What to expect when you’re no longer expecting

I’m an emotional writer.

What I mean by that, is that my best writings come from when I feel strongly about something.

My emotions drive the descriptive details and in-depth explanation of my thoughts on a topic. I get real and raw. I leave nothing out and I dive so deeply into whatever I’m talking about that eventually I discover new, unexplored emotions.

It’s quite a beautiful experience actually.

My method, however, has failed me recently.

Topic : Miscarriage.

Subtopic : My miscarriage.

When I first began writing a blog post about my miscarriage, I was 5 hours post confirmation that I had, in fact, miscarried. I couldn’t sleep, I had cried for approximately 4 straight hours…. I was sad. I had talked to my “feel better crew” and my husband had come home early from work. I had all the support I needed, but I had emotions that no one understood that I needed to get out. So, I figured I’d write about it.

The first draft was a disaster. Whilst emotions normally drove my writing, that day they were doing nothing my overtaking my brain and heart, and all I could write was, “I’m so sad”. I could hardly function in the outside world, I don’t know why I thought I would do any better on a computer.

I continued to try writing every day for a week.

Continued disaster.

I finally stepped back, and told myself I’d revisit a blog post when I was healed.

I didn’t know it then, but “healed” wasn’t happening.

When you read articles on miscarriages, you read so much about how to know if you’re having one, or what to expect when you’re having a miscarriage. They talk a lot about cramping, and pain, and blood. They talk about taking pain relief medicines and eating special foods because your iron levels might be low. Vitamins are good and avoid this and that. Blah blah blah.

And, very briefly at the end of most articles, they’ll tell you if you’re sad, to talk to someone.

That’s it. That’s all they say about the emotional part.

Up until that point, these articles are super informative. How much blood/how long you might bleed. Cramping pain levels. When to go to the doctor. What infections are possible. Helpful stuff.

But what to expect emotionally? Not a thing.

As an “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt” type person, I will assume that the reason for this missing detail in these articles is because the emotions that follow are most likely different for everyone. I try to accept that, but I can’t, because I really could have used some warning on what was coming next – you know, after the intense heartbreak.

I wanted someone to tell me that I was going to experience some shame. And by some, I mean so much. Shame, because I must have done something wrong. I worked out too hard, or didn’t have enough water. Shame, because I drank margaritas in Mexico and ate like shit the month before, so maybe I wasn’t healthy enough to carry a baby. Shame, because I told my husband he was going to be a daddy, and that turned out to be a lie.

I wanted someone to tell me that I was going to cry a lot. Cry because someone said the word “baby” or cry because we walked by baby bottles in King Soopers. Cry because I work in an elementary school full of children. Cry because I was awake and there was no baby in my belly, but in my dreams there was. Cry because I kept walking by the baby Nikes I bought. Cry because I told my husband he was going to be a daddy, and that turned out to be a lie.

I wanted someone to tell me that I was going to feel an incredible amount of fear. Fear that this was a sign I wasn’t going to ever be able to have kids. Fear that, if I weren’t able to have kids, my husband might leave me. Fear that I would never get to be a mom. Fear that the only dream that hasn’t come true in my life, would never come true. Fear that my husband was mad at me. Because I told him he was going to be a daddy, and that turned out to be a lie.

But no article told me about this. No article warned me of the endless rollercoaster of emotions. No article mentioned the monthly revisit of the memory of a miscarriage, each time I’ve had my period, meaning “no baby”.

While the super frequent crying has subsided, the other emotions have become apart of who I am. Despite anything I’ve read since telling me nothing was my fault and to not be afraid, I can’t get past the worry and the pain. I am hopeful, but for the moment, those feelings are here to stay.

As a writer, and a teacher, I always practice re-reading writing before publishing anything. It’s good practice and, if I’m going to require my students to do it, I better do it, too.

The above writing started in August, was added to twice in September, and is finally being revisited in October.

And it’s a mess.

It’s emotional and honest, but I find it hard to know the purpose. What point was the author (me) trying to make? Was there a lesson to be learned? Am I angry at the articles I read for not warning about emotions with miscarriage, or was I just venting to my readers all the feelings I’ve been feeling?

Who knows. It’s a mess.

And I’m leaving it that way. It’s symbolic.

Because my life after this miscarriage?

It’s a mess.

And that’s what you should be warned about.