I had a miscarriage on my 37th birthday.
Now let me back track a second here.
I semi sorta read things about how to be an effective writer or marketer or whatever.
A lot of stuff I read says to open up a piece of work with a jaw dropping line or something to that effect.
I tend to not really listen to things that tell me what to do (shocker) and mostly travel through life with my heart at the helm with a certain knowing that my soul work will touch whom it needs to.
For whatever reason I decided to try to open this piece with flare.
Did it work?
It was either between that line or starting this piece saying I flushed my baby down the toilet on Sunday.
But I didn’t know if that would be too over the top.
So I didn’t.
It’s the truth.
I woke up on my 37th birthday thinking I had started my period.
Which was ironic because just that previous night Bearded Things asked me if he thought there was a chance I could be pregnant.
Was I in denial?
I decided that I couldn’t really remember the last time I had a period, which were never really normal anyway, because welp: nothing about me is. 🙃
I could feel my stomach flip in anticipation at the thought of being pregnant which I reigned back in because I didn’t want to get excited.
So I calmly noted in my head that I would pee on a stick on 1/11/19 just because I like matching numbers and things.
So when I woke up to another ruined pair of Victoria secret underoos on Sunday morning I told Bearded Things: SEE!
I told you. I wasn’t pregnant.
Or so I thought.
My cramps were being a little extra and overly dramatic compared to normal but I didn’t think much of it.
Until they became excruciating and I went to go potty and something rather large and unpleasant fell out of me.
I think I stopped breathing and simultaneously started crying because I immediately deep in my heart knew what was happening.
I ran upstairs and barely could blurt out the fact that I thought something bad was happening to my body when my husband jumped up, grabbed me and hugged me.
“What’s wrong baby???”
I told him go down and look.
I could google till I was blue in the face but nothing could really prepare me for what was about to happen to my mind, body and soul over the next few days.
I’ll spare you the worst of the gory details but it got much worse before it let up.
I’ll never forget going potty and having another big piece of whatever was growing inside me fall out and splash everywhere causing me to just start bawling.
It’s humbling when your sitting on a blood filled toilet in nothing but granny underoos and your husband is on his knees in front of you hugging you and trying to console you.
It wasn’t really how I planned on spending my day.
I could tell old patterns and ways of dealing with grief were coming up in me because I just wanted to power through all of it.
I didn’t want to cancel teaching class Monday morning or find someone to cover my long shift at the front desk.
I just wanted to be normal as fast as I possibly could.
I wanted to keep moving because I knew if I stopped the magnitude of what was actually happening would catch up to me.
I ended up trying to go to the gym.
How fucking funny is that.
(That wasn’t a real question.)
Guess what happens when your upright and your body is packed full of stuff that it wants to expel and your body is going through massive contractions to get the job done?…
It’s not pretty.
I was stuck on the toilet in the gym bathroom for an hour all together by the time it was said and done.
I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to be able to get home and it was making me panicky.
I was tired and sore as all get out and could literally feel blood gushing out of me as I was driving.
I had to process learning and accepting the fact that I was pregnant and losing a baby and all the heavy that comes with that all in one foul swoop and the it was getting the best of me.
And I hated it.
Maybe I’m not so stellar at being vulnerable?
I got in the shower at home and stood under the hot water and it felt so calming for the moment.
Until another big, hard clump fell out of me onto the shower floor.
And it about sent me over the edge.
I googled periodically during the day what happens to a woman when they miscarry.
But they left out the parts about how scared you are when you have pieces of you fall out and you’re not sure if you are going to see the formation of a fetus or what.
I really thought I was going to be safe because I didn’t know I was pregnant so I didn’t think I was going to be attached.
I’d be able to bounce right up from this.
Boy was I ever so wrong.
ENTER: The What Ifs 😞
Our brains are funny little booger’s.
When you are down and out and going through trauma that dirty little devil likes to open up all doorways to deep dark holes that are so seductive to want to go down into.
I’m waiving the flag for the moment.
I have powered through the last couple days keeping my schedule and acting like it was all going to just pass by.
I’m good at trauma.
I’m particularly good at dead people.
Or so I thought.
I USED to be good because I was using food, prescription drugs and booze to numb all the things I was supposed to feel, but didn’t allow myself.
So guess whose feeling all the feels now?
This girl right here.
I’m thankful for my evolution and growth this past few years and for my broader understanding of how our brains work.
I preach incessantly to anyone who will listen and to my clients that we are NOT that voice in our head with its nonsensical, self defeating, degrading, bullshit chatter.
If this isn’t the biggest test of my resolve to believe that and understand it on a whole new level, I don’t know what is.
I’ll find myself daydreaming as I’m driving to town envisioning me and Bearded Things with him carry the baby in the car seat loading up in the camo burb to take a cruise to go look at his moo cows with happiness GLARING off of us brighter than the sun.
It makes me sad.
It aches to be more precise.
And then I get really fucking pissed and think why the fuck do we even have to go there brain?
Why even show me these scenes?
It’s not helpful.
So I shut them down.
I find myself wandering down the dark alley of questioning whether I killed this baby because I never once slowed down on my workouts.
I drank my fair share of Scratch-lattes over the past few weeks.
And if I was far enough along I smoked about an entire pack of cigarettes the day I put Snibby to sleep.
ALLLLLLLLLL the goblins have started showing up for the party.
It’s been exhausting these past few days wrestling with these mongrels.
It’s been exhausting acting like I’m doing better than I am.
I’m tired of walking around with this giant fucking pillow period pad in my crotch.
