Speaking up

At the beginning of my journey with grief, it was my mission to prove to people that there was so much more to my story than what meets the eye. I felt like I had lost my voice and my identity. Since society has created such a stigma around infant loss – I also felt like I had lost the ability to create my own narrative. People would look at my situation and say things like, “You’re young, you’ll have another child.” Or even, “At least it happened when she was a baby, before you really got to know her.” Someone once told me she wouldn’t tell anyone if she lost a baby because it seemed “attention grabby.” Everywhere I looked, people were getting it all wrong. I can’t tell you how unbelievably maddening that was.

Truthfully, I think that was the catalyst that ultimately led to me starting this blog. I needed an outlet, a place where I could share absolutely everything; in my own words, in my own time, in my own way. I needed to find my voice, then send it to as many corners of the world as I possibly could. I needed people to know what I knew to be true of my life, my daughter’s life, and of my grief. I didn’t want sympathy. I didn’t want attention. I wanted people to know this wasn’t just a failed pregnancy. My daughter wasn’t some defective fetus that we could just replace with another baby.

As I shared in my last post, we recently endured the loss of another baby. This time, loss reentered our lives in the form of a miscarriage. Our experience with my second pregnancy was very different from what we endured with Aria, and this loss occurred significantly earlier, but the devastation still remains.

At first I wasn’t sure if I would talk about my miscarriage. Even after being so public about the loss of our daughter, I wondered if this topic was too much to share. I didn’t want people to perceive me as some kind of repeat failure. I was afraid that everyone would hear my story and blame me for creating two babies that couldn’t stay. I was afraid they would find me at fault, despite the enormous efforts we gave both of these babies in an attempt to keep them. I guess that’s why only a handful of people even knew I was pregnant in the first place. I was so scared of telling the world we had lost once again.

Even after being so immersed in the pregnancy and infant loss community for nearly two years, I realized the stigma around loss still had a firm grip on me. So I’m speaking up about it.

I had a miscarriage.

For the second time, I walked into a hospital pregnant, and walked out with an empty womb and empty arms.

This has happened to me. But it does not define me. It does not make me less than. It does not negate my motherhood. I didn’t fail. I didn’t do anything wrong. It just happened. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I will continue to survive, and thrive in the face of total devastation.

Because even now, against all odds, it is well with my soul.

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Again.

“Get out of bed. Brush your teeth. Shower. Wash your face. Brush your hair. Eat. Drink some water.”

Several days ago I found myself at this point with grief, yet again. Getting back to the basics, constantly reminding myself that at the very least, I need to take care of my body each day.

I had been doing well considering everything we had been through. But tragedy brought me there once again.

It is with a heavy heart that we share the news that we have miscarried our second baby.

We prayed so hard for this baby, and we fell madly in love during the short period of time that we had together. We let ourselves feel hope and joy we hadn’t felt in such a long time. Now we are feeling levels of grief we hadn’t felt in such a long time.

Yes, I will admit this loss is different than what we endured with Aria, but it is painful nonetheless.

I had written a few posts during our brief time with this little babe, and I’ll be sharing them in time. There aren’t as many of us who have felt the sting of loss twice, but I feel it’s important to be a voice in this community of those who have.

In the mean time, please pray for our hearts as we glue them back together for a second time.