Each of us are unique and no two miscarriages are the same. I have had three, all different. I have decided to share this one now, the week I would have been welcoming my baby girl into the world. I am a deeply private person, and not one to speak out on social media or other forums as part of my healing. My healing journey is my own. So sharing this with you now, is deeply meaningful to me and here is why. I see women all around me, suffering in silence, feeling isolated and alone, looking for help in the ways they can. Some do cry out on social media, to be heard and understood. Some suffer in silence, or just ‘carry on’ and bury their pain.
The week I lost my last baby, I frantically searched for some connection, some reason, something to make sense to me, and I found the words of Tara Bliss. Her story is different from mine, but it gave me massive comfort in my darkest hours. These are the hours when no one knows what to say to you. So here I am. I am here. I hear you. I see you. I offer you my story, as part of my own healing journey, and to offer hope, comfort and connection to other women who may be going through the same. I wrote these words the week I found out she was gone.
It’s Over.
It’s over. Every time I wake up there is that moment when I realise again, that my baby is gone. Before any other sign of pregnancy, a feeling of something deep within, a pull to nurture and protect this thing, a smile on the inside that tells you something magical has begun in your body. Those early weeks, in those first months, you are the keeper of a secret, between you and this new soul and the universe. An internal glow.
Now I feel empty and the contrast is breathtaking.
So here is my story. Why do I feel compelled to share it this time? I have been on a path in the last few years, of searching for my way to connect with others, and to serve, to offer help when I can, to reach out to woman and let them know they are part of something, a network of support, a community. I hope my story may help another who is also suffering. I hope to bridge the distance this busy world can sometimes impose on us. I hope to lift the veil and shed light on miscarriage, because so many go through this in silence. I hope to reach those women and let them know they are not alone. We are not alone. And I hope to heal my own heart in putting this into words.
My heart is racing as I try to find the words.
I’ve had three miscarriages. Two before the arrival of my beautiful Violet. And now this one. The first two I decided to go through naturally, meaning allowing my body to go through the slow process of releasing my baby and placenta. I chose this at the time, because I felt and know it helped in my emotional healing process, and something I needed my partner to witness in helping him heal. The thing is, no matter how supportive and loving your partner is, it’s impossible for them to really know what you are going through. When you miscarry in the first 3 months, there are no outward signs of the baby, and hard for most men to connect on a real and deep level. So when the baby is lost, they grieve, but so differently. They grieve for the dream of what was coming. But you, you grieve for that connection, that hope that was growing each day in your body on a deep cellular level. With my first two miscarriages, my partner and I were a witness to what was leaving us. The impact and the goodbye, over the course of the week or so that it took. And then for me, the continued emotional journey of making peace again with my heart.
I was fortunate enough to be with my Mum during my first miscarriage, she was a huge support to us, having such a deep understanding herself after 5 of her own miscarriages. She said to me sadly something like this, “you are now a part of a larger tribe of women who have walked this path. No one truly knows this intimate connection with life and death until they have been through this. You are not alone and you can bare this. It is a part of the journey into motherhood that many of us walk”
My mum is a wise lady.
I made the decision this time to do a D+C because of my daughter. I knew I couldn’t go through the process with her present. We went in on september 11th, a remembrance day. It all feels surreal. One moment you are full of life and hope, the next you go to the hospital, come home. It’s over.
My journey to motherhood I will share another time. There is a story there. For now, I will say that I have felt the pull to be a mother deep within my core throughout my life. The experience of being pregnant and birthing Violet, and witnessing and sharing in her constant growth is the greatest experience of my life. I have immense gratitude for her. And she has been my earth angel guiding my healing through this one.
And she is a big part of my pain this time. Because this is not just me experiencing this loss. Very much like me, Violet has wanted a sibling since she could notice such things. When she was 2 and many of her friends were ‘having babies’ she was transfixed. Adored them. Would sit by any baby and care if it cried or laughed. By the time she was 3 she was asking for her own. By this time, my partner agreed to the idea, so we started trying. I was overjoyed! I felt like my life’s full picture was finally being painted, and all the missing pieces were about to fit.
