Many mothers in the loss community have lost trust in their bodies. They feel their bodies failed them, failed their babies, or simply can’t be trusted to do something they are biologically built to do – carry and sustain a pregnancy. Is it even possible to trust your body after a miscarriage or pregnancy loss?
When I became pregnant with my rainbow baby, (a baby conceived after a miscarriage) I intended to do pregnancy the same way I had with my first – completely autonomously and with as few tests and interventions as I felt safely possible. I was vocal about skipping things like the gestational diabetes test. Some from the loss community spoke out against that, claiming that I was not only being reckless but also encouraging others to follow suit and possibly putting our babies at risk. While I can empathize with those mothers, the nervousness, the anxiety, the distrust of our bodies, I did not share those feelings. I had full trust in my body during that pregnancy.
But how?
How after losing our second baby, could I possibly trust my body to carry another pregnancy to term? Why wasn’t I worried that this baby would die too? I mean, I was. But also, I wasn’t.
For weeks (months?) after Miles died, I searched for how to fix what had happened. I knew I couldn’t get Miles back but I wanted my life to feel normal again. I took to Instagram, combing through the hashtags looking for proof that life got better after a miscarriage, that the pain went away, and that I could feel some sense of normalcy again. But, surprise surprise, I didn’t find it. I saw mothers experiencing joy after their loss, sure. But I didn’t find the road map of how they got there. Was it the arrival of the rainbow baby? Maybe when they stopped thinking about their loss as much? Perhaps it was the finality of the due date passing? I can’t remember the exact time or circumstances but one day, this feeling washed over me.
I was always meant to be here
That’s what the feeling told me.
When Miles died, we did all the tests and an autopsy searching for why he died and the results were all inconclusive. We didn’t have a reason. There wasn’t anything that had happened, my body didn’t malfunction, and nothing broke down or failed. It just happened inexplicably.
While at first that left us feeling more angry and uncertain, eventually, it gave me peace. Peace in knowing there was nothing I did wrong or could have done better or help I could have sought out to save our baby. No mother who has lost a baby to any circumstances is to blame, but too often she does find blame in herself or her body. Our situation of not knowing why saved me from that. It just was and maybe I was always meant to be here.
It’s ok if this hurts forever
Searching for a way to stop the pain or to go back to before the pain started stopped being my goal. My new goal became moving forward with the pain as part of me. Once I accepted that the pain would stay forever, I stopped running from it and embraced it. I became familiar with the pain, like an old friend. Now, over two years later, it still hurts and I still cry. The grief comes in waves that wash over me. But it does not scare me anymore. The thought of living in that space forever no longer zaps the energy out of me. It just felt normal, again like I was meant to be here and nothing could have changed or prevented this outcome.
Those are the two overwhelming feelings that I carried forward into my next pregnancy.
Trusting my Rainbow
Being pregnant with a Rainbow baby or a baby after a loss is hard no matter how you look at it. It is ten months of anxiety, pleading with your body to keep them safe, and begging this baby to stay. Despite the overwhelming calm, I had that our outcome would be what it was meant to be, I was not the exception to this. Every morning I woke up with the casual thought, “I hope our baby is still alive in there.” If there was a period of time when he was more still, I would contemplate how we would handle another funeral for a baby. It truly was a heartbreaking ten months.
But amidst that, I also knew that nothing would take away what was meant to be ours. If this baby was meant to stay, he would. If he was meant to die, he would. It was all out of my control. Usually, the lack of control leads me to panic but this time, it lead me to peace because if it wasn’t in my control then it also wasn’t my responsibility. I did not have to work to save this baby and deliver him safely, I simply had to wait and my body would do the rest.
That is where I found my trust in my body.
Despite an OB that told me I needed an extra test “Just to make sure” and despite other mothers who told me I needed to birth in a hospital “Just to be safe,” I was able to silence all of that noise, spend time connecting with my baby through meditation, breathing exercises, and even prayer and I truly believed that what was meant to be ours would be ours. Of course, I prayed this baby was meant to be ours for a lifetime. I wanted that more than anything and yet I had no assurance. But I was assured that no matter what happened, we would end up where we were meant to be.
I hope that, no matter what you have lived through, you too are able to find peace and hope in pregnancy and trust for your body even after a miscarriage.