Sometimes you have to be bold and say it out loud. You have to say what happened to you or what you experienced even through blinked back tears and when you have no idea how it will come out.
Three weeks ago I miscarried our second child.
I’ll be honest, I’ve not wanted to be a blogger who wrote about having a miscarriage- not that anyone “wants” to have the experience and write about it. Please know that I am grateful for those of you who have written about that experience, but {and please hear the grace in this} I didn’t want to be that writer. It isn’t a story I wanted to tell.
My mom had miscarriages. She isn’t here to ask about them, but I do know that they were before she had my brother or myself. I’m blessed I have a healthy daughter a gloriously ordinary first pregnancy and no previous miscarriages, but I think that somewhere in my soul I knew that I would walk this road. Maybe I’m walking this road for someone else who is going to walk it behind me.
The first thing that I said to my husband when I realized that we were probably losing the baby was that I dreaded telling people. Most of our family knew about our impending addition and we’d slowly started sharing the news with an ever widening circle of friends. Some of you are hearing this for the first time and for that I am sorry. Grace?
It wasn’t that I was afraid of what people would say. I know that we are loved and that tenderness and sympathy would be in heavy supply from all. I’ve been scarred by tea and sympathy from losing too many in my life. I have an aversion to it. Kyle gently reminded me that I didn’t have to tell anyone.
I’d almost decided not too.
My reluctance to tell this part of my story has to do with my own struggle with grief. I’ve realized that I fear being the girl who lost her {fill in the blank}. Growing up I was the girl who lost her parents and this has reminded me that I still worry about that being the way people one dimensionally see me.
Truth be told I don’t have to sit here and write this story out for everyone who stumbles on my blog to read, but as I’ve mulled over this new part of my story I knew that it wouldn’t be authentic to hide it. I’m not afraid of the ugly pieces of my story because I know that those are not irredeemable pieces for God.
Let me say that I am okay. The recovery has been very manageable and we’ve been cared for well. Yes, it stinks that we lost a baby. I’ve sob-soaked a t-shirt or two of my husbands in recent weeks. I’m dealing with my emotions {alone time, Scripture, chocolate, girl time, good books, Zumba class and retail therapy help} and I’ve been shored up by a few sisters who have walked with me through this in the most tender way.
I’ve wrestled with the right emotions in the midst of it all. I was between 9-10 weeks when it happened so it was still early. My connection to the baby was not super strong at that point and so the loss doesn’t feel as great. In some ways I wish that it did because that is the way that I think I should feel, but don’t.
That was scary to write because that bumps up against all kinds of insecurity I harbor about being a good mom. Should I be more emotional? I did just lose a child. Will someone think that I don’t value life or personhood because my child was only 10 weeks old when I miscarried and I’m not overly distraught about what happened? These are questions that swirl as I type.
I’d say the biggest thing for me right now is the fears that are creeping around the edges of life as we think about the future. What ifs are a huge trigger for my anxiety and I’m having to press forward in letting that go and believing that all is grace whether we have another child or another miscarriage.
Sorry for being a serious Debbie-downer right before Mother’s Day. I tried to not hit “publish” but it felt unauthentic. Someone out there is walking this path right now and I hope that you can see me a few steps ahead waving and telling you that it is ok to not know how you feel and to keep walking any way.
Every woman who has carried a child, no matter how long or how short, knows that our children break parts of us off. They split us open and down the middle and we’re never quite the same once their lives have touched ours. Even if it is an ever so light touch.
Let’s be sad for a second together. Let the weight of it sink in. Let the tears fall free. Don’t fight it or question it. I promise to sit with you for as long as you need.
I don’t have anything revolutionary or mind-blowing to say about this experience. I’m still processing it and the half dozen other things that have blindsided us these past few weeks- April was a doozy of a month.
All I know is that I want to share in this space my real in every way. I’ve made a point to always do that and even though these aren’t the words I wanted to add to my story in April of 2014 they are evidently the ones that God wanted to add. Not the words of a cruel unfeeling God, but the words of a master storyteller honing His craft in my life for my good and His glory.
Thanks for cupping this story in your hands gently.
{Feel free to share your own miscarriage/loss stories in the comments. Whisper them in an email handmedowngrace(at)gmail(dot)com if you aren’t brave enough to say them out loud. I’d love to hear your sweet words of encouragement- keep it light and lovely though. I need some happy up in here.}
A bit of happy to add…
The giveaway for The Vintage Honey Shop teething necklace is still going on and I’d love for you to enter. Seriously, it would knock my socks off to give a piece of beauty to you. You. Yes, YOU! Go enter!
+ Mother’s Day, HELLO! Break out the breakfast in bed and day off of dishes!
Catch up on this weeks reads…
This week has been full of great posts:
Why We Can Say “Yes” In Our Mess {Kristen Welch’s Rhinestone Jesus is now available!}
Mother’s Day Redeemed {For all of the motherless daughters out there}
100 Way You Know You’re A Mom {A Guest Post by Lisa-Jo Baker!}
Learning to Share {+ a giveaway from The Vintage Honey Shop}
No comments:
Post a Comment