When the unthinkable happens and you lose a pregnancy and your unborn child, the grief is indescribable. Somehow the experience allows a simultaneous heaviness and emptiness to coexist within your being. While pregnancy loss is heartbreaking, there are added layers of complexity that make the loss so much more devastating and thereby harder to share.

So often, women tie their identity and self-worth with their ability to conceive and carry a child to term especially when infertility plays a role in the journey. Women who experience pregnancy loss grapple with failure as an inherent part of the process. When I lost my twins during the second trimester, I felt as if my body failed me and I failed my babies and my husband. A woman who is dealing with a pregnancy loss is not only grieving the loss of the child she never had the pleasure of knowing and the loss of her expectations and dreams but also dealing with their tortured sense of self-worth.

For many months after my loss, I lacked any desire to return back to the real world and preferred the comfort of my bed in my darkened room, which matched the dark emptiness I felt inside. It can feel impossible to fathom the idea of one day climbing out of this black hole of sadness. Take comfort in knowing that this “someday” will eventually make its way to you when you are ready. Below are some nuggets of wisdom from my own experience with loss and how I have coached my fertility mindfulness clients dealing with their own struggles through pregnancy loss.

1. Give Yourself Permission. Allow yourself space and time to heal. There is no set timeframe in which you need to move on. Do what you need to do for yourself during your time of grief and detach from the pressure to “get better” based on other people’s timelines and expectations. You do not owe anyone an explanation for your grief and recovery process.

2. Seek Support. There are days when we are okay with the isolation and then there are days when we need a helping hand to save us from the sadness.  During those moments, reach out to your support group in whatever form that may be for you—your partner, therapy, online groups/communities, friends, and family. Support groups, whether in person or online, are a great way to remind you that you are not alone and someone out there understands what you are going through. If you are going through secondary infertility, a hug from your child can be powerful enough to break down the walls you have built around yourself and envelop you in love.

3. Honor & Acknowledge Your Pregnancy and Baby. You don’t have to get through it quicker just because you were “only pregnant for X number of weeks” or because you “already have X number of children.” If it helps you through your process of grief, find a way to honor your pregnancy and baby. Perhaps share your story to raise awareness and help end the stigma of pregnancy and infant loss.

4. Manage Triggers & Set Boundaries. It’s okay to say no to anyone and anything that could trigger you. Your mental and emotional well-being is fragile so give yourself permission to set boundaries on things like social media, gatherings, certain friends, and family. If you need help doing this, enlist your partner in this important task. If you are going through secondary infertility and lose your pregnancy, people can sometimes say insensitive comments about the fact that you already have a child. Remember that just because you have a child, your loss is no less significant and should not be diminished. In these instances, set boundaries for what people can say to you and ask your partner to help ensure this need is met. No one has the right to justify how you should feel or what you should do.

5. Get Distracted. Consider going away whether it’s for a quick drive or a long weekend. Other people find it helpful to take up a hobby that requires focus and allows for personal growth. Take little steps in your grief process as you start to do other things. These distractions can help stop the cycle of negativity and despair in which you are trapped. Returning back to your role whether in work or in family life can give you a purpose outside of your fertility and feeling defined only by your quest to have a child.

6. Take Back Control. If you need some form of control to help ease the overwhelming nature of your situation, one way to take back some semblance of control is to come up with a plan. Work with your medical team to evaluate what happened, and to discuss options and next steps. Knowing that you have a defined road map can help to ease a bit of the stress and anxiety that is a part of your loss. Another way to feel like you are in control of your situation is to use breathing techniques to help you move your state of mind and body from a state of stress to a state of calm. For example, do a 16-second breath count —4 seconds each—inhale, hold, exhale, hold. Repeat as necessary.

If you are in the process of grief right now, please remember that this loss is not your fault. You are worthy and capable and so very brave. As you grieve your loss in silence, take all the time you need to heal your mental and emotional well-being. All of your feelings are valid and worthy of being fully expressed. One day, when the time is right for you, hope will make its way back to you. Until then, know that you are not alone.  I see you and I am so sorry for your loss.

My passion is helping others overcome adversity to find joy via meditation training and my podcast “Responding to Life.” I draw upon my unique fertility journey of pregnancy loss, IVF, international adoption and surrogacy, ultimately becoming a mother of five, to show others the power of perseverance, calm and courage.

