To my baby
TW: pregnancy loss
In December 2018, I suffered a miscarriage. I was almost to the sacred 3 month mark. I felt betrayed by my own body.
The pregnancy had likely ended a week or two beforehand, and I didn’t know. It wasn’t until some very slight spotting that immediately, my intuition told me something was wrong. But I’m a worrier- so I tried to tell myself it was probably fine. I had to demand an ultrasound from my unresponsive OBGYN. They thought I was overreacting. I went to a third party site for the ultrasound alone. My husband was at work, and I (like always!) was probably overreacting.
She found no heartbeat.
Alone in that room, I was in shock. I walked out in shock. It wasn’t until I got into my car and sat at a red light that I crumpled into devastated tears. I told my husband over the phone. The worst part was attempting to gather myself to walk back into my home, where my 2-year-old daughter and mother were waiting, playing together during their normal weekday routine.
My mom seemed shocked when I said the words. I lost it in front of her and my daughter. My sweet, empathetic toddler didn’t understand why mommy was so sad. She hugged me. We all hugged while I cried on the floor of my living room.
Later, I had to tell her the baby went back to heaven. She cried.
These were some of the hardest days of my life, yet I felt I had to “get over” them. I became 1 in 4. My case was not unique to the devastating loss so many others face every day. After going to an incredibly traumatic support group for parents of loss, I realized my “little miscarriage” was nothing compared to the complete and utter devastation some of them had faced. Their stories will live with me forever.
Even my husband, who tried to be supportive, didn’t really get it. He didn’t know how to hold me and be fully with me in that loss- and I can’t blame him. His body didn’t betray him. He didn’t have to undergo a procedure to remove his developing child.
I moved forward in life. I was sad, but the heartache got slightly more manageable with time. 6 months later, I was blessed with a new pregnancy. I was ecstatic, and totally afraid. What if it happened again? What if it happened and I didn’t know again. The event itself was so difficult, but in a way, the not knowing was just as hard to process.
I lived in fear for 9 months. My pregnancy became higher risk because of my age (35,) and because my baby had a single umbilical artery (1% of all pregnancies!) I also had seriously low fluid in the placenta, so I was monitored closely throughout and ended up on modified bedrest at the end.
I had my beautiful, healthy baby girl on February 26, 2020. She was induced two weeks early due to the low fluid.
On March 14, 2020- the world shut down and was changed forever.
I went on the next two years, living day-to-day, taking care of my babies at home, navigating my husband’s layoff during the early pandemic, my own professional situation and eventual launch of my business, and kept everyone afloat. I went through the motions. I never re-entered my body. I never reclaimed it for myself.
I share all of this because it wasn’t until today, October 30, 2022- that I realized how this really affected my life and how I feel about myself and my body.
I’ve always struggled with body image, binge eating, emotional eating, and weight gain/loss. It’s part of my family tree, it’s part of my history, and always been my battle of shame. There have been times in my life where I “got it under control,” like an addiction. There were even times I thought I “beat it.” Food has become an addiction. It’s the comfort I turn to for all occasions.
Today, I realize it is way more about the loss and trauma I suffered, rather than the story I’ve told myself and others for the last few years:
miscarriage
depression
new pregnancy
stress from high risk pregnancy
(parents had some serious health events in there, too!)
pandemic
These are the reasons I haven’t taken care of my body!
I felt deeply betrayed by my body when I lost the pregnancy. I have never acknowledged that fully. Not only did it not sustain my baby, but it didn’t let me know about it until weeks later. How could I ever love this body?
Scientifically, I know this is not true. I know there was some medical reason the fetus did not develop. I know it is not my fault. I know that despite trying to pinpoint when and how (was it the massage I had- was the table too warm? Was it the stress of a trip I went on prior to the loss?) I will never know. I have to accept that I will never know.
I am writing this today for myself and for my baby. I am ready to hold this experience and honor it the right way, a way I was unable to the last two years. I am ready to process it, grieve it, and move forward with it weaved into the fabric of my life story. I am ready to release the shame.
To my baby:
I know you are somewhere else. I know you are loved and cared for. I know we will meet again. I know you are not upset with me. I know you want me to enjoy my life.
And I will.
I love you.
