Lately I’ve been a bad wife. A bad friend. A bad daughter. And truthfully, a bad person.
And I’m rarely one to make excuses because, as a previous mentor once told me, excuses are only good for those who are using them.
But shit has been tough.
I am 1 in 4.
I never ever thought I would be a part of this statistic. It’s naive, I know.
But truthfully, I never thought it would be me. Because what woman thinks, “Welp, I’ll probably be that one in four. Count me in for having a miscarriage.”
I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t wish this on the one person I hate in this world. I wouldn’t wish this on ANYONE.
It is so so rough. I try so hard to be a positive person. To encourage others. Offer others kindness and compassion.
But that hasn’t been me lately. Because I was so damn bitter.
I was angry. I was sad. I was hurting. And I needed space.
Even as time passes. It still hurts. It’s still hard. And I’m not sure if I’ll ever fully heal. Part of me left that Thursday. A part of me I’ll never get back.
People don’t talk about this shit. And if they do, it’s behind closed doors. Which is fine. I wasn’t ready to share publicly for a little while after I miscarried.
Privately I shared. Privately I cried. Privately I screamed. Privately I cursed. For weeks upon weeks.
But I am not alone. I am one in four. And truthfully, I feel like it’s even more common than that. We just don’t share.
People only share their happy announcements. They only share the positive tests. They only share the gender reveals, the nurseries, the name reveals, the birth stories.
They don’t talk about how the doctors/nurses at the ER treat you like you’re crazy. They don’t talk about the emptiness you feel. They don’t tell you how fucking much it hurts, regardless of whether or not you heard the heartbeat. They don’t tell you how lax the GYN is when he tells you, you indeed are no longer pregnant. They don’t tell you about the random fits of tears that come pouring down your face. Nothing.
But, the more space I get from the loss, the more time I have to heal, the more I realize I am so fucking lucky. I have a husband that couldn’t have been more kind, loving, and supportive. I have parents that were beyond supportive and loving. I have friends who were incredibly kind and thoughtful. And their compassion and support has helped IMMENSELY.
Again, I would never EVER wish this even on my worst enemy, but God forbid someone does go through this, there are a few things I want you to remember…
1. Your loss is real.
2. You are not crazy.
3. You are allowed to cry—as much as you want, whenever you want, for as long as you want.
4. Your body is still worthy of love.
5. Your body is still capable of amazing things.
6. You are loved.
7. It is NOT your fault.
8. You are NEVER alone.
So, to everyone who I have not been as present for, I am sorry. I meant no harm. I meant no disrespect. I just needed time to get back to being “me”. And I still have my days where I’m working towards getting back to myself.
To all of you, thank you for understanding.
And lastly, with Mother’s Day quickly approaching, to all the mama’s with empty arms, happy Mother’s Day. You are so damn worthy.
Love,
Me🖤
keepthefaithinyourself 