Finding Acceptance After Miscarriage

If you have read my other post, "They Didn't Tell Me," you already know that last year I experienced a traumatic miscarriage. Since then, I’ve had to learn to accept that the healing journey is long and is sort of like a game of Shoots & Ladders rather than a straight shot where every day is another step ahead. There will be days when the memories are haunting, and you are easily triggered by the simplest of things, so you feel a giant setback in healing, but there also will be days when you feel beautifully present and simply grateful for life, so you feel like you just landed on a ladder, bringing you ten paces ahead in healing. In the past month, I feel like I have landed on the biggest ladder forward, and I think it's time to reflect.

As humans, it's inevitable to try rationalizing through the pain we feel; we crave explanations and often force ourselves to believe that everything happens for a reason, that there has to be a reason. We cope by convincing ourselves that the pain is not in vain. Although, it is ever so rare to find a simple answer to any of life’s many questions. Yet through the tears and the fears, we continue the uncertain journey of seeking rational from the greater meaning of life.

I’ve been asking myself the same questions, “Why, why me? What did I do wrong?” since the very first moment I saw blood during my pregnancy. I’ve spent a year on a merry-go-round with these questions, each taking a turn pushing us faster. I thought maybe this was karma coming to find me. Maybe it was the consequence of not doing x, y, or z well enough; or maybe the consequence of doing x, y, or z at all. I thought there must be something really wrong with me if I, a healthy young adult, couldn’t carry a successful* pregnancy while simultaneously there are people giving birth while addicted to a cocktail of illegal drugs and practiced no prenatal care. I thought maybe I haven’t broken enough intergenerational patterns, and this was the Creator protecting a baby from me. Maybe the spirit that had chosen me regretted their decision for a mother. The speculation was infinitely desperate and most certainly did not bring comfort the majority of the time.

I grew up knowing that I was born carrying all of my eggs, meaning my mom was born carrying all of her eggs, including me. The egg that would one day bring me Earthside was, in fact, carried in my grandmother’s womb. For as long as I can remember, in quiet moments by myself, I would look down at my stomach and embrace my eventual womb with my hands shaped like a heart, like the typical maternity photo shoot pose. Those moments connected me to the eggs I carry and the spirits I have yet to meet. It was my way of loving the beautiful beings I will one day meet, not knowing when but knowing one day I will be a mother. These moments would remind me of my true motivations to bring our culture back to my family line, to learn our language, to fight for our environment, and to learn as much as I can from the world, all to share with my children one day. I still have these quiet moments, just a little different now.

Now, I embrace my womb not only as a connection with the future spirits but also to remember the spirit I never got to meet but held in my womb briefly. Sometimes this will make me sad, but more often, I just feel overwhelmingly loving and nurturing. I’ve always been a naturally nurturing person; just ask any of my family how I’ve always cared for all of my animals like they are my babies. In typical Native ways, I grew up with tons of baby nieces and nephews since I was 10 years old. Caring just became natural. I didn’t expect how intense those nurturing feelings would grow during my pregnancy and even after the miscarriage. My body craved to nurture the way I crave water and food. I figured the most responsible resolution to these overwhelming hormones was to buy a bunch of houseplants. My time may be consumed with watering all the time, but hey, the air quality in my bedroom has never been more purified!

Lately, I have been involved more and more with our community’s youth group and most recently chaperoned a week-long Indigenous youth camp in the wilderness hosted by my graduate school. While sitting on the lake shore in the beautiful Adirondacks before everyone woke, I was overcome with emotions of relief, gratitude, love, and peace. In that moment, watching the sunrise, I realized I am always with the spirit I once carried. I feel them in the running water, in the gentle breeze, in the dancing clouds of the sky, and in the warmth of the sun on my skin. I know I will one day meet them when I leave Earth, but I now know I can always find them in the beauty around me.

That same moment of realization at the lake brought me an answer of relief I have been looking for all too long. I know I was meant to be exactly in that moment, supporting that group of kids, both familiar and new. I felt serendipitous in the woods and on the water, caring for a group of kids who I became so proud of, experiencing unforgettable memories together, all while learning more of our Haudenosaunee culture, specifically our relation to our environment. I would have had a 10-month-old baby right now and most likely not be able to leave for a week in the Adirondacks or start a master's program that will surely change my life and hopefully support my community.

Nothing will ever take away the pain I experienced in a very scary miscarriage, not even a beautiful realization like I had. However, I think I finally found acceptance. Maybe that’s what I have been searching for this last year. I feel now that my nurturing role, for the time being, isn’t to be a life-giver but to support the young lives already around me. None of those kids knew what I was feeling or thinking, but they helped me a lot. I no longer have to fight on that merry-go-round of why I got pregnant, only to endure the most painful experience of my life losing that pregnancy. I don’t have to rationalize anymore because I found acceptance that I am exactly where I need to be, and my strenuous path has led me here.

All this to say, there are no words to truly comfort the loss in a miscarriage, but there is hope. Hope that one day you will feel the sun on your face and feel okay.

*I would like to point out how wrong the healthcare system is for using insensitive language on medical records, such as "successful pregnancy" and "unsuccessful pregnancy" further encouraging the treacherous rabbit hole of people experiencing miscarriage, as having failed and blaming themselves.