Many zero dark thirty nights have seen open eyes. Often curled up on the pillow as the time zone sleeps are thoughts, memories, and questions that fight the calling of rest. We might replay the reel of what ifs, plead with God, or try a sleep-inducing technique or two. Even the most spiritual, in-tune-with-God person may struggle with a deep sense of loneliness in those wee hours — especially in seasons of loss, grief, or general anxieties of life. If you’ve been there, you know. In these times, perhaps you find yourself searching for stories of others who have walked a similar path: a difficult diagnosis, chronic pain, or death of a loved one.
I have spent many a bleary-eyed night throughout my own journey with pregnancy loss and infertility looking for, scouring resources on these topics. Some come in the way of books from the library, others medical articles online. There are some truly helpful books out there which I highly recommend (see this post for a list of go-to’s). I’ve been both saddened and comforted by the statistics of miscarriage. And yet, while there are a great deal of informative books and articles on the subject, scarce are personal accounts — other than anecdotes mentioned and a handful of women’s and couples’ experiences; those who dive deep into the thick of the sometimes ugly emotions following miscarriage and how they dealt or are dealing with it.
There’s a gap in the field.
Miscarriage is very personal and I deeply respect those who wish to keep their stories and experiences private. Yet I’ve connected with so many women in real life and online, even through this blog — who have experienced pregnancy loss and/or miscarriage or know someone who has. I’ve heard the brave stories of those on all ends of the spectrum, women with three, five, SEVEN losses, women with empty arms, and women like me with a child sandwiched between years of trying and loss and people questioning our “only” children. Like any other experience, the shared tears, tilted life dreams, and stories are a healing balm. It’s a sorrow to know so many have lost but a blessing to know we are not alone. And that goes for any trial.
When I first started sharing on this subject, I hesitated. I did not want to offend or share too much. I compared my lost babies, medically-deemed “products of conception” with others’ late term losses, of stillborn children. But I could not shake the prompting to write. I knew a gap was out there.
I do not want to fly over the beach in my airplane and banner flapping in the wind saying, “Look at me!” but simply offer up my journey so others can feel free to knowingly say, “me too.”
I continue to hope that my story, the story God’s writing for my life, can bring a voice to the often silent sorrow of pregnancy loss and miscarriage. I also hope this is the beginning of dialogue — of listening to and sharing stories from the rough and rocky seas of miscarriage and loss, and on a larger scale, navigating life’s storms in general.
To those all too familiar with the midnight hours, may you experience peace, and comfort, and joy in your darkest nights.