The Beginning of Healing

Sitting in the airport, waiting for our plane to board in an hour, I'm having a hard time having nothing to do.  SO much has happened in the last 9 days since my miscarriage, it almost feels like a short lifetime ago.  I miscarried on Tuesday Dec 14, and on Friday Dec 17 we drove to CT, then Saturday Dec 18 we boarded a plane to Florida for a few days getaway as a family.  Our trip had been planned many moons ago and I didn't want to disappoint my kids who were SO excited to get on their first plane ride so we kept the plans and did the dang thing.  It was nice to have a change of scenery, but it was hard to have literally no space from my kids.  They woke up before 5:30am every day, and were READY TO GO ALL DAY, leaving us zero quiet time to just be.  In some ways, it was a nice distraction from all my crying, screaming and general wallowing the previous few days had held...but in other ways I now feel even more depleted than I did before we left.  I just want to sit here and listen to music that makes me cry, and cry it all out.  That just wouldn't be helpful because then I'd draw and audience and I don't want that.  So I hold it in until I can find a safe haven to release. 

This morning Jesse's cousin took the kids on a walk so we could pack up our stuff, and not have the kids underfoot while we did that.  Since we were awoken so early already, we had already done a lot of the packing...so when they went for their walk, it was finally quiet...and i crashed.  The sadness descended on my heart so intensely and I just cried and cried.  I miss the baby I never met.  I miss the full feeling of being pregnant.  I miss all the things I had planned for the next 6 months.  I miss all of it and I feel so empty.  I hear that grief comes in waves, and that's what this felt like...a tidal wave of sadness and missing.  Then I had to pull it together because the kids were on their way back, and we have a full day of travel ahead of us.  That brief 10 minutes of crying were enough to release the pressure building in my heart and now I feel more functional.

I wonder though, is this a sustainable way to grieve?  I think I have to make it sustainable, because with 2 kids who need a lot of me all of the time, who are home from school on holiday break, I don't have much more of a choice.   A friend suggested I make sure I just get an hour or two a day to be alone, whether that looks like taking a walk alone, or a drive somewhere, or a friend taking the kids for a playdate...just enough for the pressure to be relieved so I don't bubble over at a inappropriate time (like sitting in an airport full of people and my kids).  Maybe with enough time, this will start to ease up and the pressure will take longer to build up.  

It's been really hard to have compassion and grace with myself because so much has happened in such a short amount of time and I have no baby.  My body needs the recovery time, which I easily forget, because I don't have a baby to show for it.  My heart is heavy, but that's not something I can always lean into if I want to show up for my kids who need me.  My physical body still feels a little weird and empty and foreign, and I'm sure it's because my hormones are all over the place; which also doesn't help my mental state.  I gained some weight in the 9 weeks I was pregnant, and now it's just in the way and I have a deflated belly that feels squishy and uncomfortable in so many yoga poses.  It's hard for me to not be mean to myself about that; and I have to dig DEEP to find trust in my body to get back to where she needs to be to find neutral.  I feel out of balance and that's a hard place for me to be.  I like to feel grounded familiar in my body...not confused and uncomfortable.  

I suppose that's all I have to share right now.  As much as I don't particularly want to record this time in my life, I think I will find it helpful to look back on, and it's certainly healing to get my thoughts out on paper instead of having them floating all around in my brain all the time.  And hopefully some of these thoughts recorded will help me help someone else down the line.  I'm sure I'll have more later, maybe when I've had a chance to be quiet for more than 30 min.

How The Class Helped me Grieve

As long as I can remember, I have identified as an empath; as someone who feels so deeply myself, but is also painfully aware of everyone's feelings around me, making it very hard to be around crowds for a long period of time before I feel completely drained.  I'm also a pretty vocal person and believe deeply in equality for all beings; as well as being an advocate for birthing people and holding space for them to feel empowered in their experience.  I identify as a woman, and like to roar about it.  

I have 2 kids, and giving birth to them was the most raw, primal, epic experiences of my life.  I have always had a deep trust in my body to do what she needs to do, when she needs to do it.  This feeling of trust is what helped me have fearless birth experienes.  Birth didn't scare me...it felt like the thing I was supposed to do with my body and my life.

When I take The Class-I often feel like I can tap back into some element of that primal part of myself.  I love the sound aspect and I get loud; I cry; I scream; I laugh.  I always feel such a beautiful release.  The biggest thing The Class helps me with (especially in a pandemic with 2 young kids) is to remember all parts of myself.  The Class helps me hear my feelings, feel my physical body, see my surroundings, and most of all: connect all of those things into one experience of being present and finding acceptance. 

In early November, after 7 months of trying, I found out I was pregnant.  I was so overjoyed and excited and just rode the wave of happiness for weeks.  I wasn't feeling physically great-which I knew would happen- so I didn't practice The Class for about a month.  My early morning routine was no longer accessible to my body, and it was very hard to find another time of day amongst the busyness of my schedule to make time to practice.

