I’ve been going back and forth about posting this for some time now. I’ve written it, deleted it, wrote it again, left it in draft format, and there it sat, collecting dust, and serving as a constant reminder of its presence every time I signed into blogger. There is no eloquent way to write this. I had a miscarriage. It was painful both physically and emotionally, and something, I am slowly learning, will be with me for the rest of my life. Moments will pass, milestones that you had mentally written down, that will go by unnoticed by anyone else but me and Eric.

Miscarriages are a funny thing. There are no badges of honor, no walkathons or t-shirts to encourage awareness. Most conversations about miscarriages always end with “Don’t worry, I know other people who have had one too and went on to have lots of healthy babies.” Of course everyone means well, but what I’m hearing instead is that my extraordinary sadness is in fact ordinary, insignificant, unremarkable. Why, at this moment, would I want to hear about someone else’s miscarriage when I’m lying on my bathroom floor trying to lift a million pounds of failure, embarrassment and disappointment off my chest?

It’s been a few weeks now, and still I catch myself crying out every now and again. Anger, sadness, loneliness. This holiday season has especially proven to be a hard one. We were going to surprise our parents Thanksgiving day by sharing the news. We were going to hold out and reveal the baby gender Christmas morning. Instead, there was no exciting news to share over Thanksgiving day, and there is no pretty envelope waiting under the Christmas tree.

I’ve been working hard to be kind to my body these past few weeks. Slowly getting myself back into the gym, eating healthier and taking lots of naps. Since miscarriages seem to be a big taboo I’ll give it to you straight. Let’s talk break outs for a second because that’s happening. Your body already feels broken as it is, let’s add a few pimples to the mix to really drive that stake through your self confidence. Hormones are also a b*tch! Never have I ever wanted so badly to have my period back. Food is a common enemy. For some reason all that ever sounds good is soup? And anxiety is off the charts! Let me tell you about my new pen pal, medical bills. Those things keep flying in like Harry Potter’s acceptance letters into Hogwarts.

We’ve kept this miscarriage a secret for a while now. Only my closest friends and our immediate family were given the news. Truthfully, that was what I needed at the time. But now that a little time has passed and the scars are beginning to heal I feel ready. I’m ready to break the silence, to get back into my regular routine and to just be honest. You have no idea how much weight is being lifted off my chest right now just being able to type this all out. Who knew blog posts could be so therapeutic!

The best way I can express my thoughts now, moving forward, come to you by an amazing New York Times article I read a few weeks back. “I can tell you that I want people to know. I don’t want it to be a secret or a shadow or something that is endured only alone. I want people to know that I have been through something, that I am tired but optimistic, that I’ve been knocked down but don’t help me up because I can get up myself. It’s fair, I think, to want witnesses for our suffering. But with the sorrow also comes hope. And after all, we are resilient creatures.”

I thank you all for taking the time to read this, for your understanding and for your empathy. Please, positive comments are much appreciated. And for any of you who may be going through similar circumstances, feel free to email me. If only for a listening ear, I am here. I love you all, be kind to yourselves.