Caitlin - from another Caitlin - I'm so sorry. It's the absolute worst. Over my own years of trying to have kids it happened to me six times. And I never knew what exactly to say - to friends, to family, to my job. Part of me wanted to lay it all out, how deeply sad I was, how I was in physical pain. And part of me wanted to hide. So sometimes I said something. Sometimes I didn't. Sometimes people were so kind and real and understanding about it. Sometimes they said things like "Time will pass and you will move past this and when you one day hold your precious little one to your breast, this will no longer give you pain." (This was an email from my mother-in-law. What if I never had a living child? And guess what - now [somehow, with enormous luck] I have two, and it still gives me pain!)
Now, with that chapter closed, I try to share as openly as I can about what happened - because despite the strides that have been made even in the last decade I feel like miscarriage sometimes is still treated as this shameful, hidden thing, and can feel so lonely. Thank you, thank you, for sharing too. I deeply hope that life brings you what you're hoping for soon.
(Your newsletter [and your writing] is so fantastic, by the way.)
I needed to read this, thank you. I think for me, this experience has been so enormously isolating -- in all the usual ways you would expect disenfranchised grief to isolate you, but also in the sense that we are moving further and further away from what is considered medically or statistically "normal." At this point I just don't know, or hear from, many people who have had experiences like ours. So I am very, truly grateful to you for sharing your story -- and I'm also terribly sorry for your losses. You made this internet stranger feel a little less lonely. I appreciate it. <3
For what it's worth, you are not alone. This is something I've come to realize the hard way over the past year, and what you've shared is strikingly similar to my experience (especially wrt diplomatically navigating the balance between clear business etiquette and such a vulnerable/painful subject).
My last miscarriage hit at the start of a major work conference, and aside from snippets of heartfelt conversations with a few very choice co-workers as part of my apologies for "lack of energy", my oral presentations and observation of social niceties were book-ended by blinding back pain and strategically short walks from hotels to conference rooms and back again. Never has an environment seemed so physically hostile. The few people I confided in during the week-long conference were horrified, encouraging, or cautiously supportive. Some even shared their own knowledge of past colleagues who have struggled through similar tragedies.
I'm afraid of generalizing, so I'll note that I only share the following based on my own experiences: It appears to be the quiet resolve of many afab workers to stomach what feels like an inhuman level of pain if only to preemptively negate any potential manifestation or concept of doubt regarding our strength or presence in our chosen fields of work.
This fear is what I think keeps many from sharing unexpectedly common life struggles such as these. I had previously never recognized that fear so clearly as during my own miscarriages, and I wish I knew how best to keep others from needlessly experiencing that same fear - but that is beyond me and my present knowledge to mitigate.
Hopefully this comment can bring some sense of comfort in its own way. But I'll also share the quote from the video game Undertale that helped me put one foot in front of the other during that conference and in the period of mourning that followed:
"The will to keep living... The resolve to change fate. Let's call this power... 'Determination.'"
What a nightmare -- I'm so sorry you went through this. And grateful to you for sharing. This sentence got me, in particular: "It appears to be the quiet resolve of many afab workers to stomach what feels like an inhuman level of pain if only to preemptively negate any potential manifestation or concept of doubt regarding our strength or presence in our chosen fields of work." SO TRUE. And ultimately, so isolating and terrible. Thanks for writing. <3
I’m so sorry. this was wrenching to read and you didn’t owe it to us, but grateful for your candor nonetheless. sending all the empathy (not sympathy!) you need at this exact moment 🤍
I'm so sorry about what you're going through, although I'm grateful you felt you could share some of it with us. Someone close to me went through this years ago, and I remember how no one really felt they could talk about it (or had the vocabulary). We have a ways to go as a society on this subject.
Thanks James, I appreciate it. And I hope things turned out okay for your loved one. I'm trying to be the destigmatization I want to see in the world ... we'll see how that goes. 🙃
“I don’t want you to think I’m looking for sympathy. Sympathy actually embarrasses me a bit. If anything, I’m writing to underscore the absurdity, the heartlessness, of this mutual charade wherein we all play down our grief, we keep its depths secret.” This is so brilliantly written and so very true. Thank you for sharing this with us. 🩷
Honestly, this comment section + my inbox have to be the kindest, gentlest places on the internet right now. I legit love my readers. Thank you for being awesome.
Caitlin - from another Caitlin - I'm so sorry. It's the absolute worst. Over my own years of trying to have kids it happened to me six times. And I never knew what exactly to say - to friends, to family, to my job. Part of me wanted to lay it all out, how deeply sad I was, how I was in physical pain. And part of me wanted to hide. So sometimes I said something. Sometimes I didn't. Sometimes people were so kind and real and understanding about it. Sometimes they said things like "Time will pass and you will move past this and when you one day hold your precious little one to your breast, this will no longer give you pain." (This was an email from my mother-in-law. What if I never had a living child? And guess what - now [somehow, with enormous luck] I have two, and it still gives me pain!)
