Talking about a miscarriage is almost taboo – but recovery begins with honest conversation.
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It’s so important for us to talk to you about the things we don’t get to talk about anywhere else. And it’s important for you to talk to us about those things too.
Discussing miscarriage is such a taboo, we don’t even discuss that it is a taboo. It is pretty much a closed topic. For women, we often do not learn of someone else’s miscarriage until we are brave enough to reveal that we have suffered one, and sometimes that is years after the fact.
Why are women secretive about this? I think it’s because of shame. And self-blame. And those two are holding hands a lot of the time. Miscarriage should not be embarrassing or humiliating, but it is.
Because of this, if you and your partner suffer a miscarriage you are absolutely going to deal with it between the two of you, but maybe exclusively between the two of you.
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I have had five miscarriages. That doesn’t make me an expert, but it has made me a keen observer of people’s behavior when the topic comes up in hushed tones. I have friends who have had miscarriages and it is one of those silent losses that is dealt with “in house.” Is it appropriate to grieve a miscarriage? Is it appropriate to comment or offer condolences on someone else’s miscarriage?
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We are so damn weird about death. We are so skittish about other people’s pain we can be negligent in our friendships and relationships. Because of this, if you and your partner suffer a miscarriage you are absolutely going to deal with it between the two of you, but maybe exclusively between the two of you. There probably won’t be outside support, or even recognition, of the loss that you experienced. That means your experience isn’t likely to be validated and there is extra weight on you to carry each other through it.
A miscarriage is often a silent loss. Many women don’t want to tell anyone. Maybe only the two of you knew about the pregnancy. Sometimes the loss feels conflictual. Depending on your personal feelings about fetuses and your pregnancy and how far along it was, you might not consider it a “death.” Regardless, it is a loss of something. This ambiguity makes the loss that much more confusing. How much should you grieve? I say as much and for as long as you feel grief. But remember, for your partner, the need for grief may not be the same. It may be deeper, but pass more quickly. Or it may take longer to move through. We all grieve differently. We all experience loss differently. We are all snowflakes when it comes to losing.
A miscarriage is the loss of a tiny life. Pro-life or pro-choice, we can probably agree that what was lost was a potential, eventual baby. And potential is really the magic word here. Because with miscarriage, a whole bunch of potential dies. The baby that you were or weren’t dreaming about, and all of the ways that baby was going to turn your life into a different life. A life with a baby, or a second baby, or a third. A different kind of life, with or without your partner. A miscarriage is like a thousand balloons of possibility popping at once and disappearing into thin air. Except for you and your partner were the only ones who saw them.
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Once, when I miscarried on Mother’s Day, my doctor told me to go to an ultrasound clinic. My husband (ex now) was out of town and so, bleeding profusely, I drove myself to the clinic. The receptionist was pretty and shiny and said to me in chipper tone, “Happy Mother’s Day!” When I didn’t smile she said, “Oh I’m sure everything will be alright!” in her trilling sing song.
Whatever you are feeling is real and natural, and I hope she validates your pain and your experience of the miscarriage, and that you can be supports for each other through sharing the loss.
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The experience of having an intrauterine ultrasound DURING a miscarriage is something I will spare you the description of. It was deeply humiliating. Though my face was raw and full of tears the technician pretended not to see me cry. She said, in a clinical tone, “I’m not finding anything.” The picture on her screen looked like the surface of the moon. For a crazy moment I wondered if I had spent the past three months pregnant at all. The tech didn’t give me anything to clean up after myself with and so I left a trail of blood on the floor to the bathroom. She pretended not to notice. The experience was dehumanizing to say the least.
As I walked out of the office, the born-happy receptionist handed me a carnation and said, “Everything ok?” I really had no words, and I still don’t, for how invalidating and violating this simple question was. Was I supposed to tell her that I had just lost the baby I thought I was going to have? And that I bled all over the ultrasound room? And that the tech pretended I was a happy ghost and that my emotional pain was clearly invisible? I took the carnation and said, “Happy Mother’s Day to you too.”
My extreme example brings me to this: validate. If your partner is sad, let her be. Let her talk and just listen sometimes. Don’t pretend you don’t notice her pain. You don’t have to say it’s going to be okay. Don’t ever, ever, suggest that maybe she did something to cause it. Maybe tell her you will find your way through it together.
Ask her to do the same for you. Whatever you are feeling is real and natural, and I hope she validates your pain and your experience of the miscarriage, and that you can be supports for each other through sharing the loss.
Everyone must make their own meaning from their loss and while you will have to allow your partner to make their own meaning, you will have to protect your right to make your meaning out of this loss as well.
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Sometimes that just isn’t possible. Sometimes one partner will be so overwhelmed they won’t be able to support the other. If you aren’t supported then you do need to find someone who can and will listen. Remember that while you can help someone through loss by being a force beside them, you cannot interpret loss for them. Everyone must make their own meaning from their loss and while you will have to allow your partner to make their own meaning, you will have to protect your right to make your meaning out of this loss as well.
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Once, when I had a miscarriage during the end of my marriage, it was a relief. I never would have wished for it, but going through a divorce pregnant with my two little girls would have knocked me that much closer to the edge of pain and loss that I was already teetering on. The miscarriage felt like a godsend. Maybe that sounds horrible. My point is, a miscarriage is personal and only a conversation leads you to understand your partner’s experience of it, and her to understand yours.
Talk about it.
Ask her what she needs. Do your best to give it to her.
Say what you need. Ask if she can give it to you.
Give her acceptance of her grieving style.
Recognize and honor your own way of moving through grief.
The meaning you each make from your loss belongs to you.