Wedged between homework and fundraising forms in the kindergarten folder was a letter to parents: It advised us of an upcoming active shooter response drill. Words like armed intruder spread across sentences on school letterhead detailing the session for students. The following week, stuffed between readers, handwriting and math practice papers was a new note addressing the tragedy at the Tree of Life Synagogue, outlining activities the children would participate in to honor first responders and victims of the tragic event.

I found myself staring at the school papers, formulating a dialogue in my mind. A conversation difficult for adults alone, but now necessary to have with my daughter.

We cover things quickly—I’m lucky to get this five-year-old to sit and focus for just a few minutes. We discuss the ALICE acronym (alert, lockdown, inform, counter, evacuate), and she tells me what she’s responsible for during the event of an active shooting: “We run and hide, throw things at the bad guy and get out.” My stomach turns. Our local police officers equipped with firearms were unable to fully protect themselves from bullets sprayed by the shooter who injured and killed innocent people near Mr. Rogers’ real-life neighborhood—a tight-knit community located across a few steel bridges from us.

This talk is tough. I let her take the lead and let me know what she learned, chiming in with my own what would you do scenario. The most important element I ask my child to take away from our conversation is to always be aware of your surroundings. This message I will ingrain in her mind every time we arrive in a public place. “Look for exits and identify a quick and easy way out in case of emergency. Be aware of where you’re sitting, and if possible, never have your back to the main entrance.” Unsettling, right?

Our conversation isn’t long. She wants a snack and some crayons to color, bored by my big words and requests to repeat after me.

Hearts are heavy, and it’s hard not to notice the sadness surrounding the city of Pittsburgh. I’m shaken knowing my little girl is at school, bowing her head on the playground in a moment of silence. I’m unsure if she fully understands what is going on—reoccurring acts of gun violence are forcing her to grow up too soon.

Our children are being trained to defend themselves. The ALICE acronym is now as important as the ABCs. Our little ones are learning survival skills to run, hide and fight for their lives because dangerous people are hurting others with automatic weapons laws protect.

No matter how much we are divided on politics and personal rights, it’s small acts of kindness that cement us. Writing thank-you notes to first responders, delivering sympathy cards to family members grieving lost ones and donating blood to victims of gun violence show we love and support one another and the communities we live in. For those taking a stand against the evil of intolerance and hate growing around us at an alarming rate, I cannot help but think of Pat Benatar’s song “Invincible.” The battle cry chorus reminds me of every one of us echoing we are #StrongerThanHate.

“We can’t afford to be innocent / Stand up and face the enemy / It’s a do or die situation / We will be invincible.”

Originally published Nov. 2018.

As managing director of two children—19-months apart in age on purpose—Sara has hands-on experience in human development, specializing in potty pushing, breaking up baby fights and wrestling kids into car seats. When there's a moment to look away, she's writing for the web, blogging and building websites.

Some days we wish we could escape on a shiny red trolley to the Neighborhood of Make-believe, where a kind-hearted man in a zip-up sweater explains away all the scary things happening in the world. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood when you remember these important words of wisdom. Read on for some of our favorite Fred Rogers quotes about kindness, compassion and empathy.

1. Fred Rogers on Strength

mrrogersmovie via Instagram

"Most of us, I believe, admire strength. It's something we tend to respect in others, desire for ourselves, and wish for our children. Sometimes, though, I wonder if we confuse strength and other words--like aggression and even violence. Real strength is neither male nor female; but is, quite simply, one of the finest characteristics that any human being can possess."

2. Fred Rogers on Important Historical Events

Dr. François S. Clemmons via Wikimedia Commons

"A high school student wrote to ask, 'What was the greatest event in American history?' I can't say. However, I suspect that like so many 'great' events, it was something very simple and very quiet with little or no fanfare (such as someone forgiving someone else for a deep hurt that eventually changed the course of history). The really important 'great' things are never center stage of life's dramas; they're always 'in the wings.' That's why it's so essential for us to be mindful of the humble and the deep rather than the flashy and the superficial."

3. Fred Rogers on Humankind

"One of the greatest dignities of humankind is that each successive generation is invested in the welfare of each new generation."