Now, with that chapter closed, I try to share as openly as I can about what happened - because despite the strides that have been made even in the last decade I feel like miscarriage sometimes is still treated as this shameful, hidden thing, and can feel so lonely. Thank you, thank you, for sharing too. I deeply hope that life brings you what you're hoping for soon.
(Your newsletter [and your writing] is so fantastic, by the way.)
Not me crying at a Substack comment!!!
I needed to read this, thank you. I think for me, this experience has been so enormously isolating -- in all the usual ways you would expect disenfranchised grief to isolate you, but also in the sense that we are moving further and further away from what is considered medically or statistically "normal." At this point I just don't know, or hear from, many people who have had experiences like ours. So I am very, truly grateful to you for sharing your story -- and I'm also terribly sorry for your losses. You made this internet stranger feel a little less lonely. I appreciate it. <3
For what it's worth, you are not alone. This is something I've come to realize the hard way over the past year, and what you've shared is strikingly similar to my experience (especially wrt diplomatically navigating the balance between clear business etiquette and such a vulnerable/painful subject).
My last miscarriage hit at the start of a major work conference, and aside from snippets of heartfelt conversations with a few very choice co-workers as part of my apologies for "lack of energy", my oral presentations and observation of social niceties were book-ended by blinding back pain and strategically short walks from hotels to conference rooms and back again. Never has an environment seemed so physically hostile. The few people I confided in during the week-long conference were horrified, encouraging, or cautiously supportive. Some even shared their own knowledge of past colleagues who have struggled through similar tragedies.
I'm afraid of generalizing, so I'll note that I only share the following based on my own experiences: It appears to be the quiet resolve of many afab workers to stomach what feels like an inhuman level of pain if only to preemptively negate any potential manifestation or concept of doubt regarding our strength or presence in our chosen fields of work.
This fear is what I think keeps many from sharing unexpectedly common life struggles such as these. I had previously never recognized that fear so clearly as during my own miscarriages, and I wish I knew how best to keep others from needlessly experiencing that same fear - but that is beyond me and my present knowledge to mitigate.
Hopefully this comment can bring some sense of comfort in its own way. But I'll also share the quote from the video game Undertale that helped me put one foot in front of the other during that conference and in the period of mourning that followed:
"The will to keep living... The resolve to change fate. Let's call this power... 'Determination.'"
<3
What a nightmare -- I'm so sorry you went through this. And grateful to you for sharing. This sentence got me, in particular: "It appears to be the quiet resolve of many afab workers to stomach what feels like an inhuman level of pain if only to preemptively negate any potential manifestation or concept of doubt regarding our strength or presence in our chosen fields of work." SO TRUE. And ultimately, so isolating and terrible. Thanks for writing. <3
I love your links, but I love your writing more. Your essay is the one I would Gchat friends. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Thank you Sharon, I appreciate you!
I’m so sorry. this was wrenching to read and you didn’t owe it to us, but grateful for your candor nonetheless. sending all the empathy (not sympathy!) you need at this exact moment 🤍
I'm so sorry about what you're going through, although I'm grateful you felt you could share some of it with us. Someone close to me went through this years ago, and I remember how no one really felt they could talk about it (or had the vocabulary). We have a ways to go as a society on this subject.
Thanks James, I appreciate it. And I hope things turned out okay for your loved one. I'm trying to be the destigmatization I want to see in the world ... we'll see how that goes. 🙃
“I don’t want you to think I’m looking for sympathy. Sympathy actually embarrasses me a bit. If anything, I’m writing to underscore the absurdity, the heartlessness, of this mutual charade wherein we all play down our grief, we keep its depths secret.” This is so brilliantly written and so very true. Thank you for sharing this with us. 🩷
Please more real conversations about grief! Thank you for sharing and keep up the good work
I'm so sorry that you are going through this.
big virtual hug.
Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I really appreciate your bravery and candor in writing this.
I'm so sorry. This is heartbreaking, and I just wish you a lot of strength and love and support.
💜💜💜
Refreshingly real! I admire your bravery in your writing. I hope you find helpful answers and take time for your grief. Sending love from Australia.
God bless you and give you peace.
Also Go Bills!
Sending love and good vibes. Your newsletter is a safe place of my internet and I hope you feel the same about your subscribers 💜
Honestly, this comment section + my inbox have to be the kindest, gentlest places on the internet right now. I legit love my readers. Thank you for being awesome.
Warmest virtual regards back atcha. Thanks for your honest sharing, it's meaningful to me.
Thank you for sharing such a personal experience. Sending love.