Frustrations

Perhaps what is most frustrating for me is that not everyone considers a miscarriage to be a "real" loss. In their mind, the pregnancy is a bunch of cells that never formed into a person; a person with a personality, goals, and the physical presence we associate with what is real and what is not. Though the pregnancy is personally connected to me, the idea of the pregnancy as a person is quite abstract to others. They know it existed, but they really have nothing to associate with the developing baby.

Humans have a need to "brand" others: We ask questions to remove uncertainty surrounding the person. It's an evolutionary device aiding in survival and human connections. By asking questions, we assign meaning to a person. We remove the uncertainty. This is how we bond and build relationships. We're curious about their family, movie choice, or favorite food. We ask where they grew up or what they do for a living. What's their favorite song? Who is their favorite actor? The list goes on.

A miscarriage, however, does not lend a physical person to assign meaning to. I am the only one who bonded.  This is not to say society, in general, is heartless and inconsiderate. This is to say that society often uses the terms "sympathy" and "empathy" as interchangeable when they're not.

Sympathy and empathy are separate terms with some very important distinctions. Sympathy and empathy are both acts of feeling, but with sympathy you feel for the person; you’re sorry for them or pity them, but you don’t specifically understand what they’re feeling. Sometimes we’re left with little choice but to feel sympathetic because we really can’t understand the plight or predicament of someone else. It takes imagination, work, or possibly a similar experience to get to empathy.

Empathy can best be described as feeling with the person. Notice the distinction between for and with. To an extent you are placing yourself in that person’s place, have a good sense of what they feel, and understand their feelings to a degree. It may be impossible to be fully empathetic because each individual's reactions, thoughts and feelings to tragedy are going to be unique. Yet the idea of empathy implies a much more active process. Instead of feeling sorry for, you’re sorry with and have clothed yourself in the mantle of someone else’s emotional reactions.

Please don't think I expect family or friends to stop their lives and focus on me. Don't hold my hand and chant. Don't make me a CD with "soothing" whale noises. Just recognize that telling me,  "Yeah, my day sucked, too. I spilled coffee on myself in my car and my cat threw up on the carpet," is not having empathy for me. Stating, "I know exactly what you're going through," is a lie unless you've experienced the same thing. Comparing a miscarriage to your cat throwing up on your carpet makes me feel like you're minimizing my loss. It hurts!

I'm really scared. I am terrified I am going to sabotage my marriage. What happens if Kevin cannot understand my grief? What if I become bitter and hateful? What if I become a resentful woman? He is sad and tries to be helpful, but he does not get it. He lacks empathy because he wasn't pregnant.  He truly is a good man, though! He helps me care for Emma, makes meals, and fills any requests I have. Despite his goodness, I am having a difficult time emotionally connecting with him.  It's only been a few weeks, and he seems to have moved on. When he comes home from work, he smiles. He plays with Emma. He makes jokes, and when I don't reciprocate, he asks, "What's wrong?" I'll feel the anger rising and I'll screech, "Our baby is rotting in my uterus! It's dead! I am grieving. I cannot wrestle with you and Emma!" I will find myself burning and the adrenaline pumping. I find myself physically biting my tongue because if I'm not careful, my emotions will get the best of me. I'll end up saying something that will forever scar our marriage.

Last night was rough. He was putting Emma to bed, and she was not listening. Kevin was speaking to her sharply, his nerves on edge. Emma kept crying and asking for me. Although I am bleeding profusely, I carried Emma in my arms to the bathroom in order to brush her teeth. Kevin glared at me and said, "You're spoiling her. This is why she acts like a brat. She knows you'll come to the rescue." He might as well have shanked me. Seriously. The contempt I feel towards this comment is astounding. Emma needed me! She is two years old! Our routine is out of whack and I'm an emotional mess; it's not her fault things are messy at home. It's not her fault I'm despondent. The least I can do is comfort her. She is my child. I'm desperately desperately trying to step out of this shell of who I currently am, and get back to who I was: her loving mother.

 The shooting in CT has consumed me and I feel sorrow for all that were touched by the tragedy. After putting Emma to bed, Kevin and I were discussing the tragedy. Through tears, I told him how I admire the teachers who protected the children with their utmost strength. Some died for these children! That is unconditional love! As a mother, I can understand that love, and I am deeply affected. The devotion of the Sandy Hook faculty gives me a glimmer of hope in humanity. I cannot imagine the fear the teachers felt as the gunman entered the room. I can't imagine the horror as he pulled the trigger.

 Kevin stared at me as if I was a nut job. Don't get me wrong: he isn't devoid of feels, but he views the shooting as a tragedy and is taking a political stance (gun control vs more slack gun control laws). I, however, mourn the students and faculty, and am beyond saddened by the tragedy. I am haunted by the the faces of those lost.

I don't know how to convey the realness of this pregnancy.  How much I think about it. How much I carry it with me. How I cannot get out of this deep funk and dark place. I am terrified of becoming resentful of him. My birthday was on the 14th and he wanted to go out and celebrate. What?! Go out? I am bleeding buckets of blood and losing our baby. I am aching and cramping and having fucking contractions as my body lets go of our baby...and he wanted to go out. Does he not understand I am an inch away from losing it?!

It is selfish to think of this as "my" loss - because this baby belonged to both of us. But why am I the only one acting like something happened? Why am I the only one who cried? Why were his first words, "It's okay. We'll try again." In my mind, this is our CHILD. This pregnancy was Jack or Amelia - everything I wanted for them has been stolen from me.

I am not comparing my loss of this pregnancy to the loss of the lives at Sandy Hook Elementary. Please do not think I am. It's more that with a tragedy such as the shooting, my heart is breaking for their families. The pain I feel for my own loss is nothing compared to the parents and family of those lost at Sandy Hook. Losing the baby, however, has put me in tune with my emotions and from a place of grief for my own loss, I am also grieving for their families and what they lost. And in both instances, I don't think Kevin can understand where I am coming from.

It makes me feel alone and desolate. He is my life partner and yet we're not connecting. I don't know what to say to make him understand. I found this blog (written by a man) and I think he does a beautiful and eloquent job of describing miscarriage from a male point of view (which is here, please read). I am envious and jealous this man has a firm grasp on his introspective. I wish my own husband could understand this.

If anyone has advice, please send me a quick message. I am afraid.

P.S. I am obsessed with this video. The video is cool, but the music is my favorite. It's so soothing and quiet. I listen to it while I write. Maybe you'll like it, too. Did You Know 2.0