I was about 20 years old the first time I miscarried; 11 weeks pregnant. It was summer; it was hot and muggy and I was home with my mom doing laundry. My boyfriend was at work, about 25 miles away. I remember the intense, sharp pains combined with an overwhelming feeling that I might have been food poisoned. What would have normally taken him 45 minutes to drive from Oak Park to our south side home in Chicago, took only half the time. We piled in his old school green convertible and the pain grew more and more as we hit every pothole down Cottage Grove.
We arrived at the same hospital where I was born. My boyfriend was dismayed; like a deer stuck in headlights. It was dark and the lot was empty, and my mom, legally blind but panicked with worry, yelled from the backseat of the car and pointed, “Turn right here. Park over there! The entrance is right across the street.” Every minute was vital, as she knew the life of her unborn grandchild was uncertain. The waiting was unbearable, but unfortunately, I had already lost my baby.
I experienced fear, guilt, and heartbreak over the next several months. Many questions flooded my mind. Am I ever going to be able to carry a child to full term? Was this God’s plan? Why did this happen to me? Was it my fault? I was surprised to learn that many women I knew had also experienced miscarriages but no one was talking about it. Was the pain that overwhelming, they were willing to suffer in silence? Moreover, was the silence the cause of the pain that showed up as self-persecution in the form of negative self-talk, excessive drinking, overindulgence, or overeating?
In 2020, why is the conversation of miscarriage still taboo?
I understand the right for one to be private as it is a personal and traumatic experience, but what I have learned is that speaking about my miscarriages helped me pull through.
Miscarriages are typically revealed only after the successful birth of a child. It is so rarely talked about that many do not even know the details of what a miscarriage involves.
Miscarriage is when a pregnancy dissolves anywhere from 0-20 weeks. Anything after that time is considered stillbirth. The most common miscarriage is when the tissues of conception leaves the body through the birth canal. The other type of miscarriage is when only part of the pregnancy is ejected; sometimes this is because of infection.
The truth of the matter is that miscarriages are more common than you know. Among women who know they are pregnant, the average risk of miscarrying before 20 weeks is somewhere between 8 and 20 percent. 85% of miscarriages happen before the 12th week, which is why many wait to announce their pregnancy until they are past their first trimester. At the end of the day, it’s common for some pregnancies to end, so it’s unfortunate when women suffer in silence.
From my perspective, if the conversations were more common, we would have less intrusion when it comes to our uteruses and the decisions we make with them. How many times have you heard someone ask questions about a woman’s motherhood status or lack thereof, not knowing her story? I am not implying every woman who has had fertility issues present themselves as the poster child for miscarriage survival, but just invoking an outcry that we should speak about it unapologetically. To inform. To heal. To seek understanding and support.
Here is the thing about miscarriages; many times, the body can determine that the baby has chromosomal problems. There isn’t anything the parents can do to prevent this; however, many feel that there was something they could have done differently because they are ill-informed. In my situation, I remember someone telling me that I was probably working too hard or taking too many classes. As an empath and someone who is very hard on herself, that made me even more depressed and I began to self-sabotage emotionally.
There is a culture of silence based upon “bad luck.” Often times, couples don’t want to talk about the possibility of a miscarriage happening and couples who have experienced miscarriages feel ostracized. The logic is: don’t talk about it because it could happen. There is also the notion that one can’t talk about it because they should just get on with their lives. I want to encourage women who have experienced miscarriage to communicate about it openly, in a safe and trusted space. Keeping it on the hush prevents healing, makes others feel alone, and manifests the suffering. My hope is that one day we live in a world where people are able to speak about their miscarriage experiences freely to help shed light, provide support and dismiss ignorance.
Inez Woody is a direct-response, Award Winning Copywriter and Editor who increases her clients’ bottom lines through storytelling and digital marketing content. She is also the Co-Author and Copy Editor of Sis, Stand on My Shoulders book. Inez is an experienced Technology professional of over 16 years, providing strategic solutions in the legal and private sectors. She lends her expertise and support to encouraging Black girls to pursue STEM careers. Inez is also the Vice President of Communications for the Young Women Professionals League in Chicago.