This week marks the second pregnancy I’ve lost in six months. Both times I felt early on that something was amiss and braced myself for the worst. But no amount of bracing can prepare your heart for such a devastation as this.
I’ve dealt with the awareness of secondary infertility for six years now. It’s been a tender bruise on my heart that I’ve masked from most of the world. Wrapped up in disappointment after disappointment are the feelings of guilt and failure. Of being less of a woman; incapable of giving a brother or sister to a little boy who’s learned how sore the subject is; unable to give a birth child to the man who told me of his only heart’s desire on our second date. I’ve railed against (what I know as and call) Gd and fate, my own body and my own choices for what feels like an eternity. I’ve held resentment and anger towards mothers I viewed as ungrateful for the gift they had and wasted or took for granted. I’ve held onto dreams and names and hope only to see them turn into someone else’s child. I’ve screamed in my husband’s arms over the injustice of our losses and cried myself to sleep too many times to count.
And all this time I’ve separated these bitter pains from the rest of my life. Hiding away our attempts, our desperate prayers, our broken hearts. I’ve tried to create spaces in my life that reflect happier things; things that don’t reverberate my bones in agony or despair. Things that allow me to appear – to myself and the world – as if there is something within my control.
But this most recent wound has torn open old scars as well and I’m finding myself unable to hold back the gush of bleeding that has followed. I’ve been riding a rollercoaster of emotion – heartache to resolve, anger to acceptance and back again. In that one moment of truth it all changed. And now I’m standing here with the cold, hard facts of my entire life before me. This event has shaken me awake and made me stare into my own eyes; made me question everything I think I know. Made me ask what is really going on and what really matters.
I’ve looked back over my last several posts, over all the supposed soul-searching and saw what I haven’t wanted to see. I wasn’t trying to do anything but control, manipulate, and force what it is I think is right and wrong in myself and my life. I rearranged and rehashed and reworked ways to be the ruler of my universe. I’ve been fighting and pushing and pulling against what IS for what I think should be. And all it gives me is a short sense of accomplishment, quickly followed by the same feeling of sadness.
I am sad. It is so hard for me to admit that openly. I am sad for what I cannot seem to have, for what I perceive myself as having become, for what I feel is lacking. Joy and laughter, creativity and peace. Another soul within our home. And I carry this ache within my heart and constantly judge my actions against my dreams. I’ve become unhappy not only with what I have or lack, but with who I am.
What if the question is not why I am so infrequently the person I really want to be, but why do I so infrequently want to be the person I really am?
I stumbled across a book at the library – my only place of quiet solitude – with that question sprawled across the front. The book is called The Dance: Moving to the Rhythms of Your True Self
Chapter by chapter I was reminded that through all my attempts to control or “create”, I’ve lost touch with what I once knew. That this world is just a dream and I’m a dreamer curled within the hands of Gd; that some things cannot be explained and somethings happen beyond our control. And that in all my attempts to micro-manage every corner of this existence, I have betrayed my ability to simply trust Gd and experience the divinity of letting go. And now my soul has been exposed and what is flooding out cannot be held back. I’m no longer trying to ignore what Gd is whispering in my ear and my broken heart is in need of a healing I can’t manage on my own.
So forgive me if this blog veers temporarily as I use this space that has meant so much to me as a sounding board for my internal and emotional acid trip. This may all become too raw or too personal or too wacky for you to follow and please know that I understand whether you choose to duck out the backdoor or pull up a chair. My only hope is that I can emerge from the other side with some sense of understanding or well-being I don’t currently own. Gd help me along the way.
~Tara
I'm Tara Wagner, life coach and creator of the Digging Deep process, where I coach women out of survival mode to recreate their lives and families.
Tara, I’m so sad for you. I have two children but lost a third pregnancy to miscarriage. It was very, very hard to go through even though that pregnancy hadn’t even been planned. Wanted, yes, but not exactly planned. It’s still hard, years later, because I miss that little baby that never came.
Allow yourself the sadness. It’s okay.
(((((HUGS)))))
I’m so sorry for your loss. I lost my first, desperately sought-after pregnancy and battled infertility as well. Your soul-searching sounds very meaningful, but also just mourn your loss. ((((Hugs))))
i am so sorry for your losses and how you are feeling… i too lost my first baby … it throws up so many feelings and questions everything. it is so okay to be sad… it is part of the process.. it is raw and over time i have found my pain lessen. the book looks great and sometimes we need to give in to tears and by being open with our feelings allows us to focus on them, find help and move to a less sad place. please try not to be too hard on yourself though, try not to be too hard on yourself and surround yourself with supportive friends and family. one step at a time…. with love
ginny x
I’m so very very sorry Tara.
Please take time for yourself, away from even your thoughts. Just be, and heal.
Huge hugs.
I’ve pulled my chair up. My heart broke as I read your words and somehow wanted to give you a hug. I hope you feel the love of those around you and those of us here in this space who just know you through this blog.
Thank you for sharing these beautiful, personal words.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
I’ve been through loss too (a miscarriage and a SIDS death) and I can relate to the raw feelings you are describing. I said a prayer for you, for peace and healing and to go in whatever direction He leads.
Consider my chair pulled up. I commend you for talking about this which is too often hushed and I send you support and love as you navigate these waters.
Blessings sister.
my honest sympathy for your losses. this might not help but you really have been pushing yourself so hard these last 6 months with your life plans. You and your body need time to heal. bless you Tara, Justin and Zeb. xxx
I am so very very sorry.
I admire you for being able to bare your soul like you have in such a beautiful way.
Hugs to you.
*hugs*
My thoughts go out to you, thankyou for sharing your honest and real feelings.
Hugs to you.
Dear Tara, I have lost 3 babies. Take your time to grieve. Sharing your story is powerful as it attracts the comfort of all who know a similar pain. This is your journey, but you are not alone. In time, you will find peace and healing and a reason for everything, but don’t try and rush it. love and hugs to you….Annette
I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I think I need to listen better. Thanks for being so honest.
I’m so, so sorry for your loss. Take time to yourself to mourn and heal. In my thoughts and prayers.
*hugs*
I love you and am so sorry!
I’m so sorry! This touches my heart so. I have been in a similar place. Thank you for sharing… you share much more than I ever have. I hope you find peace and healing through this. Love to you.
Tara,
I’m so sorry…My heart hurts for you, I just sent a hug through the universe. Love, Evette
I feel as though I am intruding, yet I feel connected to your heartache.
I’m so sorry for your loss and pain.
I am so sorry for your loss. I have been through a miscarriage as well. I hope that you take time for yourself to just be with your loss. I am sending you much healing and light.
(((((((hugs))))))))Amie
For all the moments I think nobody understands where I have been, I then come across something like this and realize that we aren’t alone in our experiences. Losing my last two babies was traumatic, painful, and literally took a great deal of physical healing to recover from. It took me a long time to find acceptance in myself. I felt as though I knew them.
I absolutely feel your pain.
Wow. Amazing to read- what that must have taken to write, even to express to yourself. Hugs from me, too.