I can assure you that my children, Lily and Max, are far less demanding than any kids you might have at home. I promise you that.
They don’t wake me up at night asking for a drink, a cuddle, or to check for monsters. They don’t create chaos in my space, break my belongings, or bicker with each other, nor do they incessantly vie for my attention. Instead, they allow me ample time to pursue my hobbies, take a shower in peace, and complete my grocery shopping without interruptions.
You see, neither of them reached full term. Not even close. And yet, they are my kids. They exist in my heart and mind.
This can be a perplexing matter. Beyond the moral or religious debates, science confirms that conception marks the beginning of a human life in its most rudimentary form. Since they were conceived with my husband, they are ours. Initially, I thought it was as straightforward as that.
However, their absence has posed more challenges than I anticipated (grief aside). How do I answer when someone inquires if I have children? Typically, I respond with “no,” which cuts the conversation short, leaving me to wonder if I’ve dismissed the significance of those two tiny lives that resided within me, albeit for a fleeting moment. If I say “yes” and explain the circumstances, the conversation often comes to a sudden halt, frequently accompanied by that all-too-familiar Pity Face. Either scenario is difficult.
The phenomenon of invisible motherhood occurs more often than most realize—until you find yourself in the position of being a mother to an unseen child. It’s a challenge to hold back tears while discussing it, yet once you do, countless women with similar experiences emerge, sharing their heartbreaking stories and empathy. I often find myself wanting to ask, “Where have you been all this time?”
I always regarded “miscarriage” as a taboo topic—something unpleasant that happens in life, akin to root canals or an ingrown toenail. I knew a few family members who had experienced it and was aware of a family friend who had suffered a stillbirth. Yet, no one ever talked about the emotional toll or the aspect of motherhood. It felt as if those babies didn’t count.
That’s why it hit me like a ton of bricks. While I had anticipated the possibility of a miscarriage due to family history, nothing could prepare me for the overwhelming wave of emotions that followed, which quickly engulfed me in a shadow of despair. I wasn’t ready for the intense anger I’d feel towards pregnant women strolling by or the blind rage that left me trembling when observing parents yelling at their misbehaving children. I was ill-equipped to cope with the isolation from my husband, who initially couldn’t grasp why my grief was so profound. The accusing voice in my mind told me I was unworthy of being a mother or that I had somehow messed up.
I was naive about how to handle insensitive comments from well-meaning individuals, which often left me feeling emotionally battered. So, I decided to dig deep, reach out, and slowly—painfully—begin to forge connections with others in similar situations.
Since then, I’ve been determined to give back, to share with newly invisible mothers some of the insights that have aided me on my journey. I started blogging about my experiences. The response was encouraging—people began to understand, and I was commended for sparking conversations that helped others support their friends facing similar struggles. I created guest posts to promote awareness about miscarriage and childlessness, fostering understanding, empathy, and compassion. I even participated in writing challenges centered on my story to broaden my reach.
I’m also learning how to discuss my experiences more openly in real life. Though it remains challenging and painful, I aspire to extend my online advocacy into everyday interactions. I want to contribute to a world where miscarriage isn’t brushed aside; where women can openly mourn their losses without questioning the legitimacy of their emotions. I aim to be a reliable source of information and support for those seeking guidance on this sensitive topic.
Every little lost life deserves recognition, and their grieving parents should be enveloped in understanding and kindness from those around them.
My children matter. They have left an indelible mark on my life, and I carry their legacy with me.
This article was originally published on Sep. 24, 2013.
Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, Jamie Lee reflects on the profound emotional journey of being a mother to children who never made it to full term. The blog highlights the struggles of invisible motherhood, the stigma surrounding miscarriage, and the importance of fostering open conversations about loss. By sharing her experiences, Jamie aims to create a supportive community for those navigating similar paths, encouraging understanding and empathy for grieving parents.