Oil Painting Ferdinany Holder Woman in Ecatasy

Tuesday morning last week I found out I was pregnant.  We’d been trying for a long time. This was something we wanted.

Wednesday I worried about being a mother. I wondered if I would lose myself.

Oil Painting by Julius Exter Nude with Red Cloth

Thursday I went to the museum with my friend. I felt powerful with my secret, surprised by my body, surprised by my calm, and surprised the new space I felt for love. Everything was possible.

Friday evening I had a miscarriage.

Oil Painting Girl Weeping & Nude Study

The pregnancy was gone but the space was not.

Miscarriage is the word the doctor used, not the word I would have chosen, though I wouldn’t have known what else to call it either. It felt like such a big word for such a little pregnancy. What was it exactly that we lost? A baby? Some cells? Hope? Our own ideas?

I tried act normal but my body hurt and I felt wild and weak. Angry and sad and foolish. Helpless and silly and embarrassed. Embarrassed that it happened; embarrassed by all the emotion; embarrassed by my body; embarrassed by how I felt. Embarrassed and betrayed. Not at all, in any way, in control.

I am pregnant. I miscarried.  It hurt my jaw to say it. I tried to hold myself still. Had I done either? I didn’t understand and didn’t have a language for how I felt

I read it was common. I read if it happened, it was for the best. I read you could still have healthy babies. That didn’t help. It was just as intangible.  I wanted to talk about it and I didn’t really know anyone it had happened to, no one I could call.

Oil Painting byLeo Putz of Gusti Bennat

I tried to hold myself still.

But people kept asking, “How are you?” and when your veneer is so thin it is hard not to tell the truth.

That’s when I began to hear their stories. They didn’t understand it, but they understood. That did help.

And that’s why I’m telling you.