4. Fred Rogers on Forgiveness

"Forgiveness is a strange thing. It can sometimes be easier to forgive our enemies than our friends. It can be hardest of all to forgive people we love. Like all of life's important coping skills, the ability to forgive and the capacity to let go of resentments most likely take root very early in our lives."

5. Fred Rogers on Sharing Responsibility

"We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It's easy to say, 'It's not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.' Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes."

6. Fred Rogers on Seeing Scary Things on the News

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of 'disaster,' I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers--so many caring people in this world."

7. Fred Rogers on Saying "Yes"

"I hope you're proud of yourself for the times you've said 'yes,' when all it meant was extra work for you and was seemingly helpful only to somebody else."

8. Fred Rogers on Embracing Our Feelings

"There's no 'should' or 'should not' when it comes to having feelings. They're part of who we are and their origins are beyond our control. When we can believe that, we may find it easier to make constructive choices about what to do with those feelings."

9. Fred Rogers on Facing Sadness & Anger

"Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it."

10. Fred Rogers on What Makes Us Special

"As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has—or ever will have—something inside that is unique to all time. It's our job to encourage each other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing its expression."

11. Fred Rogers on Love

"Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now."

12. Fred Rogers on Being True to Yourself

"One of the greatest gifts you can give anybody is the gift of your honest self. I also believe that kids can spot a phony a mile away."

13. Fred Rogers on What Matters Most

"What matters isn't how a person's inner life finally puts together the alphabet and numbers of his outer life. What really matters is whether he uses the alphabet for the declaration of a war or the description of a sunrise--his numbers for the final count at Buchenwald or the specifics of a brand-new bridge."

Now head out into the world and make a snappy new day for yourself.

Whelp we’ve made it to Christmas. It’s the time of year where one’s heart should grow three sizes and goodwill should be sprinkled like the curse words you use while trying to find the last-minute gift that your child decided was the gift of the year that you did not buy.

This is also the time of year where grief hits me hard. We recently sat down with our eager three-year-old and asked her what she hopes Santa will bring her. It was a complete fail as her belief in St. Nick is so pure this year her response was: “He knows what I want.” I want to be like, he really doesn’t so if you can help us so we don’t have the repeat of last year—where she asked numerous times who got her this? And then her famous, “Well I don’t like it.”

She keeps us on our toes so we have a backup fund labeled “Vivi” if she decides to give us a list.

But then there is my sweet seven-year-old boy Whit. He doesn’t communicate in the conventional way. I always think of the song from Bandaid “Does he know it’s Christmas time at all?!”

This year, for the first time ever, he marveled at the tree. We’ve tried to set up pictures in hopes of getting some kind of idea of what he wants for Christmas. I’m usually not an organized Christmas shopper. My husband and I have been known to run to Target on Christmas Eve for a last-minute Christmas gift or ten.

I think Whit’s not caring has given me this, “What’s the point attitude.” As I load a virtual cart with things, I think, “Will this be the year?! Will this be the time he acknowledges a gift and plays with it properly?!” Usually, it’s a no and there is always a twinge of disappointment. We have a closet full of gifts we thought would work but have backfired horribly.

Why do we keep them you may be asking? Because as a mom I have this mindset that there is always next year. There’s always next year to try Santa again. There’s always next year to get a Christmas list from Whit. There’s always next year. Then my mind wanders to what if there isn’t ever a year where he cares? What if all the Christmas buying, and therapy to help Whit process any celebration is all done in vain because I’m the mom who can’t let go and accept our reality? I get that way when people ask us for a Christmas list for Whit. He’s possibly into LEGOs, he seems to like to watch us attempt to put them together.

This is the first year that our 3-year-old is 100% sold on Christmas and I’m living up every moment of it but at the same time hoping and praying that maybe this will be the year that Whitman will open a gift, be excited, acknowledge us and play with it. I know that’s a huge hope—I’d take any of that sequence in a heartbeat. We are building our three-year-old a Target and Starbucks for our playroom. While ordering all the supplies and in my excitement, my husband stopped me and said: “I don’t want to ruin this for you but what about Whit?!” I tried to convince him that Whit has been showing interest in pretend play with his sister so fingers crossed. I added a few extra gifts for Whit to keep it even in hopes that maybe this will the year.

