Friday, January 2, 2015

They Don't Say

I consider this one of the most personal and note-worthy experiences of my life. I've thought awhile about whether I should share it or not, due to the nature of the content, but I know that in the moment it happened to me having someone to empathize and totally relate was crucial to gaining insight and ultimately healing from this painful struggle, and I can absolutely open my heart to anyone to offer them the same kindness. 

Saturday, July 27, 2013 -- 2:46 AM. 
They Don’t Say 

I never thought it’d happen to me. It’s happened to so many women before, but not to me. It wouldn’t happen to me. 
But it did happen to me. I wondered for a day. And then the second day I came close to knowing. And then there I stood. In my kitchen. A searing pain shot through my body, and I knew. And as I sat in my bathroom, it happened, and my little boy kissed my legs and feet while I sobbed.
No one said it would be like this. They say things like, “Oh, it’s so common. Happens all the time. You just bleed and that’s it.”
No one said anything about it. They didn’t say that you watch your belly grow each week, read about how everything is developing at an exciting rate, how the brain, and heart, and legs and hands are all there. They don’t say that you dream about what they’ll look like, if they’re a boy or girl, or how perfectly they’ll fit in your family. And how loved by you and their father and their brother they will be. They don’t talk about it. And they certainly don’t talk about how you dream and wish and love and hope while you’re standing in your kitchen alone. And then all-of-a-sudden, it stops. And it’s just you. And it doesn’t make any sense. 
They don’t say that you have to walk out your front door to get a picture of what was supposed to be a beautiful beating heart that is now just an empty space. And your heart breaks. 
They don’t say that you grieve. That you feel the pains of labor and sit in your bathroom horrified as you deliver. Alone. And perhaps it wasn’t a child at all. Perhaps it was doomed from the beginning. But they don’t say that you’ll still mourn a joyfully anticipated opportunity that is now gone. 
They don’t say how you have to pick yourself back up and “try again.” All over again. 
“And keep your chin up sweetie, because the next one will take.”
They don’t say that you won’t want to try again. That you gave it a perfectly great try last time. And it took. And that you watched your belly grow, and felt your dreams take off, and knew you could never imagine yourself loving anything more. 

They just don’t say. And now I know why. 


  1. I haven't experienced miscarriage, but I have and am currently experiencing infertility. This is my response.

    They don't say how every month is a rollercoaster. They don't say how the tiniest symptom of pregnancy makes you start to hope, to pray, to think it's finally happened. They don't say how the next day you start bleeding and everything crashes in around you. They don't say how every announcement you see makes you cry yourself to sleep. They don't say how to be happy when your sister, best friend, the lady who already has a bunch of kids, announces their pregnancy. They don't say when you really are happy for them, how do you act? How do you share in their joy when your heart is shattered? They don't say how random statements ruin your day. They don't say how you literally die every month, your hopes and dreams die again and again. They don't say how to keep living your seemingly great life when behind the scenes things are falling apart. They don't say how to be ok. They don't say how to have hope. They don't say, but they should. We all should.

    Thank you for sharing. Thank you for letting me share, I have been needing too. You are amazing and I wish we could hang out :)


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