I thought that I was okay.
It was one week since my miscarriage, and even though I had spent much of the week lying in bed, I thought it’d be good for me to push myself out of the house for a 4th of July party.
It took me no less than two hours at the party before I broke down. Right there, at the dinner table, I couldn’t stop myself from crying.
Maybe I wasn’t okay.
My miscarriage happened suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly on the last night of a family vacation, seven hours from home. We’d planned to put the kids in bed that night and sit outside around the bonfire for one last time, but instead, my husband and I spent the night in the ER. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. We’d already seen a heartbeat, little limbs fluttering. It was hard for me to process it while it was happening.
I had too much time on my hands during the seven-hour drive home and made the mistake of Googling everything. I knew little about miscarriage before this happened, and I wanted to know what to expect. When will I feel better? What will my doctor do at the follow-up appointment? Why did this happen?
Google was not especially helpful, but multiple websites told me I should feel physically better in two or three days. Hmm. That seemed really soon, but I guess it made sense since I didn’t deliver a full-term baby.
One week later, I was confused and frustrated when my body still ached and I was crying randomly. I felt very similar to how I felt postpartum with my full-term babies, but not even Google or my doctor could prepare me for it.
The more research I did, the more I realized I wasn’t alone. I hate that anyone else has to experience this, but the reality is more than 30% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. Once I started reaching out to people who’ve been through it before me, I learned that healing takes time. And why shouldn’t it?
Miscarriage is a form of childbirth. Our bodies change, our hormones fluctuate, and expecting everything to return to “normal” in a matter of days is unreasonable.
I’m still healing, physically and emotionally. I’m not far enough out of this to have any profound thoughts on the subject, and who knows if I ever will. I don’t know if I’ll be healing for two weeks, six weeks, or several months, but every day I remind myself that my body was growing a human, and then suddenly, it wasn’t. It’s normal to not feel like myself.
If you find yourself reading this post because you’re going through the same thing, I am so sorry. Maybe the only reason you ended up here is because you searched “miscarriage stories” just like I did one week ago, desperately hoping to find a story similar to yours so you don’t feel so alone.
I am going to be okay (if you’re experiencing this also, you will too). But right now, it’s okay to not feel okay.