So here’s to the mom’s and dad’s who are feeling this too. May this be the year our kids surprise us in the best way, especially in a time where we are told to be happy but we grieve the loss of childhood traditions. May we find new holiday traditions that work for us. It’s not about the presents, I know, but sometimes it feels like it is. It’s about the love we have for each other and a reminder of how far we come in the last year even in the midst of a global pandemic. May this be the year of letting go, seeing the good, and having a little bit of hope.

This post originally appeared on The Althaus Life
Photo: The Althaus Life

 

Lindsey is a mom, wife, and blogger at The Althaus Life. She lives in Ohio with her husband and 2 children. Lindsey is grateful all things and to be able to chronicle her beautifully broken laugh til you cry cry until you laugh life.

This summer, I described my son, who is thirteen, as splitting his time between Billie Eilish and the L.A. Dodgers—a typical L.A., young teen existence. If you’re in the same boat, you can probably relate—except that my son, Noah, was born with a genetic condition that comes with a cascade of medical, educational and social complications.

When Noah was born, there was so much we didn’t know. There’s no road map for most of us when we learn about a child’s disability for the first time, whether it’s something that’s commonly understood, or something rare and complicated like Noah’s, which presents a lot like cerebral palsy.

Since our journey with Noah began, we’ve experienced a lot of the frustrations common to parents of young children with disabilities, along with many moments of joy. We’ve met other families and learned that we share common experiences—the fractured nature of support and resources, and the frustrating dead-ends and U-turns that come with trying to access those resources, services, reimbursement, and yes, fun, too.

Staying grounded, reaching out to the community to find other families like yours, and paying it forward when you do are all good guidance, but sometimes it’s really hard to follow that advice when you most need it. The cycles of grief that can accompany parenting a child with a disability are completely normal and necessary—that’s one of the most important things I’ve learned in my journey as a parent, and I owe most of that to Diane Simon Smith, a mother of two boys with disabilities who has practiced marriage and family therapy for more than twenty-three years.

Diane’s guidance on going through the grieving process has had a big impact on me in this season of life as Noah’s dad. As Diane told me and a group of other parents recently, it’s necessary to sit with the emotion that comes with grief. Then, when we’re ready, try to picture a landscape that incorporates that emotion and start building a new future, one brick at a time.

Noah is now at the age when it’s time to start preparing for his Bar Mitzvah celebration. Thinking about how different it will be for him and our family has triggered a whole new cycle of grief for me, and served as yet another reminder that so many things aren’t typical for Noah. He won’t have the kind of ceremony that his mother and uncle did when they turned thirteen. Sadness overwhelms me every time I think about that. So I do my best to sit with the emotion. Then, taking Diane’s advice, I think about all that’s possible in building a Bar Mitzvah with Noah that’s not typical. And with that first brick, I see a future that fills me with joy.

As we engage with the Rabbi, Noah, and his family to prepare for Noah’s big day, we’ve all been reminded of the core purpose of this ceremony. The essential idea is to establish that Noah is ready to be a part of the community, and the community is ready to receive him as a fully-fledged member. Typically, the person does intensive studying in preparation to perform a Torah reading during the service. But we are taking a not-so-typical approach so that Noah can bring his whole self to the service through his strengths and loves. As with everything in Noah’s life, music will be everywhere. We are still working on which Billie Eilish song is most appropriate based on his portion of the Torah, but he will be rocking his eye-gaze device to let us know. And in doing so, he is opening the eyes of his family, his Rabbi, and the broader congregation to a new way of seeing this rite of passage. One that doesn’t feel rote, and reinvigorates a sense of a person’s responsibility to his community and the community to him.

Learning from experts, other families that share our experiences, and our children helps us as parents to not only cope, but heal and thrive. That’s one of the biggest motivators for me when it comes to supporting other families raising kids with disabilities—the idea that we can accomplish so much more when we work together.

Jason Lehmbeck

When Jason Lehmbeck's son, Noah, was born with a genetic condition, he pivot his serial technology entrepreneur experience into his new mission: Undivided, a technology platform to help parents of kids with disabilities live their best lives.

I always check my phone first thing in the morning. I live multiple time zones away from my hometown, so there are usually a handful of texts and emails from friends and family waiting for me, as well as notifications from my social media accounts. Scrolling through the messages, posts, and memes usually brings a smile to my face, but yesterday morning was different.

