This Is What a Miscarriage Looks Like

If you’ve followed this blog for long, you’ll know it’s not a secret that I’ve had ten miscarriages in the space of six years. October 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and I thought this might be a good time to remind people of what miscarriage looks like.

I dug a little into our photo archives and found pictures on the day (or day after) I started miscarrying each of my pregnancies. Can you tell?

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Just this I cannot share (a published piece)

Eleven years ago, my best friend experienced the loss of her twins at twenty-six weeks. A decade later, I still think about it. I still write about it. It changed the course of her life, and mine. Try as I did back then, I could not understand her pain, until one day, years later, I could. I wrote a story of this experience and I am honored that it was published earlier this month on The HerStories Project. I am sharing it here with a link to the full piece below.

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sisyphean days

I wonder if I should send him to bed hungry so he knows what an empty stomach feels like. I wonder if I should return the brown paper packages tied up with string (and blue Amazon Prime tape) piling high on my dining room table. Would an empty stocking on Christmas morning teach him the lesson I am so desperate for him to learn in this moment?

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An Invitation to Grieve

So often, we keep our grief to ourselves. We keep it hidden behind a façade, veiled in secrecy and shame. Is it a lingering childhood memory of being told not to cry? Do we not want to burden our family and friends with our sadness? Are we afraid of appearing vulnerable? Or worried that if we allow ourselves to dip into that deep well of grief, we may never come back?

Whatever the reason, we keep our grief private.

The grief that surrounds infertility or miscarriage is even more private. Our attempts at pregnancy are shrouded in secrecy to begin with, the disappointments hidden away with each cycle, or with each premature end. It’s common practice to wait until the jeans begin to bulge to make our happy announcements, and yet, so often the sorrow arrives before we move into our new size, if we move at all. And so we grieve alone.

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