I'm going to share something that I'm only just coming to terms with. It's scary to share something so personal, especially in so public a forum, but I don't really know who reads my blog anyhow. And I think that's what is helping me continue to type.
Last Fall, I had a miscarriage. It was easy to be in denial that it happened and even now it doesn't feel fully real. Here's why. I never got it confirmed by my doctor. I had positive pregnancy tests at home. I was going to the doctor for other reasons and when I asked for a test there, but they somehow overlooked running it. And by the time I realized that, my tests had started to be negative at home.
For those that know me, you know that I have wanted to be a mom for years. I've come to think in terms of a "veil of motherhood." A barrier I have yet to cross. An inner circle of womanhood of which I long to be a part. With each new announcement of a friend or family member's pregnancy, I fight an internal battle. I want to be happy for whoever it is, but my heart breaks that much more. This past Mother's Day, I did the math at how far along I could have been in my pregnancy and it was so tremendously painful.
I have known others who have had miscarriages. And I have read about how many woman have them and don't even realize it. Somewhere I read it was called "the silent grief" because it's not talked about. I always told myself naively that I would talk about it if it ever happened to me. But when it happened, I only told my husband. I didn't even tell my mom, the other person I'm so close to, until a month ago...nearly 6 months after. I didn't want the sympathy. I didn't want the sorrow. I didn't want the reality to sink in. If I didn't share it, it could continue to be unreal.
But this has become a part of me. It's become a part of my story. And it has broken my heart. But I'm healing. And I'm becoming healthier so that hopefully when I carry a child in the future, my body will be better prepared to nurture and sustain life. A friend of mine recently shared this thought: "...to identify people as parents from the moment of conception." There was something so precious about considering myself a parent, if even for a few brief weeks. I feel like being a parent is a dormant side of myself. It's growing and yearning to come to the forefront. And perhaps someday it will come to fruition.
Thus endeth the most intimate blog I've ever written.