My mind went numb, and I couldn’t comprehend a post I was reading. A teenager, my daughter’s age, from her former school, lost their life. I was heartbroken. My heart was heavy for their parents, their friends, and the community. As my head began to clear, I started connecting the dots. I realized the teenager was likely a close friend of my daughter. My heart sank, and I immediately ran to her bedroom. Tears filled her eyes as she confirmed my fears. Her dear friend, who had been at our house multiple times right before we moved and with whom she still regularly communicated, was gone.

I don’t know how long we sat on her bed holding each other, crying. All I know is that sorrow surrounded us like a thick blanket as we sat there in silence. There were no words that could bring comfort at that moment.

Yesterday was the first time in my parenting journey where I was at a complete loss. Nothing had prepared me to walk my daughter through something so devastating. I had never read a book or parenting guide on picking up the pieces of my daughter’s shattered heart, nor had I watched a how-to video on explaining suicide and death to a young teenager. I think when we’re young, we know in the back of our heads that older generations will inevitably pass on and, though difficult, come to accept it as part of life. But not this. This was a wonderful young teenager. Again, I was at a complete loss.

Not knowing what to do, I let the moment and my mama instincts take over. After we let go of our embrace, I decided to let go of our day’s expectations and schedule. I contacted her school counselor, teachers, and mentors. I made her favorite comfort foods. I sat with her when she wanted me to and gave her space when she needed me to. We spent the day grieving, and I wasn’t sure how to move us forward.

I may not have known how to inch forward, but I know I am not the only one that feels this way. The devastating news rocked our home community. Friends and loved ones have been shaken to their core, and each one of us is dealing with this differently. I wanted to make sure I was doing the best thing for my grieving daughter, so I spent the majority of the day researching how to help a teenager grieve properly. I want to share two helpful resources. For the sake of our children’s mental health, I highly recommend reading both.

The first one is by Madelynn Vickers called Teen Grief 101: Helping Teens Deal with Loss. My favorite quote from the article reminds me of how important comforting your teen is. It says,

“You should find out what comforts the teen. If it’s watching the deceased person’s favorite movie over and over again, that movie better be on repeat. There are so many ways to help teenagers cope with a loss; you just have to figure out which one works best.”

The second resource was sent to me by my daughters’ counselor. It’s called Talking to Children about a Suicide LossThe article talks about the importance of speaking truthfully to your child. It says, “It might be harder to truthfully talk about the death of a loved one following suicide without leaving some information out. But not being honest can mean they may fill in the gaps with their imagination or half-truths they hear from others, which can lead to bigger issues, like anxiety. Clear and honest communication reassures children that someone will take care of them physically and emotionally. It also creates a renewed sense of safety, security and trust.”

I expect my daughter to carry the heaviness of her friend’s death with her for a while, as is the norm when facing loss. In fact, I imagine all of us in this community will be under a blanket of sorrow for a while. I hope these resources help you as they helped me.

Please know I am not an expert; I am an imperfect mom at best. But I am also an advocate for children’s mental health. While we may not know what to do in heartbreaking situations like this, these situations are the opportune time to educate ourselves and connect with our children. In fact, it’s the perfect opportunity to check in on their mental health. Parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teachers, youth leaders, tutors, and coaches…please check in with the children in your life! They carry more than we realize. They deal with loneliness, academic demands, social pressure, media influence, relationship stress, and much more.

Collectively and individually, these stressors can cause anxiety as well as depression, which can become too heavy of a burden to bear. Our children need us to reassuringly take their hands and allow them to catch their breath. They need us to walk with them through this life and let them know they are not alone. They need to be assured that while life is messy, we can all get through it together.

This post originally appeared on www.jamieedelbrock.com/blog.

Jamie is married to her high school sweetheart and has three beautiful daughters. Through years of experience working with children, and raising her own, she knows how difficult parenting can be. She is an advocate for children's mental health and is best known for her creativity, optimism, and kind heart.

Photo: via Lauren Shapiro Mandel

I gave birth to my daughter on a Monday. That Friday, my mom died.

My daughter was five days old. I got a call from my Dad mid-morning, who said he was nearby and wanted to come over for a few minutes. He lived 40 minutes away. He never just happened to be nearby.

