My Real & Raw (& Random) Thoughts After Miscarriage

I’ve wanted to write this blog post for some time now. And by “wanted”, I mean my thoughts after miscarriage, coupled with my desire to remember it all and determination to help other women in a time as tiring & troublesome & transformative as [this], have been on my mind…a lot…but I just wasn’t ready. Honestly, are we really ever ready – for babies to come or to tell the story of their loss? That would be a big, fat, obvious, resounding no for $500, Alex.

My heart (and hormones) are still all over the place. The “big sister” t-shirt we got my daughter remains stuffed in the back of her drawer, unworn. I haven’t deleted our baby’s due date from my color-coded Google calendar and there’s a freshly updated list of baby names staring at me every time I open my notes app.

So let me repeat…I’m still not ready…but I recently realized writing this blog post isn’t about me. While I want to document this season of devastating loss and the deepest love, these words are ~really~ for you. Because I need you to know your thoughts are valid and you’re not alone. Because there’s beauty in curiosity and growth in understanding what other women are going through. Because miscarriage will become less unmentionable the more it’s talked about. And because I just have to believe, in my heart of hearts, there’s a bigger reason behind it all.

My pregnancy & miscarriage story

In October, we decided we were ready to start trying for baby number two, aaaaaaand three weeks later I was peeing on a stick while Sloan played with the other pregnancy tests at my feet. “I’m pregnant!” I shouted at Bob from the toilet, undies still around my ankles (second child things, I suppose *shrug*). “What are you up to in July!?” I giddily texted a handful of girlfriends with a picture of two pink parallel lines.

I instantly fell in love with that new little life. I immediately downloaded an app to start tracking my pregnancy’s progress. I made an appointment with my midwife and reserved my doula for the middle of summer. I began dreaming of life as a family of four.

A few weeks later I started having dark brown discharge (this is a pelvic health blog…no such thing as TMI here, friend!), but was told everything’s fine as long as it wasn’t bright red blood or accompanied by pain. Both Google and said girlfriends confirmed this to be true, so I continued on, confident but cautious. Then it happened – two days before Bob’s second shift as a brand new firefighter, a week before Christmas and when we were going to share the news with our families – I wiped and saw that dreaded bright red blood, and my world collapsed.

The next day included texts with my doctor, an emergency midwife appointment, blood work, a grocery store stop for extra-absorbent pads, and an ultrasound that showed the tiniest babe but no heartbeat. Between hours of painful cramps and passing clots, I birthed my baby the following day at eleven weeks pregnant, on the toilet, with only Sloan by my side. “It’s ok, Mommy, I’m right here” she soothed as her toddler hands cupped my tearful cheeks…and I held our peppercorn-sized babe in mine.

Now for those messy & magical & maybe kinda embarrassing thoughts after miscarriage

I’m no stranger to getting vulnerable on these blog post pages. Heck…I’ve openly shared about my postpartum hemorrhoids, pain with sex, relationship with “mom guilt”, and so much more that margins “TMI”. But oughfff! Putting the real and raw post-miscarriage thoughts that have crossed my mind in the last five months on display for the world to see is a whole new level.

But when I was in the messy middle, my Internet searches came up empty. Some women were angry, others hopeful, most shared tips for moving on or trying again. Everything sounded like a Hallmark card sentiment, and I wasn’t ready for any of ^^that^^…yet. Nothing felt relatable; no one was handing out backstage passes or baring the BTS bloopers I so badly needed.

Every instance of infant loss is different – the when, where, why, and how – but it all hurts, each part of it is hard. I don’t know if these reflections will be the support you’re looking for in this season, but my goodness do I pray something, somewhere in these sentences, brings you ease, solace, peace, and a sense of sisterhood.

THIS IS PHYSICALLY & MENTALLY HARDER THAN POSTPARTUM

I knew there would be cramping and bleeding…but I didn’t know there would be this much cramping and bleeding. Between changing pads by the hour and almost passing out (PS – if you get to this point it’s juuuuuust about time to consider it a medical emergency), this was far harder than my postpartum homebirth experience and recovering from an almost-fourth degree tear.

Aside from making sure I was stable and safe, there’s no sweet baby to show for my suffering, no delightful distraction, no reminder of why it was worth it. I found myself snuggling Sloan or cuddling our pets for any ounce of oxytocin I could get. “Look what I did!”, I thought over and over with a smile on my face after having Sloan. “What did I do?”, I couldn’t help but repeat this time around.

I MISS MY DREAM THE MOST

As soon as I saw those two pink lines, I started dreaming – a baby due in late July looked like laboring in my back yard, bathed in sunshine, and witnessing Sloan become a big sister between hammock swings and picnics on the porch where I had birthed just days before. I didn’t know my baby yet, but damn could I intimately & vividly see, hear, and feel that highlight reel.

Then they were gone…my little one and the wishes that came with them. And while I long for my baby, I have to admit the dream is what I miss more. The ease of conceiving & my personal health & Sloan’s age & the timing of it all seemed perfect beyond what I could have ever planned. Sure, something so kismet can happen again, but I’m still grieving what could have been – the person they would grow to be and the vision I had for all of us.

THEE BEST DECISION I MADE

While I waited almost two months to announce my first pregnancy, this time around I followed an intuition to invite more women in immediately. And I’m so glad I did. Some suffer through miscarriage solo, in silence, because of the secret they were saving. But it’s those who surrounded me with support from the start, who had experienced the excitement, heard my hopes, and joined me in joy…in the end, it was their words of wisdom, counsel, and comfort that I was able to confidently confide in. I don’t know what I would have done without those women (consider this a shout-out to you, my soul sisters <3) and letting them in on that season of life is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

THE WORDS I KEEP REPEATING

I received so many thoughtful messages after my miscarriage – stories of shared experiences, permission for heartbreak, promises of prayer, and wishes for hope & healing. And while each and every one was acknowledged and appreciated, there was one text that stuck out and has stayed with me everyday since. “Praying you receive that peace which surpasses all understanding, because there’s no understanding on this side of heaven.”