Fast forward another month and we're at Dec 10.  I had an early ultrasound to confirm things were ok-because I had some spotting during the week.  I got the worst news of my life to date that afternoon: baby had no heartbeat, and I would have a miscarriage in the coming days.  The wails and primal sounds that escaped my body were feral and full of the deepest pain I had ever felt.  To hear my grief was actually very healing and it was in this moment that I had a deeper understanding of this truth: we cannot heal the things that hurt if we don't name them and talk about them.  These sounds were the beginning of naming my grief and my hurt.

The day I miscarried, I was home with my midwives close by when I needed them, and went through the hardest 4 hours of my life.  My mantra through all of it (which I later realized was embedded in my bones from The Class) was this: The only thing getting me through this day, is knowing that it will eventually end.  I could see how easily it would have been for me to spiral into a black hole of anxiety in the 4 hours of misery and passing this baby back to the earth...but I took it one contraction, and one trip to the bathroom at a time.  Every time I wanted to run away and be somewhere else I kept saying "This is going to pass, my feelings will shift, and right now just sucks, but it's not forever."

After a week of tears, screams, writing and sharing: I stepped back onto my mat and took Taryn's class on demand from 12/11/21.  My bleeding had stopped, and I was feeling the need to move so much stuck energy out of my body.  I hadn't taken a class in 6 weeks, and I am feeling SUPER uncomfortable in this body that was pregnant for almost 10 weeks, then all of a sudden wasn't anymore.

Moving in this body felt simultaneously like coming home, but also like a foreign country.  Some things felt so familiar and natural...and some things felt like I was doing them for the first time.  There is more flesh that can bounce around, there is a flabbier pooch on my belly that was bouncing more-and in my way when I folded forward.  When we got to core work I realized that I CANNOT FEEL MY CENTER.  It's like my core is buried so deep under the physical flesh that I now have where my uterus had expanded that I can't feel it like I used to.

However, even through navigating these changes, I found the same mantra coming back: this will pass-it's not forever-one step at a time.  When it came to meditation after I had moved so much stuck energy through my body-I felt a deep shift sink it.  My midwives and doulas had been telling me all week how good of a job my body did at knowing how to miscarry with no complications, no meds, no procedures.  This didn't resonate with me because my sadness was so deep and the only thing I could feel.  But when I was sitting after Taryn's class, processing the familiar and unfamiliar, these words came back to me.  My body had never had a miscarriage, but it knew what to do.  She is intuitive, wise, and efficient.  She needs compassion, space and movement.  We (my body and I) need The Class to keep processing the feelings, the changes and finding acceptance.

I still have a long road ahead to find comfort and acceptance in my body, but all of these practices that The Class teaches on the mat, absolutely translated into a healthier more spacious grieving process for me over these last 10 days.  It's made it more accessible to share my feelings, share my experience, process my emotions, and make time for healing.  Grief needs to be accomodated and just like our bodies need accomodation in class sometimes, so does this pervasive emotion.  

Anything that elicits this kind of grief, is only so big because of how much love is possible and present.  I will continue to show up to The Class, for myself, my healing, and anyone else who needs it too.

Thank you to all The Class teachers for holding such a sacred space that allows so much healing to occur in all of us in so many ways.

today, i had a miscarriage

as i lay here curled around myself,
the deep ache in my womb
serving as a reminder of the strength
of your attempt to make a life here,
i just let the tears flow.

i didn't know that one person
could cry this many tears without drying up.
i didn't know that a tiny being
that i never even felt kick
could nearly shatter me from the inside out.
i didn't know that sadness
could be so cellular.

i didn't know all these things i didn't know.

As i sat on the toilet
and felt you ease out of me 
in so many parts; 
i could smell birth, blood and death.
i could hear my own grief as
i cried out in sorrow. i could feel
myself starting to heal; however
long it will take.

as i stood in the shower
and watched our blood pool 
on the floor, mixed with my tears
and fresh water; i watched the drain
gracefully accept all of these things
and wash them away.

my love for you
will never be washed away
and never be forgotten. 
my love for you
will be part of me forever
and for that i am grateful.
to be loved, you need to be known,
and even though we never met
in the traditional way,
you have left your mark on my heart 
and in my womb, forever.

today, i had a miscarriage
and the only thing that got me through
was knowing how many warriors
in my life are walking around who 
have survived this ache, and continue to shine.

maybe one day, i will shine for someone
and you will be the reason
i can help them through.

as i lay here curled around myself
the deep ache in my womb
starting to slowly ease up,
serving as a reminder of my own strength
that will help me make another life here.