I hung up the phone, waddled to the bathroom to take care of my postpartum self, and hustled back down the hallway just as my Dad was walking through the door of our condo. He looked up but didn’t smile.

“Mom died today,” he said, offering no additional details, leaving an opening for me to say something. Anything.

But I didn’t say anything. I released a strong breath, then looked over at my baby in my husband’s arms on the couch. He was dangling a bottle of formula over the armrest, burp cloth draped over his chest, staring back at me, waiting for my reaction to news that was stunning but also a long time coming.

My mom suffered her first brain bleed when I was 10 years old. When my mom’s brain bled for the second time, I was 12, and this time she stayed in the hospital for more than four months, followed by an extensive stay in a rehab facility. When she finally came home, she wasn’t who she had always been. My mom died that summer in the hospital, though the doctors told us she had made a miraculous recovery. 

Traumatic brain injuries have a way of taking someone away while leaving them right next to you. I saw my mom next to me, in her wheelchair, slurred speech, sad eyes. But it wasn’t her at all. The person I knew, the person I needed, she no longer existed. She had become her illness. 

I lost her when I was 12, but it wasn’t until I was 33 and a new mom that I felt the finality of that loss. All those years of mourning and coping and managing, I thought those years would prepare me for this moment. But I was surprised to learn that no amount of loss can prepare you for death. 

When it was time for the funeral, my husband drove slowly into the cemetery. I had one hand near my newborn’s mouth, holding her pacifier in place, while the other hand covered my own mouth to control my tears. Sitting in the back seat of the car, staring down at my daughter, my mind was racing, replaying years of grief all at once and all over again. 

But this was a new type of grief that shook me that day in the car, and for months after. I was no longer just a daughter grieving the loss of her mother, but a mother grappling with the possibility that my daughter could one day face a similar fate. For the first time since she got sick, I saw myself in my mom. 

As my daughter’s first birthday approached, so did the anniversary of my mom’s death. That week was both happy and sad and also confusing. Of course, this week will occur every year in the years to come, and I will have to find a productive way to spend this time. I hope to be able to do that soon.

But until then, I will mark both events separately, as they are. The anniversary of my mom’s death will honor the woman I lost and then lost again. My daughter’s birthday will celebrate the beautiful, spirited, feisty little girl I brought into this world. 

And together, these events will be a reminder of who I am because of them both.

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Lauren Shapiro Mandel
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

Lauren Mandel is the daughter of Daniel Shapiro, author of the book “The Thin Ledge.” In the book Shapiro recounts his family’s difficulties with his wife's sudden but long-term illness and the family's caregiving struggle. Lauren serves as a chair for the Brain Research Foundation, in honor of her mom.

Authors’s Note: The following article is about miscarriage. Currently, many who suffer miscarriages suffer alone and those who do share their stories often aren’t met with the support they need. This is a PSA as a voice to help shift the societal norm of not talking about pregnancy loss as well as to offer tips for how others can support a grieving couple.  

 

Miscarriage is unfair, terrible and painful.

It is one of those things that parents-to-be fear may happen to them. One of those things that unfortunately does occur to 1 in 4 women. And one of those things that is not talked about much, leading those going through it to feel mightily alone.

Miscarriage so often occurs that it is a common practice to avoid telling friends and loved ones about our pregnancies until after the 12-week mark, where the risk decreases significantly. The idea is that if we lose a baby in the early stages of pregnancy and have not told anyone yet, then we don’t have to go through the awkward and painful hassle of telling everyone that we are no longer pregnant. It sounds very practical. But, practical does not equal painless or healthy.

My concern about the common approach to pregnancy and pregnancy loss is that it has the potential to be even more painful. Often this grieving mama is left to suffer alone, retreating within, by not sharing about the miscarriage. There is this sense that sharing the news is “TMI” for others, too heavy, too personal, too negative. Or, if she does decide to share about it with her closest confidants, she is stressed about navigating how to broach the subject, which involves also telling them she was pregnant in the first place.

What’s more is that the accumulation of a society’s silent miscarriages leads many couples to feel alone in their loss. One of the best ways to process and heal from grief is to relate to others, feel their support and love, learn what helped them and express feelings. But, how can a mama find this from friends and family if she thinks she does not know anyone else who has gone through the same thing? The reality is, this mama most likely knows several women who have suffered, she just doesn’t know that she does.

