Healing After Miscarriage
I came home from a long day of teaching, walked through the door, made sure the boys were entertained, got a snack and glass of wine and headed to my bed to rest. From my room I could hear my husband, step-daughter and boys having a good time together. Every once in a while, I would venture out to the living room, play a little bit (but not too much fun), and then would head back to my room. Was I in the middle of grief? Technically, I probably was; this was how I had learned how to handle my grief. But the grief wasn’t new, the wound wasn’t wide open. I had been doing this for 2 years by this point.
I had six miscarriages. My husband and I had six miscarriages (the men experience pregnancy loss as well, and I do my best to make sure that I don’t forget that). In between our two boys we experienced four chemical pregnancies (a term I hate to use because it is so cold). After our second son was born we experienced a miscarriage at 10 weeks that resulted in a D&C and then one more chemical pregnancy. My body knew pain (emotional and physical), fear, anxiety, and probably undiagnosed depression.
The anxiety a woman experiences during a pregnancy after a miscarriage is unexplainable. The anxiety a woman experiences after Recurrent Pregnancy Loss (RPL) is what I would consider traumatic. I didn’t know what to do with this type of trauma, all I knew is that I just wanted to be safe in my bed and hide from the pain. Unfortunately, when the pain was gone, when we were safe and our baby had been born, I didn’t know how to come out of that grief. I had never been taught the tools.
Our society doesn’t like to talk about grief. We aren’t supposed to talk about anything that makes someone else uncomfortable, especially the loss of a baby. Most of us have grown up not learning how to effectively handle grief or how to heal in an effective manner. In the book “The Grief Recovery Handbook”, James and Friedman discuss the six ways that we are usually taught to handle grief in our society. These six different ways are: replace the loss, don’t feel bad, give it time, be strong for others, grieve alone, and keep busy.
I’m sure at least one of these, and most likely a few of them, ring true for you. After your miscarriage people may have said things to you like:
“You can just try again” (replace the loss)
“At least you have your health” (don’t feel bad)
“Don’t worry, just give it time and the pain will go away” (give it time)
“You need to pull yourself together and be strong for your husband/partner/other children/students” (be strong for others)
“I’ll just give you your space so you can grieve alone” (grieve alone)
“Just keep yourself busy and then you won’t feel the pain” (keep busy)
The problem with these methods of grieving is that you aren’t actually grieving, you aren’t actually processing the grief and letting it move through your body. What is happening is that the grief, the pain, is getting stuck and is going to show up later in other ways. Grief is very patient; it will wait for you until you are ready to process it. Unfortunately, by that point, the grief has usually taken on another form: anxiety, depression, PTSD, disease or illness. And oftentimes, these will result in loss of friendships, loss of a marriage, loss of a job, and/or loss of connection to yourself. In 2020, the Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology reported that a woman who experiences a pregnancy loss has a 20% chance of developing anxiety, PTSD, or depression. This is exactly what happened to me.
When I experienced my losses, I had no idea on how to process grief. I had not been taught the tools to handle such pain. I had grown up in a loving, caring home and yet, grief was not something that was discussed. My parents aren’t to blame, our society has been hiding from grief since the early 1900’s. One of my first instincts during every loss was to curl up in my bed with a box of tissue and a glass of wine. I hid from the world. I hid from my family and friends. And I did my best to hide from the pain (hence the wine). Is there anything wrong with letting yourself cry and experience the emotions? Absolutely not. But there comes a time when you need to know how to pull yourself out of that emotion and not let it permeate your life. I didn’t know how to do that.
I ruminated in the pain and the anxiety. I spiraled down and couldn’t bring myself back up. I wasn’t depressed in the medical sense of the word, but I also wasn’t happy like I knew I could be. I was going through the motions of life, experiencing some joy, but not consistently. You see, I had essentially rewired my brain to live in fear and to not feel connections. For two years (four miscarriages and being pregnant for 9 months), I had taught myself to not get excited, to not feel joy. I had experienced so much love torn away from me (literally from my body) that I stopped myself from getting excited and feeling happiness. Every time I got pregnant I would think to myself, “I’ll feel excited when I get to this milestone”. And then I’d get to that milestone and tell myself that I would get excited when I get to the next milestone. By the time I had reached 9 months I had taught my brain and body to just live in fear.
By the time my son was born, I was so relieved, I cried so hard at his birth that the nurses thought there was something wrong with me. At this point I figured I would be ok and all that fear and anxiety would be gone. What I didn’t know was the science behind how I had been living. My brain had been rewired to live in fear. Intrusive thoughts were always present. I struggled with enjoying the moment and the time with my newborn because I was afraid it would be ripped from me again.
Healing after miscarriage is not a linear journey, but rather a deeply personal process that requires patience, understanding, and self-compassion. It's important to acknowledge the pain and allow oneself to grieve, without succumbing to societal pressures to move on quickly or silently. By seeking support, whether through therapy, support groups, or open conversations with loved ones, we can learn to process our grief in healthy ways. As we navigate this path, we must remember that healing is not about forgetting the loss but integrating it into who we are and finding a way to move forward with resilience and hope. Through this journey, we can rebuild our capacity for joy, rewire our minds to embrace love, and honor the memories of those we have lost, ultimately emerging stronger and more connected to ourselves and those around us.
