The nervousness you felt, when you first saw that positive pregnancy test, is not a distant memory. It really happened. But at points, honestly, this whole pregnancy has felt like a dream. The nervousness was mixed in with excitement or maybe even worry. Whatever emotion you felt is now becoming a distant memory as you embrace the reality of things.

You’re having a miscarriage. You still can’t believe it.

Maybe you’ve already shared the news with those that you love or with no one at all. That still doesn’t erase the pain. It just makes it harder to say, “Hey, I know I said I was pregnant, but now I’m not”, or “Hey, kids, I know I said we were going to have a baby but now we’re not”, or even “I was waiting to surprise you with the exciting news that I’m expecting a baby, but I’m not. I’m actually having a miscarriage now.” It hurts no matter how many people you have to tell. It’s the same outcome. It’s over.

You’re having a miscarriage. It’s over.

Possibly things felt “off” from the beginning or maybe they felt perfect. Now things are what they are. You’re having a miscarriage and the pain is real, literally. Why didn’t anyone answer the questions that are now consuming you. What will happen to my body? How long will this take? When will I stop crying? When will this be over? When will I get my body back? Will this ever be over or am I about wake up from a bad dream? You’re feeling utterly confused about all your feelings - in an instant, you’re trying to move on and wanting to make a full recovery. The next minute you’re consumed with feelings of disappointment, grief, and you cry, again. You convince yourself that this is all apart of the process.

The shame and disappointment you feel is real but really complicates matters. Why do we feel ashamed about something that was so exciting? It it because we are disappointed in ourselves? Is it because we feel we failed? Did our bodies fail us? Did we fail others? Do we feel like this our fault? Is that why we feel ashamed? Is it because society has kept us quiet around this stigma of having a miscarriage and loss? None of it really matters at this point.

You’re having a miscarriage. This is real. It hurts bad.

The emotional strain is sometimes much more overwhelming than the physical pain. Yet, the physical signs are a constant reminder that this is happening. You’ve googled all the normal and abnormal possibilities of what may happen to your body. You try not not over obsess over symptoms but don’t want to screw up your body anymore than it is. This all cut deeps. The pain reaches depths of your soul that you never knew really existed This pregnancy is ending. How could this be? What’s wrong with me?

You’re having a miscarriage. Here it is.

There are constant reminders everywhere and they unknowingly make this process harder. The sweet newborn baby in the waiting room (while you wait to see if if your miscarriage is progressing correctly), the constant baby app reminders, and all the advertisements for maternity wear (social media is so smart).

Please newborn baby, please app reminders, and maternity ads. Not right now! I’m having a miscarriage and I still can’t believe it.

I know you remember the day very well. Well, technically, all the days are quite a foggy mess, but you’ll still never forget “the day”. The day where you realized that this pregnancy is really over. This pregnancy will never be. It is gone and there is nothing that anyone can do to change that. Even though the pain may get better, you will never forget “the day”. It’s forever etched into your brain. You will never forget the day that you loss your pregnancy and your baby.

I’m having a miscarriage. This is it.

Yes, you are grieving. Yes, it does hurt - physically and emotionally. However, in the rage of your confusing emotions, there is a clarity in your perspective. In your deepest, saddest moments you somehow feel grateful to your body, your family and friends, and for this entire situation. You don’t quite know all the good that will come out of it, but deep down you feel like that day of full clarity will come. Even when it really doesn’t feel like it, believe me, the day will come.

I know all these things about you because I am you. The pain and sadness that you feel is all too real for me too. I wrote this for you, for me, and for all of us - every woman in the future, who also needs to know, “It’s going to be okay.” When the world around you is silent and you feel like you can’t make it out of the fogginess of this loss, please know that we understand. This letter is also for the woman who came before us too. We know you have weathered the grief, carried the pain (physical and emotional), and you have persevered. These women are amongst us and know all too well the pain we feel. I understand. We understand. We can all cry together.

We are forever bonded through this experience - forever and ever. Today, I ask that you stop the shame associated with miscarriage. Start talking about it so that you can help the next women. She needs you. I need you. We all need you. Together, we can support each other and we will never, ever forget.

Love,

The Woman who Had a MIscarriage Too