A year ago, I found myself in the midst of a private, secret tragedy. After a tremendous year of fantastic events (our wedding, honeymoon, exciting travels, etc.) the Mr. and I experienced a heartbreaking loss. Two months into our first pregnancy, we learned that we had miscarried.
What had been a growing balloon of hope and joy in our lives burst in a single moment while we sat in the doctor’s office and listened to the doctor describe what would be happening next.
We didn’t tell many people, as we had yet to announce the pregnancy to most of our friends and family. Plus, it didn’t seem that miscarriage was something that many people talked about, despite the surprising statistics of how common it is (10%-20% of known pregnancies result in miscarriage). So, we suffered in our own private puddle of disappointment and sadness.
Thankfully we N and I leaned on each other and sought out things that brought us joy where and whenever we could.
Little by little, we learned to move on and rediscovered our hope to try and start our own family again.
The fear and uncertainty did follow us though. It followed us like a shadow, right into the wonderful discovery of our second pregnancy.
We were thrilled, but also terrified. It resulted in us keeping the pregnancy to ourselves through the first trimester (thus, no big pregnancy announcements!), and we kept many details to ourselves until we were almost in the third trimester (when we couldn’t hide the bump anymore).
Slowly, our insecurities and fears gave way to pure excitement as we got farther along and received continued assurance from our doctors that our little girl was healthy and strong.
By the time we reached month eight, we celebrated on a babymoon to St. Augustine and felt as though the shadow of our past tragedy had receded.
We welcomed our beautiful baby girl a few weeks ago and now have a wealth of new worries, but I felt like it was a moment of needed closure to acknowledge what had happened in our past. It’s also my way of reaching out to anyone else who has or is going through their own private tragedy to say that you’re not alone.
It’s also my way of reaching out to anyone else who has or is going through their own private tragedy to say that you’re not alone. It’s completely understandable to feel the loss and go through the struggle of moving on. Find people to lean on and don’t feel as though you have to suffer through it alone. It’s not a secret that you should have to carry by yourself.
In fact, much of the reason I’m sharing my experience now is to diffuse the overwhelming feeling of secrecy that seems to consume those who go through a miscarriage. Part of moving on is learning to deal with it and how else are we supposed to learn if we can’t confide in others and if information about it isn’t easily available.
Every time I look into my daughter’s face, I am so grateful for her existence. It feels perhaps a bit different than what it could have because I know what a miracle just her being born truly is.
I hope to never see that shadow again, never experience that loss, but it’s something I’ve had to learn regardless. If you have had to learn it too, don’t feel like you have to stay silent. Reach out to others, because it’s something we can all help each other through.