Even though I repeat and request these words regularly over my heart, tears fill my eyes as I type this…because time is proving there really is no understanding, but I can feel that all-surpassing peace increase week by week (in a three steps forward, one step back kinda pace). There are right and wrong things to say after loss, [this] is the sentiment that landed with me, the one my soul needed, and I will likely be turning to that prayer until the end of time.

WHY ME?

“You’re the healthiest person I know”, a friend responded to ease my initial anxiety after discovering the brown discharge. And as the “why’s” later swirled around in my head (and sometimes still do), ^^this^^ is the point I keep coming back to. Why me…who watches what she eats, exercises regularly, takes the supplements, journals and meditates, doesn’t drink, and prioritizes sleep? Why not her!?

Gulp. (Obviously I don’t wish loss on anyone, but those were/are my honest thoughts and I promised to bare it all in this blog post.) I wonder what I did, what’s wrong with me, and why other, less-wellness-minded women are welcoming their little ones into the world. I’m not proud of this jealousy, nor am I delighted by my difficulty to dish out those “good for her” wishes, but it’s my current reality and everyday I’m working on trust & patience & grace.

I FEEL LIKE A FAILURE

There are so many reasons for miscarriage – hormone and nutrient deficiency, chromosome abnormality, and maybe even just because that little soul wasn’t quite ready. While I’ll likely never know that “why” for certain, I can confess it feels like a personal failure…an embarrassment and spotlight on my body’s inabilities. Everyone says not to blame myself, but I’m their mama, they depended on me, and it was my job to protect them.

Every menstrual period messes with my mind, and month after month the “let go and let God” approach turns into prayers for healing and hope. Then I remember I’ve kiiiiiiinda been here before – with an endometriosis diagnosis and poor prognosis to conceive – and I modify those “why’s” into “how’s” and move forward intentionally with actionable plans to improve my wellbeing.

I WONDER…

Beyond the “why’s”, there’s a hundred other things I regularly wonder – when did the baby *actually* pass, could they hear my voice or feel my heartbeat, do they know I loved them, were they a boy or girl, would they have had their daddy’s eyes or mama’s smile or sister’s sense of humor, when does this hurt ever end, will I ever get pregnant again? But then I turn to the simple but soothing and soul-healing certainties – that baby was and is loved beyond belief, they were just too good for this world, and someday I will see them again.

THEY NEED A NAME

Those questions I just shared clouded my mind, kept me awake at night, and left me feeling empty, lost, helpless, and uneasy. I was longing for a way to connect with the child I knew was mine but would never meet, and found that naming them provided some much-needed relief.

We settled on Noa Lee, a gender-neutral name that had always been on my list. And while I wondered if people would judge our decision or think it was weird, the weight that was lifted as soon as I spoke that name countered every concern with calm and contentedness. It made my baby real, gave me something to hold on to, a title to remember them by, and now my heart gets to skip a beat every time baby Noa’s name is mentioned.

I CAN NEVER FORGET

I imagine no one ever forgets losing a baby to miscarriage, no matter how far along they are. I carried Noa for eleven weeks before I lost them, and was only conscious of their presence for eight. But that was enough for me to begin planning, create big dreams, and fall madly in love, and I refuse to let a day pass without acknowledging that little life and remembering those feelings.

We bought a plum tree and buried Noa under it in our backyard. Everyday I wear an engraved bracelet with their name on it (this signet ring was a close second). As we water the tree and someday enjoy its fruit…when I wear the bracelet and it brushes my arm or catches my eye…they’re opportunities to celebrate my baby daily. And with each slight nod to the sky, I feel closer and closer to their spirit, more and more like their mama.

WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS?!

It amazed me how few (read…none!) resources there are about physically recovering from miscarriage. The amount of women who came out of the woodwork, who raised their hands and said “me too” was mind blowing. And I still don’t understand how this can be, when pregnancy loss rates are about one in three! I’m not suggesting miscarriage needs to be a 24/7 topic, but it most definitely shouldn’t be taboo.

I’ve always said “someone’s gotta do it” when it comes to women’s health, and sometimes I think my willingness to speak is the purpose behind this pain.

So forget those feelings of failure or fear of offending the person who’s “had it worse”. Imagine if we honored these instances instead of hid them! There would be more information, less humiliation…more support, less shame…more coaching, less critics, more healing, less hell on earth. Women would know where and who to turn to rather than turn on themselves, and what a different experience this would be.

I know there’s a lesson to learn from this loss

It’s simultaneously hard and somehow helpful & healing to share my thoughts after miscarriage with you, just like I’m sure some of these words are hard but helpful & healing to hear. Thankfully, there’s no “right” or “wrong”, no regulating rules, no roadmap to respect…on your end or mine. So in honor of that hand-over-heart honesty, I’d rather not be writing this and I selfishly wish my baby was healthy and growing and moving around inside of me at this very moment.

I can’t help but marry my miscarriage to a meaningful mission. Whether it’s for you or me or many of us, I know there’s a lesson to learn from this loss. Until then, you’ll find me here…waiting, wallowing, wishing, and, per usual, walking you right along with me through it all, as a human just trying to heal.

– Amanda

Disclaimer: The content provided here does not constitute medical advice, nor is it a substitute for personalized healthcare. I’m a doctor, but I’m not your doctor. If you have concerns about a medical condition, diagnosis, or treatment, you should consult with a licensed healthcare professional.