety and lack of confidence of how that pregnancy will end still lingers.
Every day, I have to consciously give it all to God and let him carry my burdens. It has to happen every day, because it all just comes back to me.
“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest in your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” – Matthew 11: 28-30
“Praise be the to Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens. Our God is a God who saves; from the Sovereign Lord comes escape from death.” – Psalm 68: 19-20