And then...we didn’t fall pregnant. After falling so easily before, this came as a shock. So, I started to pay attention, to my body and cycle. I ate the right food, exercised, meditated and finally after 6 months we went to a fertility specialist. Just to see. Well turns out there was really no reason we shouldn’t fall pregnant except...the age of my eggs. Wow. I feel awesome, healthy, fit. But yeah, those eggs have been there all my life and there is no amount of yoga that can change that physiological fact. We decided there was no time to lose. We did our first attempt at IVF. This too is a story I will hold for another time (and I will share this one because I have much to give on this topic)
After two failed attempts at IVF and the rollercoaster this is for a woman and her partner, we took a break from it. And guess what happened?
I fell pregnant. Naturally. No drugs, just us. Wow. Can we trust this is for real? It’s amazing how in that one moment, seeing those two lines appear, getting the blood test results to confirm, the joy, the hope, the doors flying open. And in an instant everything changes. All your priorities, all the plans for the year, all your goals fly apart and new ones take their place. Nothing else matters but growing this healthy babe.
We started this pregnancy with so much joy, both of us so ready and in love with this baby already. We weren’t going to tell anyone until we were in the clear- 12 weeks. But, it just sort of slipped out slowly. We were both so happy! And excited after a year of wanting and waiting. We had to share our joy with some family, some friends. The sickness kicked in and I thought , great sign! And every day from morning till night, when I felt like throwing up and struggled between ravishing hunger and sitting by the toilet, I knew this meant my body was doing what it needed to for our baby. This baby was growing healthier by the day. Each day, the constant nausea made it so hard to be joyful. It was debilitating. But Tate was a guiding light through it all. Eat whatever you want to, get take away, eat ice cream, sleep all day if you need to, go for walks by the beach. He brought me toast in bed, when that didn’t work, he bought me mandarins (the only thing I could eat for awhile) He cared for Violet and allowed me whatever I needed to get through this time. It felt rough and it felt natural to share what I was going through. Our friends and family being excited and overjoyed for us , helped me deal with the endless sickness.
We went for a scan at 6 weeks and saw our babe and a little flicker heart beating away. We went for a scan at 10 weeks and our baby had little arms and legs. It was waving madly at us and we saw it’s precious head and there was the heartbeat. A miracle we had created. Everything felt right and on track. We decided it was time to tell Violet. She knew something was really wrong with me, sick as a dog and unable to function as her mama should. I felt like I was lying to her not telling her why I was so sick. So we pulled out the picture from our scan and showed it to her. The light that lit up her face as she realized what that meant, and I placed her hand on my belly and said the baby was growing in there. She was overjoyed. Her dream come true. A baby sister! But if it’s a boy mama that’s ok too. We’ll find out when it pops out. How long do we have to wait? Is it really in there? Hello my baby! I’m your big sister! My heart had never held so much joy as in that moment of sharing with her. Over the next two weeks we shared so many tender moments, Violet talking to her baby, singing to it, asking me when again would it be here?
We had thought to take her to the 3 month scan, so she could be a part of it and see her baby. Something in me told me not to do that after all. About a week before our ultrasound, we visited with our midwife. So excited to see her again after all these years. We had shared such a miracle day with her bringing Violet into the world, and here we were preparing for it again. But Violet was bouncing and couldn’t sit still, so we decided not to go through that again for our ultrasound. My angels whispering in my ear. I am so grateful Violet was not in that room with us.
I had some spotting that week, but it seemed ok, brown and light, nothing to worry about. I told the sonographer. He said he would have a quick look before showing us our babe on the big screen. As I lay there busting to pee with the cold jelly on my tummy, and the minutes ticked by in silence. No happy comments, no showing us our baby, nothing. I reached for Tate. And then the words. Dead words in an empty cold room. I’m so sorry. There is no heartbeat. And your baby isn’t the size it should be for 3 months. It hasn’t survived.
Numb. I guess shock. No feeling, just words rushing over me and away. I go to the toilet to pee. When I come back, he shows us our baby, lying in my womb, this time, not moving. No flicker of a heart. It’s over.
Tate and I sat alone in that room and the waves rolled over me as he held me. We’ll try again he says. The most comfort I can receive.
I think back, to unravel the moment. When did this happen? How?
