What I Didn't Know About Having A Miscarriage Until I Had One

I will never forget my birthday a few years ago, standing up from the toilet right before my husband and I were about to head out for my birthday dinner and seeing blood. I will never forget screaming my husband’s name. I will never forget the look on his face as he walked into the restroom and saw me bleeding. Crying. I will never forget finding out that we lost one twin (two weeks later, we lost the second one.)

I will never forget the pain, the guilt, the questions, the friends who ran to my side to help, and those who — with no realization of how their words pierced me — tried to comfort me with: “Well, at least you have two other kids.”

As if that would somehow stop my heart from hurting; make me forget the hopes and dreams I had for these babies; erase the deep love I felt for them the moment I found out they were growing inside of me.

To The Mom Who Just Miscarried:

I’m so sorry. I know this heartbreak. It is so complex and deep. And you start to wonder if anyone understands your pain and your anger.

You go back and forth between feeling nothing — completely numb in disbelief — to feeling everything. Too much.

I need you to hear this because I needed to hear it when it happened to me: It’s not your fault. I know how easy it is to wonder could I have…? Should I have…? Don’t let yourself go there. Stop.

You feel like you need someone or something to blame, someone to direct this anger at, and you’re making yourself the target. Stop. Be kind to yourself. It’s not your fault.

And there’s more I need you to hear: Some people will inevitably say insensitive things. Most of them have good intentions. Ignore them anyway.

Don’t ignore the people offering to cook you meals, clean your house, help with your other children. It’s okay to feel selfish and helpless right now. Because, truth be told, by focusing solely on healing your body and mending your heart, you are neither selfish nor helpless. You are serving your soul. Your soul needs you right now. Others can wait.

Your grief is healthy. Don’t suppress it. Allow yourself to cry, scream, stare into the distance for hours, wail, feel everything, feel nothing, curse, pray, sleep. There is only one way for you to properly grieve: your way. But in your pain and grief, remember this: time heals.

I know, I know. That’s annoying to hear. It’s overused and often just seems like the “right” thing to say to someone who is in pain. However, there is important truth and hope in it, so please hear it: time heals.

Time doesn’t magically make pain disappear, but it lessens it. It reduces the screeching noise of all that you have lost. It creates a healthy distance between you and this devastating heartbreak, so that you can stop identifying your whole self, your whole story, your whole life with loss. So that you can feel real joy again. And trust me, you will.