Trigger Warning: Miscarriage
I can’t quite grasp how I overlooked the signs; they were unmistakable. I was irritable, emotionally volatile, anxious, and on edge. My body was sending clear signals: I felt sore in my back, bloated, and my breasts were tender. Everything indicated what I now understand was true: I was pregnant.
Yet, I failed to recognize it until it was too late. Until the moment I noticed a clot, roughly the size of a golf ball, in the toilet.
This clot was not only large; it was a vivid shade of red—somewhere between fire engine and crimson. Its texture was unsettling, a mixture of thick tissue and something akin to slime or Silly Putty. It left my body with an alarming ease, accompanied by what felt like an overwhelming amount of blood.
Then, just as abruptly, it all ceased. The pain, the cramping, and the bleeding stopped, and within hours, the physical evidence of my miscarriage was gone. The remnants of what could have been were washed away.
But the emotional pain lingers. It clings to me like a static-charged balloon. I am functioning, moving through my days at what appears to be a normal pace, but I am far from okay.
My body feels foreign, as though it’s a purse emptied of its contents—no change, just an emptiness. This void is the hardest part to reconcile. To fill the gap left behind, I have indulged in food and drinks more than I ever thought I would—trying to occupy the space that was once vibrant and alive.
Emotionally, I am in turmoil. I have cried for the future that will never come, mourning the loss of a sibling for my daughter, the bond they will never share. I have raged against myself, holding my body accountable for this betrayal. Did my passion for long-distance running contribute to this loss? Did that one last run push my body to its limits?
Strangely, I have also found moments of relief, recognizing that perhaps this wasn’t the right time for another pregnancy. Yet guilt washes over me for feeling anything but sorrow—who feels relief after such a loss?
I can’t bear to look at myself, especially my stomach. Reflecting surfaces become haunting reminders of the emptiness within me—a stark contrast to the dreams I had only weeks before.
I am acutely aware that early miscarriages are common; approximately twenty percent of pregnancies end like mine—quietly and without celebration. Logically, I understand that my miscarriage was beyond my control, yet emotionally, it’s a struggle to accept that reality. I will grieve the dreams of what could have been for a long time.
However, I also recognize that healing is possible. With each passing hour, I sense a slight easing of the heaviness. Though today is not that day, I hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring brighter moments.
For those navigating similar experiences, consider visiting resources such as ACOG for understanding and support. If you are exploring pregnancy options, you may find insights at this informative blog or discover helpful tools at Make A Mom.