This mama walks around, surrounded by others who have felt a similar pain, alone. She feels isolated in a sea of sisters. If only everyone had been open during their experience, she would have waves of support and love.

Another repercussion of the societal silence is that we aren’t practiced in how to offer help or support for a grieving mama. Don’t get me wrong, we try to do our best on the fly. We give sympathetic looks, we say “let me know if there anything I can do”, but we don’t know what to do and we move on, afraid of the uncomfortable conversation that is so often avoided.

In speaking with mom friends who have been there for a friend or who have suffered a miscarriage themselves, I have compiled a list of ways to support a grieving mama:

  1. Ask her how she’s doing and let her know that it’s okay to mourn.
  2. Don’t avoid the topic in fear of bringing up something that might make her sad. She already is sad. Show her you care. That said, if she doesn’t feel like talking after you’ve asked, respect that.
  3. Give her a hug—like a real hug. Hug her tight. Let her cry if she needs to.
  4. Make her something yummy to eat. It could be dinner, it could be dessert, it doesn’t matter. This not only shows love but saves her from having to plan and make food for herself when she might not have the drive to.
  5. If she is already a mom, offer to watch her kids. Give her a chance to grieve without having to tend to other little people. It will give her the rare opportunity to be able to put her needs and feelings first.
  6. If you feel close enough with the other parent or if your partner is, check in with them too. They may not have gone through the physical miscarriage, but they are still affected, hurt, sad and grieving too.
  7. If you have been through a miscarriage and feel comfortable sharing about it, relate with this mama. Let her know you’ve been there. Tell her what was helpful to you.
  8. Offer to do any of the above suggestions and see what resonates with her. Say “I want to help,” and tell her specifically the ways in which you can (such as the items above). Maybe she’ll pick what sounds best to her.
  9. If you don’t live near, send a card. Emily McDowell has several great cards for offering support.
  10. Lastly, if you are a friend or family member who is pregnant, please be thoughtful in the way you speak of your own pregnancy with or in front of this mama during this sensitive time.

I hope this societal norm shifts. I hope to see more families share about their pregnancy joys at the time that feels right to them and not just when miscarriage risk decreases. I hope the feelings of shame, embarrassment, isolation and fear that surround sharing about pregnancy loss fades. I hope mamas will look for and find solace and comfort in others should they need to.

And I hope we can learn how to be that solace and comfort in return.

Christina Furnival
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

I am a mom to two young kids, a licensed psychotherapist, and a children's book author. My passion is to help and empower moms and children to understand themselves better, navigate challenge confidently, and live the life they want. Visit me at ChristinaFurnival.com

Miscarriage is quite common, yet regardless of that simple truth, it remains a challenging and emotionally complex experience for women to navigate. It is often something women deal with privately with their partner, but fortunately some women in the public spotlight have begun to share their experiences more openly.

Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, recently opened up about her miscarriage last summer, paving the way for women everywhere to connect and feel less alone. She and Prince Harry also announced that they are expecting another child (a baby girl)—a great reminder that pregnancy is very possible after miscarriage.

Whether you are dealing with loss due to a miscarriage yourself, acting as a support person to someone who has experienced this loss, or simply wanting to educate yourself about this all-too-common occurrence, here is a Q&A to help you through this process.

Miscarriage: 7 Questions and Answers

1. What is a miscarriage? Miscarriage is defined as a pregnancy loss prior to 20 weeks. If the pregnancy lasts beyond 20 weeks but is unsuccessful, it is termed stillbirth.

2. Am I to blame for my baby’s death? Miscarriage is traumatic for all pregnant women and their partners. If you have had, are having, or will have a miscarriage, remember this: Miscarriage is NOT your fault.

Inherent in miscarriage is the experience of death, and often feelings of failure as well. This death is very real, and it is normal for women and partners to experience the five stages of grieving and guilt (described in Elizabeth Keebler Ross’s landmark research in “On Death and Dying”):

  • Denial (It didn’t happen.)
  • Anger (Why is this happening to me?)
  • Bargaining (Oh, please God, I’ll do anything to have a successful pregnancy.)
  • Depression (I must have done something wrong.)
  • Acceptance (I have to get on with life one way or another.)

