I tend to turn my posts into how-to guides or something that’s helpful and relevant to you. It wasn’t always like this. SEO and digital results seem to matter more than the content itself, no matter how creative, heartfelt, personal. But not this post. This will likely have no relevance to you, and that’s okay.
Exactly two years ago today, I had a miscarriage.
It remains one of the deepest losses I’ve ever felt.
The incredible emptiness – literally and figuratively.
I felt lost, alone, not fully registering why I was crying hours on end.
Miscarriage is NOT ambiguous
If you’ve had a miscarriage, you might have learned that it’s not recognized a ‘real’ loss.
Check out the fits as an ambiguous loss: “The unique experience of miscarriage could fit the criteria of ambiguous loss because of the physical absence but psychological presence of a child.
Um… hello! Some women may have a super early miscarriage around 6 weeks that they don’t notice the ‘seed’ of a baby leaving their body. But some of us bled through our miscarriage in a public setting. Some had to get D&C surgeries.
Just because the baby didn’t take a breath of air outside the womb doesn’t make it any less physical.
Also, the terminology is designed to diminish what *such* a large percentage of women face (1 in 4 and even 1 in 3 pregnancies, we were told), yet we’re telling women what happened isn’t ‘real’ because she didn’t lose something she didn’t really have.
I don’t see it that way.
A Woman Becomes a Mother When…
Many, many years ago, probably when I was in my twenties, I remember coming across an African proverb. (Sorry, I don’t know from which African country, but that’s likely because it was quoted as ‘African proverb’.) It was that a woman becomes a mother when she conceptualizes her baby, and comes up with a name.
I have no idea why it stuck with me because the idea of having a child was as foreign to me as affording a home in Vancouver. Maybe it was the fact that I felt so estranged from anything physically maternal, but loved the idea of being a mom without physically giving birth. Like how my godmother was my most loving maternal figure, though she never had kids herself.
So the whole process of becoming a mother is physical and psychological.
Validate Miscarriages as REAL Loss
Ambiguous loss of any kind (change, growing up, leaving home, friendships fading away, divorce) where the person didn’t die and you didn’t physically lose something/someone should be talked about as REAL. Not physical, but real.
Regardless, I feel it’s now part of my life’s calling to be a voice for women who have experienced early pregnancy loss, especially miscarriages (since I don’t have experience with infertility).
What’s In a Name?
When we realized we couldn’t find out the sex of the baby, a small part of me felt consoled because we’d picked the perfect name: Orlando.
No, we didn’t choose it after the city in Florida. (In fact, the city was named after a man in the US army.) I was inspired by one of the many books I had to read during my super intense first year arts program: Virginia Woolf’s Orlando.
The story centres around the titular character who starts as a male poet, then wakes up one day and changes to the female sex. And s/he also lives for centuries. The character is also read as being both male and female, but at any given time exhibits more traits of one or the other. A feminist text, for sure. A young 18-year old me was enamoured by the themes of gender, sex, self, time, and feminism.
Life Has A Way, with New Life
You might see me as reading into things too much (don’t worry, I am, in fact really good at symbolism in literature – I did pretty damn well on that Orlando essay!) but I do see this as a sign.
Why? Because earlier today I found out my younger cousin is currently in the hospital, ready to give birth to a baby boy.
Even though we don’t know the sex of our miscarried baby, I’m so sure it was a boy.
Is this just a coincidence? Maybe.
Was my miscarriage meant to happen? Sure f*cking hope not.
Or does the universe have a way of working things out? Who knows.
Either way, I can’t wait to meet our new baby nephew 🙂
xo, Miranda
I had a myomectomy in 2020, a surgical procedure to remove uterine fibroids. No women in my family had undergone this procedure, so I didn’t know about it until my gynecologist advised me. Overall, I was a healthy woman in my 30s and had regular periods (despite the polys and fibros). After the surgery, my gynecologist advised me that I shouldn’t have any issues trying to get pregnant. If I hadn’t undergone the surgery and had been able to conceive, I might have possibly experienced a miscarriage.
My husband and I tried for a baby, but with no luck. I remember feeling very disappointed whenever I got my period. My husband said we could try again. After several attempts and time passing by with no baby, we decided to stop. We already have two sons from his first marriage, and I felt I had already fulfilled my maternal desires just by being the boys’ bonus mom. Sometimes I wish I had a baby that I could pass on my genes to, but I’ve accepted that may not be in the cards for me. I love being a bonus mom and an aunt to my various nephews and nieces. Your loss is real and im sorry you had to experience a miscarrage. Thank you for sharing your story and your journey as a mom. Xoxo