We felt weird announcing our loss on Facebook. For me, it bordered on self-indulgent, in a “look at us and how sad we are please send your sympathy” sort of way. I didn’t actually think that, but I worried that others might. But because of our pregnancy announcement just a few weeks before, we were left with no choice.

I wondered, as we constructed the post together, how many people had been through the same thing but we’d never known because it’s not the sort of thing you just announce on socials.

The O&G Registrar we saw on Tuesday (the one I liked a lot) said that 1 in 200 pregnancies end in a miscarriage between weeks 14 and 20. That’s a pretty high number, especially when you consider that during your combined test (ultrasound + bloods, done at week 12), a “high risk” result is classed as at least a 1 in 300 chance of something being wrong.

It was both comforting and saddening to hear that 0.5% statistic. On the one hand, we weren’t alone. On the other, it meant that many other families have experienced a pain similar to ours. Your pregnancy is supposed to be “safe”, having made it past the 12-week mark, but then everything changes. I’ve yet to find words that adequately describe that kind of heartache.

No one talks about it, and I believe I understand why. There would be dozens of different reasons for it. For one, how exactly do you bring it up in casual conversation? For another, it’s really hard to talk about, because it’s hard to put the right words together and then hard again to make sure you don’t accidentally invalidate someone else’s individual experience as you clumsily cobble verbiage together. For yet another, you don’t really want to go around repeating one of the most traumatic experiences of your life to just anyone who will listen. There are many other reasons, all legitimate.

It took me a few hours following the miscarriage to open myself up to being comforted. (At first I didn’t think I deserved to be comforted, you see. Trauma is a fucking asshole.) I remembered people in my life who had been through something similar and generously shared their stories with me years ago, all of whom have since found happiness and fulfillment. I held onto them and their stories like a lifeline. It allowed me feel what I was feeling, safe in the knowledge that it will eventually become a part of us and allow us to find our joy again. I knew it was possible, purely because I knew someone had already done it.

I’ve been told I am “brave” and “courageous” both for announcing it on FB as well as sharing parts of my journal with others. While I appreciate the sentiment, it doesn’t really feel like either. It feels like necessity, but with a thread of doubt running throughout - is this (the journal, in particular) even a good idea in the first place? Is this something I *should* be sharing in such an open way?

Well, here’s how I see it. Had others not shared their stories with me, I wouldn’t have had that lifeline after the miscarriage. Plus, not talking about it makes it something shameful, something to be stigmatized. Not talking about it or using euphemisms make it feel dirty or taboo. And since what has happened isn’t any of those things, then fuck it, I’m sharing what I feel comfortable sharing. That doesn’t have to fit for you, but it does for me. I’m not saying I’m going to run around telling it to everyone who asks me how I am, but I won’t shy away sharing my experience, either.

I know others before me have healed, and so I know I will as well. And in knowing I’m going to heal eventually, hopefully that means others may have a lifeline if they need it one day, too.