My First Miscarriage

As I sit here, tears rolling down my face, I'm not sure where to start.  I feel called to write some of this out so it feels less stuck, but I don't know how to write about this kind of pain.  I will say that I wish this on not a single soul ever.  

I guess I'll start at the beginning.  In summer of 2020, Jesse and I decided to talk about having one more baby.  We both felt like we were supposed to have 3 kids, but the state of the world was completely fucked, and we were about to start homeschooling our kids in hopes of keeping us all safe in an insane pandemic.  We were also hesitant because of how challenging the postpartum period has been for me both times, and therefore, challenging on our relationship; which was (and is) feeling the best it has ever been in over a decade. 

We talked about this for about 9 months; and decided in March 2021 to start trying and see what happens.  With our other two kids, we got pregnant right away so we didn't want to start trying before we were possibly willing to conceive right away.  Month after month went by and we werent getting pregnant.  I visited with my midwife and she gave me some tips.  I took some of the tips and we kept trying.  After 6 months of nothing, I went to see her again.  She strongly suggested using the ovulation predictor kit, so I did.

And we got pregnant in October, found out Nov 2, 2021.  To say I was overjoyed was the understatement of the year.  I was shaking for 3 days with pure joy and excitement that it FINALLY worked.  We were going to complete our family.  I contacted my favorite home birth midwife RIGHT away and asked if she would work with me and my family.  I told everyone we were pregnant because my joy and excitement could not be contained.  I also knew that if something bad were to happen, I'd need to lean on A LOT of people to help me through, so I didn't really hold back in the sharing department.  I'm a firm believer that joy should be shared: especially these days of covid life.

On the 9th week of pregnancy I had a little bit of brown spotting, and wasn't really concerned because I know that's pretty normal.  I had it for a few days, let my midwife know and she wasnt too concerned either.  On the 3rd day I had a little more than usual so I asked her what I should do.  She got me in for an early ultrasound on Friday December 10 at 2pm.  Jesse came with me.

In the ultrasound I knew right away something was wrong.  I could feel it.  The technician asked me 3 times if I was sure of the dates of my last period.  She asked me if I usually had heavy periods.  And she had to do the intravaginal ultrasound instead of the one on my belly.

The energy in the room shifted to very somber and quiet as I put my pants back on and got ready to depart.  Jesse held my hand to the car and I just didn't have a good feeling.  I texted my midwife to let her know we were done.  In 2 minutes she called me back. "She couldn't find a heartbeat; I am SO sorry."  The moment I hung up the phone, animalistic noises poured out of my body.  Guttural screams of pain and sadness just came out uncontrollably.  I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't see.  My baby stopped growing 3 weeks before.  How had I not known?  How had I not felt it?  Why was this happening?

My perfect husband pulled us over to a park so we could get out and walk around before going home.  He held my hand, and he held me and validated all of my tears and screams.

How could I have JUST made my 12 and 20 week ultrasounds literally the day before finding out my baby has no heartbeat and will not be a baby on this earth?  How did things just change so instantly?  

So I sent a generic "Found out baby has no heartbeat today.  Cant talk about it-just please check in on me" text to many many people to update them.  I couldn't imagine saying it out loud.  The writing it out, copying it and pasting it was easier.

So now.  Now I feel stuck; uncomfortable; and the deepest sadness I have ever felt in my entire life.  I would never want anyone to feel this.  And I know people experience this ALL OF THE TIME.  I'm paralyised by my sadness and feel so anxious for the physical miscarriage to get on the way.  We have a plan for that, but need to wait until Monday.  These 2.5 days have been the longest of my life.

But what makes me cry the hardest?  The unwavering, unbelievable amount of love and support just POURING in from all angles.  I am deeply deeply humbled by how held and loved I feel from my family, friends and general community.  Food is being dropped off every day.  Texts are pouring in.  I had 23 check ins yesterday.  TWENTY THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE CHECKED IN ON ME IN ONE DAY.  It makes me cry so hard and then I don't know if I am crying from gratitude, or from sadness.

It's all so surreal and so incredibly heartbreaking.  I am not ashamed, and I am not to blame.  I don't know why this is happening but I'm trying so hard to trust that it will make me stronger.  Maybe it will make me a better doula.  

A spark of a soul is passing through my body as a vessel.  This humbles me, makes me grateful this vessel was chosen, and it makes me angry and uncomfortable that it's happening because it's SO MANY feelings to process that it is paralyzing and feels like just too much.

I'm sure I will have more to share after I experience the physicality of a miscarriage.  But for now, this had to be written down for my own sanity so I can hopefully pause the replay in my head for a little while.

Thank you for reading.  And thank you for all of your love and support.  In the deepest sadness from the depths of my soul that I have ever felt, I feel so incredibly loved and that will be what gets me through and keeps me getting out of bed every day.

Love,
Sarah