When I made a commitment to writing honestly about my experiences, I didn't know I would have a miscarriage one week later.
Beliefs swirl through my head when it comes to writing about my experience. Nobody wants to hear about pain. Nobody wants to hear about miscarriage. As a "healer," you need to be strong and move forward.
The truth is, I've found tremendous comfort from reading the stories of strangers online. It is like there is a miscarriage club, and once you are a card-carrying member, there is a part of your heart that aches in a different way. I'm so fortunate to have an army of amazing friends and family, but there's something special when another woman says, "I know. I've been there, too."
I never knew how sadness could run so deep.
I never knew how many dreams and hopes I'd placed onto a baby I hardly knew.
I never knew how it would hurt so much physically.
I never knew how my hormones would be an utter disaster.
I never knew just how many women have been through this, some silently alone, and others screaming with company. And everywhere in between.
And yet, I never knew how I would learn to trust my body in a completely different way, feeling her innate wisdom and power for perhaps the first time in my life.
Shaking hands with this physical body of wisdom has been life-changing, to say the least. In many ways, I no longer see myself as separate from my physical form. Last Wednesday, a part of my soul moved into a new home on Lizzie Street.
I'm here now. Here to stay.
It has only been a week. And I know I'll keep processing and writing. But if you are here because you too have had a miscarriage, I want you to know I'm sending you my love. From one tender heart to another, I'm so, so deeply sorry.
This is all I can share for now, but I'll continue sharing as I feel called. The more we openly share our stories of grief and heartbreak, the more we allow others to fully embody our human experiences, and ultimately, find the healing we are looking for.