Misspoke. Misunderstood. Misplaced. Each of these words has a common denominator… one way or another they are the result of an “operator error.”
Misspoke, for instance: I said something I shouldn’t have; I expressed myself insufficiently.
Misunderstood: I did not grasp the thoughts or words of another; I failed to interpret.
Misplaced: I lost and cannot find; I placed something incorrectly.
Here’s another one for you… Miscarried.
In keeping consistent with this trend, this would mean: I did not carry well; I failed to attain.
I have a problem with that. Why is it appropriate to put that blame on a woman’s body?
And tonight… very unexpectedly… on me?
Anyone who has suffered a pregnancy loss of ANY capacity already feels responsible in some way.
So to label such a loss when it’s this early on as my “inability to carry” is just cruel. I have never liked the word honestly, but right now I am finding it insulting on a whole new level.
Maybe, that’s because right now, I am sitting in the middle of one.
Related: Every Pregnancy Loss Is Birth
As I stand in the shower trying to dull the pain in my stomach and back, I am continually reminded how “well” I did not carry.
Every few minutes there is an unwelcome contrast in the tub, as I see my hopes and dreams— albeit short-lived ones—literally go down the drain.
The shower is usually my safe place where I go to hide.
Tonight though, I feel betrayed by it.
My refuge has momentarily turned into a harsh reminder of just how fragile life is.
I don’t share for sympathy. I know that might sound weird. Of course, sympathy is welcome, but in being completely transparent, I didn’t want the world to know.
Not because I’m ashamed or feel like my sadness is not ok.
It’s just that a resounding majority of my mind and heart says, “No Jamie… not this time. You run a non-profit for pregnancy and infant loss… You have done your part in this world… You have and continue to share enough of your pain. This piece? This time? This is just for you.”
But then there is this tiny whisper I can’t ignore. This little tinge in my heart that says, “She needs to hear this. She needs to know that—right now—she is not going through this alone.”
So tonight I share only because there is someone out there who that little whisper in my ear was for.
Maybe right now she is watching her hopes and dreams disappear alongside mine.
To that woman tonight: I see you. I see you so much clearer than before when I THOUGHT I already saw you…
I see how sad you feel over the potential of what could have been and then in the very same breath, I see you question the intensity of that very sadness.
I see the only evidence you now have—the only proof that life existed—is a positive pregnancy test that seems to mock you. (Well let’s be honest; you took more than one just to be sure, right?)
Personally? I have five.
I see the confusion in your eyes and how your brain is trying SO hard to process something that right now it just can’t:
Yesterday I was pregnant, and today I am not.
I see you close your eyes and clench your teeth every few minutes, as yet another commercial and TV show has a new baby or pregnant woman front and center.
They have always been there. You just didn’t notice when you were not looking — either way… not what we want to see smack dab in the middle of this process.
I see how lonely you feel in this place. A speck surrounded by a world that screams, “This is not a big deal, and your sadness is excessive.”
Grief is hard enough in and of itself. I am very familiar with that, unfortunately.
But there is one harder thing, and that is grieving alone.
I see you question God and His timing once more. Why? What was the point?
Don’t you know what I’m already in the middle of? Why would you add more? (Those last two actually may be mine).
But I assure you, sweet girl, HE IS STILL GOOD. And He will forgive you for any ugly words that may occasionally bleed from your heart.
I don’t know the WHY. I’m sure neither do you.
It’s ok to question His plan. I know I am right now.
And yet, while I cannot trace His hand at THIS moment, I know I can trust His heart. HE IS WITH ME even in this and, one day, IT WILL BE OK.
It seems God gives me words when my heart hurts. As uncomfortable as it may make me at times (i.e., NOW), it would be a disservice to Him not to share those words with you all.
I refuse to stand in the way of Him using my story.
My pastor once said, “Your testimony is a weapon.” Those are words I try my best to live by (although sometimes I do much better than others).
Here’s the thing… I would be a hypocrite tonight if I kept this to myself. It goes against everything I stand for in the pregnancy and infant lost community.
The strength to say “ME TOO” in a world that is simply more comfortable covering its ears and closing its eyes.
So tonight, I am merely standing up and saying, “Me too” once more.
And to that sweet mama holding a pregnancy test in her hand and a heating pad on her tummy: I see you. I am you.
Your tears are not misplaced, and your broken heart is validated.
You did not “MIS” carry, you actually “carried” very WELL, and this is not your fault.