Miscarriage and Hope

I woke up at early hours on a mid-May morning with the wrong kind of pain in my lower abdomen. It felt like a fire quietly burning; a warning of louder, fiercer pain to come. My body told me something bad was happening, and my heart already knew, as it sank down to my stomach and began to crack in the furnace. I quietly pulled back the duvet, walked in a dream-like state to the bathroom, believing the worst and praying for the best. I sat on the toilet, and in a few seconds, I was crying a river through both ends. Blood and tears. Every shade of red pouring from my womb, and every shadow of sadness streaming from my eyes down my cheeks and into my soul.

Is there any way this could be a nightmare? Or if it isn’t, just some mistake that I’m making? My heart knew.

I walked back to the bedroom and looked at my husband Adam who’d woken up and met my watery gaze with equally worried eyes. He knew too, and as I climbed back into bed he held me tight as I sobbed, offering a selfless comfort that I couldn’t reach. Little had I known then, as a piece of us individually broke laying side by side, a strong and silent bond grew between us amidst the darkness, as we united in our sorrow.

I tried to go back to sleep, but the fire had been stoked and the embers grew to angry flames as the pain in my womb became gradually unbearable. I stumbled back to the bathroom where my vision turned to flashing white lights, and a few seconds later, I was doubled up on the cold hard floor calling out to Adam. (If it’s all getting too heavy, I do also remember it was at this exact point our kitten decided to have a poo in the litter tray next to my head…)

I peaked at a solid 10/10 on the pain spectrum (with no pills anywhere in the flat to help relieve it), so an ambulance was called and I was taken to the local hospital. I felt lonely and in a blurry state of ‘this can’t be happening’ as I was wheeled through A&E wearing a face mask to a nearby bed. The kind nurse told me as I prepared to have the last remains of my happiest thought over the last eight weeks sucked out of me, that miscarriage sadly happens to a quarter of pregnant women. How had I not known how common this was?

Adam wasn’t allowed to be with me in the hospital because of COVID-19 restrictions, which may in hindsight have been a good thing, as I was able to process what was happening. I had a lot of time and silence to think and feel, and was met with some colourful characters of my psyche.

Anger screamed, ‘why didn’t my midwife or doctor warn me about this in my first meeting? They should’ve told me then how common this is! Maybe I could’ve prepared better!’ Guilt wondered, ‘is this actually all my fault? Could I have done something to prevent it? Did I do something to cause it? Should I have read more, researched more, done something different? Grief cried, ‘eight precious weeks of you, and now you’re gone. Just like that. A blueberry soon to be a mango, and now the seeds of your life have slipped through me, into the sea. At least my tears will be there with you. I hope the ocean holds you as tenderly as I would have.’

And a few days later, acceptance wrote the following, in a diary entry I had no intention of sharing with the world. But it feels important that I do.

12th May 2020

I bought this journal to write about my pregnancy journey. It arrived the same day I had a miscarriage. I still can’t believe it happened. I still have pain in my womb to remind me that it did. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel… It’s almost like grieving for something I never really had. But deep down, I’m okay. The experience was devastating and shocking, and I’ve cried lots, but this is where yoga really comes into practice… Allowing myself to feel whatever I feel, not resisting or rejecting what hurts, trusting the process, having faith that for whatever reason, this was meant to happen at this time, and knowing that getting pregnant will happen again. The challenges are teachers and gifts to help us grow. It really helps to have such supportive and wonderful people around me. I’m so thankful to have Adam, who is an absolute rock and couldn’t have been more amazing. I really hope he is okay. Another positive from all this is that it’s brought us closer.

A few years ago, the sadness would’ve swallowed me, and maybe I would’ve lost myself for a while. I’m so thankful for yoga and meditation, that reminds me constantly of my inner strength and that there is a bigger picture and higher plan. This is my belief and my truth, and it serves me well.

Georgie (*one of my besties) said something really beautiful. She said that the little soul came to me and decided it didn’t want to come into the world as it currently is, but that he/she will be back when they choose to. I love this thought so much.

I’m taking a few days off to hide, because it feels right to have this time to process. And it is a process. It’s almost nice to feel the sadness, but not get consumed by it. It’s crazy that miscarriage is not talked about more, which makes it feel almost shameful. But one in four women experience it – I couldn’t believe that stat! I told my students and found it helped me to be open, but I also hope it helps others to feel they can talk and share too. Maybe I went through this so I could share the story and inspire change and healing in others?