I’m tired of seeing blood.
I’m tired of feeling tired.
And the craziest thing… I’m hungry as FUCK.
My body is going through a massive over haul right now.
I get it.
But life has to keep going on. Right?
I’ve done some reflecting and they say hindsight is always 20/20.
That couldn’t be truer.
I distinctly remember Bearded Things coming home one day and I had just gotten out of the shower and was naked.
Cause I like naked. I wasn’t made for clothes and restrictions. ✌🏽
And he’s a magnet to it and very observant of every inch of my being.
He was adamant that my boobs were ginormous and I remember thinking they felt different. I looked at them and could actually see blue veins in them they were so big.
Had I been pregnant since then?
I just ignored it.
I knew my pants were getting tighter over the past few weeks and I just assumed it was my new found YOLO (🙌🏼✌🏽☀️) way of being about gnoshing on entire cans of cheese dip paired with brownie mix every night that contributed to it.
I like to push the envelope between having all the cheese dip, beer and brownie mix and proving we can still have sexy abs.
Truth be told, I like to push all envelopes.
I took this picture at the gym in the midst of the chaos.
I added the commentary on the photo for this blog post.
I distinctly remember half assed thinking I should probs start tracking my food better so I could actually look the part of where I help other women lose inches and get comfortable in their skin.
I thought people may start to judge me now.
Would they question my effectiveness if I couldn’t even do it myself?
How fucking ridiculous and terrible and judgmental all in one foul swoop is that?…
Was I really in denial?
I have spent every moment of my life since I was a little girl from when my sister got pregnant at a young age devoutly vowing to myself that I would never bring a child into this world until I could give it more than what my dead mom ever gave me.
I watched my sister struggle with her dead beat baby daddy and I had STRONG resolutions for myself and my future babies.
I knew I would rather die than have a child with Mr. Good.
I was VERY staunch about that.
I knew I would barely be able to survive that relationship on my own let alone adding an innocent baby to the mix.
And I KNEW I didn’t want to be one of those women who thought bringing a baby into the picture would solve things….
I regret none of those vows.
But did I attach myself so staunchly to them that I somehow manifested this outcome?
Has my psyche and soul and every cell in my body heard me be adamant about no baby for so long I caused this to happen?
More fear, self doubt….. BLAME. Guilt.
The questioning and wondering and what if’s are often unbearable.
I had to write about this to get this out of my body.
It’s therapeutic and healing for me (and oodles of others).
I’m one of those women who think they have to bear everything on their shoulders and have a hard time asking for help.
Which is odd because I LOVE helping and taking care of others.
Why is it so hard for us to ask for what we really need?
Lack of self worth???
I worked with my energy healer this morning and finally decided that the best act of self care I could do for the moment was wipe my to do list clean this afternoon.
I had to reschedule meeting with a friend and it was painstaking to ask for a reprieve.
I know this is a major PHD style life test and lesson.
I know in my soul this didn’t happen to me (And Bearded Things) it happened FOR me and him.
My current goals are to honor and be gracious of my beautiful body for all that it is doing for me right now.
The bump is going away and now I feel eerily empty.
This baby was definitely not meant to be at this time.
I can respect that.
I will continue to be an observer of the negative thoughts that might spiral out of control in my brain from time to time but I will NOT accept their sexy invite to go into the darkness with them.
I will allow myself to process grief and release release any lingering shame and guilt.
I actually, for real, at one point thought to myself… well at least I know I wasn’t just fat.
And then I wanted to get back to my fit sexy stomached body and move on.
I remember being pissed about how every woman on my side of the family had children before they were 19 or 20 with a niece having one at 14 with no fucking problems.
And here I am 37.
I waited until I was safe and secure in a relationship with a solid foundation of love and respect and honor and this is what I get?
It was a big ass Pity party with no kegs stands here for me.
Who does that? Who thinks shit like that?
Am I ashamed?
At least I’m honest.
Shame breeds in secrecy.
(Read that again, a million times)
What we can’t face, owns us.
My hope is that anyone reading this that has ever felt guilt and shame over something that they have done or experienced or even thought, that they somehow find a way to release it from themselves.
My fellow energy workers and believers out there know shame is on the very bottom, lowest vibe feels we can be at.
It’s closest to death and bare survival.
That’s just not how we were meant to live. I know this.
As for me now?
If you’re asking if there is going to be another baby right away my answer to you would be fuck this and fuck that.
I mean that in the most loving way possible.
But I’m sitting here un-showered with a giant pad in my crotch full of blood with barely enough energy to brush my teeth today.
I know I need to work on releasing the vow I set in stone from when I was a little girl about having kids.
I do believe my mindset attributed to this.
I actually KNOW it did.
I need to rewrite that programming to invite in healthy pregnancies into my being.
I also know I have a choice here:
To grow from this or let it sink me and make me bitter and afraid.
Afraid for future miscarriages.
Afraid of being a disappointment to my husband.
It won’t be right at this precise moment but I have already decided fear has run the majority of my life up to these past few years and I won’t let it start again.
So, self care.
Honoring myself AND me needs despite my fear of who it may upset or inconvenience at the moment.
I have to learn that putting myself first isn’t a crime.
(And you need to learn this too!)
Trying to process through grief as gracefully as I can.
Leaning into my relationship with my husband because there is one thing I know above all else:
And that is there is NO ONE I would rather do life with than him.
Nothing for us has been easy up to this point.
Why would I expect this to be different.
I always loved rainbows anyway. 🌈
All my love.
Every ounce of it.