Much.Most.Darling.: No more suffering in silence // I had a miscarriage.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

No more suffering in silence // I had a miscarriage.

Yesterday was a day that I wish upon no one, and yet one so many of us experience.

Yesterday was the day I was told I’d be holding a baby in my arms. And yet, there I was, my arms heavy with emptiness. 28 weeks, and instead of celebrating another week of a healthy growing baby, I was mourning the baby I would never get to hold.

A friend recently told me that miscarriage changes you in ways you could never expect, and those words hit me hard. Today is a little easier than yesterday, but the loss is still so fresh. Feeling so conflicted over the emotions I’m simultaneously experiencing, like grief and thankfulness, and praying so hard that come sometime September when I look at baby Bear’s face, so much more of this pain will be alleviated with the knowledge that our sweet rainbow is really here.

Looking back at some of the things I was writing when I was deep in the suffering brings it all back. The unknown, the hope, and then the crushing feeling of loss and heartache. I started going through and editing the words I had shared, and then stopped and asked myself why? Why would I change what I had written? This is how I felt, this may be how others are feeling - why would I worry about how it all sounded? It's ok if it isn't cohesive or flows beautifully from one word to another, because it wasn't a beautiful experience, and it wasn't a beautiful feeling.

The following words are a few of the candid thoughts raging through my head. They were meant to sit in my "drafts", to never see the light of a published page. However, I remember how alone and alienated I felt when we were going through the entire ordeal of a miscarriage, and something inside me is hoping that by sharing this, I might be able to help someone know that they aren't alone, they aren't the only one, and that there are people out there you can talk to.

I ache, it hurts. I feel empty, but my womb feels heavy. I am simultaneously overcome with emotions, yet blank. I'm going through the motions, but everything is a blur.
It hurts to look at my husband, it hurts to look at my son. It just hurts.
I feel like a lesser person, a lesser mother, because of my miscarriage. That word. That freaking word. I hate it, I hate what it means, I hate what it makes me feel.

Every square inch of my body aches. It feels bruised and sore. I ache in places I never thought possible. I can literally feel my heart wanting to break and burst. It feels heavy in my chest. It feels cold. I feel cold. But no matter how many sweaters or blankets I pile on myself, the feeling is still there. I burn hot from the anger and disappointment.

Why? What did I do to deserve this? I wanted this so badly, WE wanted this so badly. Why?
I may never have had the chance to hold this child in my arms, but I feel the weight of her on my chest and in my arms when I close my eyes.  I begged and prayed and bargained for this child to be conceived.

The day that second line showed up on the test, it was so light I almost thought I was seeing things. By the next day, my gut told me something was wrong. After weeks of blood work that showed my levels rising, then leveling, then falling, then rising and falling again, my instincts were proven right. There's nothing quite like the glimmer of hope that a nurse can give you by uttering the words "they rose again, which is a good sign", and theres nothing quite like the ultimate defeat of her final call: "they fell again, at this point your pregnancy is not successful, and this is a miscarriage. We need to discuss whether you want to schedule a D&C, or whether you'd like to let this pass naturally".

Those words still ring in my head, clear as day. It hurt. It still hurts. It really fucking hurts. Something inside me died that day, and I don't know if I'll ever get it back.

Everyone keeps asking "what do you need?" I need to feel like I'm not a complete failure. I need this to have never happened. I need these dark feelings to go away. I need people to stop telling me that "its for the best" or "you're still young, you have plenty of time". I need for people to stop minimizing my feelings. I need my baby back.

I don't get to take time off to wallow in my sorrow and grief. As a mother, I have a person to take care of. I don't get to lay on the couch in sweats with a  blanket pulled over me as I want to, I have breakfast to make, books to read and games to play. I have a little person who needs me to be present more than I need to hide away. Because when mom is shaking on the floor, crying, and your toddler comes over to ask "you ok? mama ok?" and wipes away your tears, it makes you cry a little harder before you recover. Because the worried look on H's face as he watches me, hurts almost as much as my emptiness does.


  1. Speechless and heartbroken :( I'm praying for you and your fam ,

    Kisses and Hugs,


    1. Thank you so much, Glenda. It has shaken us in so many ways I never thought possible, and makes me so much more thankful for the little one that is currently baking away at almost 30 weeks strong <3

  2. I'm so sorry for your loss Shannon. After years of fertility treatment I finally got pregnant only for it to end in a miscarriage. It's really hard to describe the heartache and emptiness that it leaves but you did it beautifully. Hugs for you and congrats on your rainbow baby! xoxo

    1. Oh Angie, I am so sorry you have to feel the empty ache <3 It hurts so deeply and so strongly, and the sadness of what will never be is sometimes overwhelming, even now 9 months later. I am sending you so many hugs, and hope that you may one day get your rainbow <3 Thank you <3

  3. I am sorry :( I will be praying for you we suffered a miscarriage before our twins and it was painful.

    1. Isn't it interesting how incredibly painful it is, in more than just the physical sense? I had no idea what was happening in my body or mind, because no one spoke about it, and felt so alone until I finally shared my experience. Now so many wonderful women are sharing their story and letting me know that the alienation I felt was the same they did as well. I am so happy you got your sweet rainbows!

  4. My wife and I lost two children early in pregnancy. I mourned their loss by myself for a number of years while my wife kind of ignored what happened and continued on with life. Five or so years after our second miscarriage, we went through the final week of life of our friends' teenage daughter, and at that time came face to face with the loss of our miscarriages. We named our children, wrote them into our family tree in our Bibles, and mourned our loss together. Sometime in 2003 we learned about The Heart of America Memorial Wall for the Unborn in Topeka, KS. We had our children's names engraved on the wall and experienced another level of healing. I have recently joined the board that oversees the memorial wall, Christians for Life, Inc. Scott McBurney

    1. In 1988 God blessed us with the birth of our daughter Bethany.


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