Today, April 19 is the due date my pregnancy would've had, if it had gone to term. When I miscarried back in September, this due date still felt very far away; I thought for sure I'd be pregnant again by the time April 19 finally rolled around, and be able to use that new pregnancy for solace. But trying to conceive after miscarriage has unfortunately turned into a longer journey than I anticipated, and as much as I wish I had good news to share right now - I don't.
There are days (this week in particular) when it's hard not to focus on the could've-beens, thinking about that alternate universe where my pregnancy went to term and I became a mother this week. There are other days when it's hard to remain optimistic about getting pregnant again. There are days when I feel like a failure. Though deep down I know it's not my fault and there's nothing else I could be doing right now to try to make this work, a part of me still feels like I'm letting everyone down (myself included) every month that my period shows up again. I feel like I'm depriving the people I care about from the happy ending they're waiting to hear.
In moments of defeatism, I have several quotes I turn to for inspiration. My favorite right now is this one, from Helen Keller: “Remember, no effort that we make to attain something beautiful is ever lost.” I remind myself that even though we can't control the outcome, we can keep trying anyway... and then try to find hope in our resilience. Many days, this doesn't feel like enough. I want to do more than that, have control over more than that. But at least that's something.
These are not things we usually talk about. Worse, these are things that are hard to talk about. It's hard to post about disappointments and things that feel like personal failures - especially on social media platforms where most people only post their success stories, happy memories, and best selfies. It's hard to admit that there are things we can't earn just by wanting, just by trying. It's even hard to admit to wanting something at all, in a world that encourages us to blow out birthday candles and wish on shooting stars in silence. Not only is vulnerability hard - but, we are taught, also punishable. Share your deepest hopes and dreams aloud, and risk seeing them "jinxed" and never fulfilled.
But as hard as it is to be vulnerable - especially with something like this, where I'm still in the middle of the story, without any idea of how long I'll be here - it's also hard to be lonely. And going through a miscarriage and trying to conceive are often very lonely endeavors. When you're struggling with something privately, and your pain goes unrecognized, it's hard not to start feeling invisible. And that's a shitty thing to feel, on top of everything else.
Which is why I'm sharing all this. I debated with myself for a long time about whether or not to post anything, writing and rewriting several drafts over the last several days, weeks, months... Ultimately I decided that, at least this week, I want to be visible again (and I deserve to be). I want my experience to be acknowledged, my pain to be just a little less private - if only for a moment.
You can read more about my miscarriage
here - the post I wrote last October 15 for Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day.