I think to a week ago when the nausea slowly relaxed and then was gone. I was so relieved! I’m through the worst of it, now comes the fun part, the big belly, the happy days of being and loving pregnancy. I think back and realize, my breasts stopped hurting then too. And I stopped craving the foods I had been devouring. It all sinks in.
And then it hits me hard….Violet. What I wouldn’t give to shelter her from this. How can we help her to grieve the loss, and understand the natural process of life and not be wounded from this. The next day we sat together on the bed, and I said to her “You know how the baby is growing its parts every day in mama's belly? And They need all their parts to live, lungs, heart, liver...well those parts aren’t coming together the way they should.” and she knew, the baby can’t live without those, so where is the baby? Is it gone? And all I could do is nod. “Yes my love, the baby is not growing anymore. This can happen sometimes and it's a part of nature. How clever is it that it knows how to begin and knows when to stop if it doesn’t have all the parts it needs for a healthy life.” The realization, the hands on my tummy, the tears and sorrow, the mourning in the days to follow. Each of us allowing the reality to sink in and wash over us. And she said almost straight away, “That’s ok mama, you can try again. That baby wasn’t meant to be” My wise old soul. She is so aware and so intuitive, what a blessing she is in my life. And ohh how painful it was to not be able to give this to her.
Healing time.
When the understanding is truly accepted that, this baby is gone. The decisions are made, what to do next, natural miscarriage or d+c. And then...the healing time begins. There is no way for this but in each person's own journey. My path is an intuitive one. I listen and always know what I need. Knowing that I have so much love offered me by my family. Feeling the outpouring of love from my friends as I slowly let people know. But then, time. Time alone to let it sink in. To cry as loudly as I need to, to sing (music has always been a part of my emotional process) to connect to the sadness, so I can release it. Time alone to do this. This is where I am at. The difference this time? I have a precious, gift to nurture and be mindful off. My daughter. This lifts me up and gives me reason.
The longing for a child can be so intense, it can take over everything else in you. Some things I know. There is no solace in being told ‘at least you have one child’ although I am of course deeply grateful for her and feel so much empathy for my dear friends who have tried and tried and still hold no babe in arms. I am still grieving my baby girl that didn’t make it. I still feel her around me, and I long for her.
With my first two miscarriages, I had no baby to come home to, and I went through a path that lead me to understand and accept what life would be like without children. When this is all your heart has ever longed for, it can feel like a death. And it is. A death of a part of you, a dream you had, a vision for your life that has shifted course. And the time to remap your dream, and discover other parts of yourself. There is more to you then being a mother.
There is more to being a mother then holding a babe in arms.
You can love and hold and nurture and mother without giving birth. What would that look like?
Something that I know. Women are strong and resilient and capable and soft enough to endure and survive and live in the face of so much pain and turmoil and struggle. We are a part of nature. I sat with my body in these early moments of understanding my baby was gone, and I felt so much gratitude for the miracle of what my body was able to achieve. It was able to create life and grow it from a tiny cell, to nurture and sustain it. And it was able to recognize when it was not surviving to its highest potential, and when to shut it down, to stop its tiny heart, to say goodbye and flush away. This beautiful body, this soft belly, this expanded womb, has an intuitive, nature guided knowledge deeper than any mental thought or emotion can explain, that knows what to do. I felt this when I delivered my beautiful daughter into the world, and I released all expectations and all my own need for control and allowed my body to take over and do what every cell in it knew how to do. And here I sit, connecting to that feeling again, this time with tears of mourning pouring down my face, but with utter gratitude and respect for my body and it’s natural knowing.
In my healing and forever after, I hold my daughter extra close, smell her hair, rub her belly, feel her hand in mine. I kiss her cheeks and tell her how precious she is to me, breathing in what a blessing and total miracle she is in my life. I never take it for granted. I also never take for granted the miracle of our bodies, what they can do and how they heal.
May your path be guided by your internal wisdom and the light that exists in your heart. May you find consolation in the connection that exists between us all. You are not alone.
Love Elizabeth
“I am the light of my soul. I am beautiful. I am bountiful. I am bliss. I am I am.”
Sirgun Kaur & Sat Darshan Singh