Allowing yourself and your partner to go through this grieving process is the most important part of a miscarriage.

3. How soon can I get pregnant again after a miscarriage? I always suggest waiting for at least one regular period before getting pregnant again. It can then be determined with more accuracy when you are due. In addition, having a normal period signals your body is done with the miscarriage process.

4. Who is likely to miscarry? Anyone can miscarry. The most often quoted numbers say 10-to-20 percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. When the miscarriage rate includes those fetuses lost before the missing of a period, the high-end rate increases up to 40 percent.

5. How do I tell a period from a miscarriage? There is cramping with miscarriage, often like a period, but sometimes more severe. Most of the time, bleeding will be heavier than a period, but seldom requiring a blood transfusion. 

6. What if my doctor can’t hear a heartbeat? With a Doppler, I can hear a heartbeat at about 11 or 12 weeks. It is easier to see the heartbeat with an ultrasound at seven to eight weeks. If I can’t see the heartbeat at seven or eight weeks, out of reverence and concern for the fetus, I recheck in one week. If I can’t hear a heartbeat, most women prefer to wait for a spontaneous miscarriage which usually follows after one or two weeks. If one or two weeks go by without a miscarriage, I recommended misoprostol (Cytotec) by mouth.

While it is possible to use misoprostol without waiting the two weeks for a spontaneous miscarriage, it would not be my first choice because aggressive treatment can interfere with the grieving process. I prefer to allow a wide margin around guilt, blame, and shame.

7. What happens when someone has repeated miscarriages? Miscarriage, before there is a beating heart, is common, and is usually a chromosomal mutation. These are not preventable. However, once the heart is beating, several conditions can lead to a miscarriage. Many of these repeated miscarriages are preventable. If you have had more than two miscarriages, it’s time to look at the list of treatable conditions that are known to contribute to miscarriage in some women (i.e., Strep B or methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase—MTFHR).

The keys here are remembering that you are not alone in experiencing miscarriage, and that is normal and healthy to grieve your loss. In cases where repeated miscarriage occurs, your doctor may be able to help you isolate the condition that is causing it so you can go on to have a healthy pregnancy.

Dr. Alan Lindemann
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

An obstetrician and maternal mortality expert, “Rural Doc” Alan Lindemann, M.D. teaches women and families how to create the outcomes they want for their own health and pregnancy. In nearly 40 years of practice, he has delivered around 6,000 babies and achieved a maternal mortality rate of zero! Visit LindemannMD.com

You have to grieve – I already have – for years, alone  

While others just told me pleasantries and how they’ll pray for me,

I know there will be no wedding dances with my sons,

I know there won’t be any grandkids

But you, you don’t.

 

You still envision driving,

You still envision college,

You still envision careers.

You still envision words.

Words that have meaning, and that aren’t just parts of songs.

 

Being hopeful is one thing,

Being unrealistic is not.

 

Because the college fund is now a special needs trust,

And my career is over,

And my home is destroyed every single day,

And this isn’t the life I envisioned, but it’s the one I live every day.

 

And no matter the amount of therapy, there are no guarantees.

And all I want is for my children to be happy, even if it’s at home with me until I die.

And all I think about is who will take care of them when I’m gone, and if they’ll be taken advantage of or treated badly wherever they are.

 

It’s not doom and gloom because I am the proudest mom for the tiniest accomplishments,

Because I know how hard they had to work for them.

While others look at them and think they’re nothing,

They aren’t enough,

They aren’t words.

Because they didn’t grieve.

 

Every look in the eye gives me butterflies,

Every point excites me,

Every time a computerized voice talks to me, I understand that it’s him and how he will be able to tell me anything right now.

Every interaction with other children makes my heart skip a beat,

Every good report from school makes me so proud,

And that’s what you’re missing out on when you don’t grieve.

 

You can’t appreciate the littlest things when you’re still expecting the biggest.

And that eventual failure will only set you up for future disappointment.

And they don’t want you to be disappointed in them when they’re trying so hard just to live.

To live in a world not made for them.

A world too loud, and too bright, and too colorful.

 

They don’t need that added pressure.

Because I assure you, no matter how hard you think it is for you,

It’s so much harder for them.

Vesna is a 37 year old single mom to two little autistic boys, a pharmacist, and likes to share her love of make up in her spare time.