I’ve gone through the grief process associated with miscarriage several times now. Each time is a bit different and as my maturity and life changes, the process changes a bit too. It’s never easy and for someone like myself who feels things deeply, it can be overwhelming and feel devastating.
The loss of a child who had just started to grow within your womb is a hard one to understand for those who have not been through it. People often have no idea how to express their concerns or feelings of empathy. Some of your family and friends just ignore it almost entirely because they don’t want to upset you. Others will do little things to comfort you or just be there while you vent. This can be a double-edged sword because you need to talk about the loss, but are sometimes relieved when no one forces you to.
When you reach that ever looming stage of anger, you can be surprised who you direct that anger towards. There can be a maddening rage over anyone whose pregnant, recently had a baby, or those who just ignored your loss all together. You can direct your anger towards yourself and the body you feel failed your baby. You will at some point likely cast anger on your spouse, wondering why they don’t feel or express their anger, frustration, and pain the same way you do. It’s all normal, and it’s okay to feel these things. They way you direct your anger, hurt, and loss is the most important aspect.
For me, I can sometimes wallow in my pain for weeks. I’ll let myself fall into a depression that I lose all strength to climb out of. Laying on the couch, not really watching whatever happens to be on the television. No desire to eat, feel, or talk. Just numb to life and what is going on in it. Or I will switch into overdrive staying constantly occupied with something, anything, to take my mind off the pain.
The trouble with overdrive mode is that you crash…hard. All the physical exertion to avoid the mental pain leads to exhaustion both physically and mentally. I stayed in overdrive this time, until I crashed. Dead tired, just so exhausted mentally and physically. It hit me late last week and I couldn’t distract myself anymore. I’d been crying in the shower, over the washer, anywhere I was alone. And suddenly, crying was all I could do. My empty womb was all I could think about. The idea that I may never carry another child successfully hit me hard. As I sorted through my children’s closets and packed away outgrown clothes I realized that there might not be another child to wear them. Still, I folded them neatly, labeled the bin with the size and contents, and added them to the ever-growing stash of outgrown baby things in my basement.
I grieved, and then I decided to push forward because those clothes were not going to go unworn. That currently unused crib, rocker, swing, and all those bins of baby clothes would be worn again. I had prayed on it, thought about it, talked about it, and it was going to happen somehow.
While I may be quite experienced in dealing with the grief of a lost child, it has created a strength and determination in me that did not exist before. If I want something, I figure out a way to make it happen. While the number of children I have lost is higher than the number of children I have living, I really don’t give up. To me, that means I have yet another angel looking over my family. Another little miracle worker to make the impossible happen and to bring forth more happiness and light in our lives.
The healing that takes place after miscarriage is often a long process. Your body often heals long before your heart. You’ll go through days where you’re okay and you’ll go through days where you need to let yourself grieve and process all the emotions that have been thrust upon you. It isn’t a road with a clear path and the outcome can often be surprising.
What I’ve learned is that you have to let yourself feel it all to heal. It’s messy and it’s often scary, but in the end, you’ll come out okay. You’ll likely be changed, but you can work to use it to your advantage instead of letting it consume you.