I feel strangely calm. I trust this Universe and the path I’m on. I’m so grateful to even be here. This lock-down period has brought so much to light – that I don’t need much to make me happy. That small things are the big things. That uncertainty is always certain. That the next best step forward is enough. That I not only love Adam, but I like him a lot. That I already have everything I want and need, and anything else is a bonus. That helping even one person a day feel better is the most nourishing and fulfilling thing. That I really like and trust myself.

I feel sad, but I’m happy to feel sad. We’re here to feel truly and deeply – why would we ever choose to run from what makes us human?

Little soul, I’m ready for you, whenever you’re ready for us. Take all the time you need up there doing your angel duties. I can’t wait to be a part of the magic you bring down to this world. X’

If you’re reading this and have suffered a miscarriage, this is your permission slip to share your unique story and release any shame you might be feeling. Let’s keep the conversation going, and help each other along our messy and beautiful journeys of healing.

What is Self Care?

SELF CARE. What does it mean? A year ago, ‘self care’ for me meant looking after all parts of my wellbeing: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Working out, eating right, meditating, yoga, having a day in my pjs to eat multiple variations of chocolate bars (family sized, obvs) justified by it being the time of the month… Every Sunday… Yada yada yada. You know it. This all still stands to a degree, but my understanding of the term has evolved beyond warm crystal salt baths and all-of-the chocolate.

In my own experience, I’ve come to think that the concept of ‘self care’ can actually often subtly masquerade as an escape route through a door of ‘love and light’, where everything shines bright like a diamond. I’m not saying it’s wrong to bask in that glorious love and light, or that we shouldn’t make the precious time to nourish ourselves; mind, body and soul… God knows we need it, and often!

But is self-care all about feeling good, all of the time? If we’re really truly loving and caring for ourselves, on all levels, should it be easy all of the time?

As my journey along the yogi path continues, I’ve come to see that true self care is not always taking the easy way out. I’ve visited the extremes of being an absolute demon queen to myself through most of my teens and 20s, to then trying hard to ONLY say kind things to myself in my 30s, which meant instantly shutting down any mean voices that say anything otherwise. The latter felt more like ‘self care’, for a while. Now I’ve settled somewhere in between. If we’re trying to ‘banish our ego’, silence the ‘bad’ stuff, turn away from anything that doesn’t feel warm and comforting and attempting to float above it all through transcendental meditation techniques or taking ayausaca or whatnot, aren’t we denying so much of what makes us human? We’re not here on the Earth to rise above it, are we? Maybe sometimes the most caring thing we can do for ourselves is to jump with two feet straight into the mud, and get down into our grittiness before we can wipe it away from our eyes and really see the light.

I’m thinking self-care, much like life, is a practice of wholeness, not happiness. It means to include and embrace all parts of ourselves that we might be rejecting, neglecting and/or ignoring. Consciously or not. It’s recognising those ‘unlovable’ parts of ourselves as scared characters or lost children who just need to be seen and understood. Self-care is allowing them all to come to the tea party; yes, including Jill the Judgmental Biatch, Polly the People Pleaser and Iva the I’m Not Good Enough. Seeing them and listening to them, seeking to understand why they’re there and what they need, without letting them take over the guest of honour’s seat (reserved for Lucy Love).

Self-care is BALANCE. Not standing on one leg in a Vinyasa yoga class, or watching Disney one evening and Gladiator the next. Balance in that we ensure we’re not swinging too far in the direction of ‘good vibes only’ (but by all means let’s go there without using it as escapism), but that we’re equally challenging ourselves to explore those realms of ‘shadows and scary-shit zone’ from time to time, if emotional and spiritual growth is on our to-do list, that is.

Self-care is gently nudging ourselves to go work out in our ‘creative gym’ and make a start on the things that are calling us. To create and manifest the kaleidoscopic beauty we all have inside, no-matter how long it takes. Self-care is being courageous, seeking to face and own rather than escape our truth, being prepared to go deep, letting tears flow when they want to and understanding that pain can be a path to growth. It’s combining love with the inner voice of truth, which doesn’t always say what we want to hear, but will always tell us what we need to hear. If we dare to tune in and listen deep. (And taking the time to work out which of those voices are true, and which are not. Sit down, Jill. I love you.) Self-care is taking the often scary and slippery steps towards those things our soul is drawing us to; grabbing fear by the hand and walking, with trust in ourselves, towards that edge.

So by all means, go to yoga. Meditate. Eat chocolate. Take long baths. But if we are to care truly and deeply about ourselves, our WHOLE selves, let’s not do any of it to escape our wonderfully messy and imperfect human selves, but to provide a little cushioning for when we choose to get brave, go deep and brush up against our truth.

By Holly Husler