Thoughts on miscarriage, autumn, and grief

I feel so conflicted when I look at this photo of myself. On one hand, I see myself looking rested and happy and beautiful. But I also know the ending to this story, and it’s not my a pretty one. The day after this picture was taken, I found out I was pregnant. That weekend had been one of the best of the year, and almost every detail is etched in my memory— from the dog we patted at the pumpkin patch, to the jokes my friends made, to the way I wore that shirt with a little brown belt.
Immediately, I planned to use this picture to tell the world we were pregnant. Hurrah! It was my turn to be one of those girls on social media who announces her pregnancy with a pumpkin! All my basic fall dreams were coming true! 🙄 I whisked around for the rest of October gleefully hiding the unshared news.
When I miscarried six weeks later, it felt cruel and crushing. WTF.
I did everything I could to ignore how sad I was. But pain finds ways to sneak out, and in one particularly epic moment of weirdly placed pain, I found myself sobbing my eyes out on the dance floor at a swanky party on New Year’s Eve.
And honestly? After this moment, my life took nosedive after nosedive for like seven years. I struggled with health issues, and then we had four super tough few years living in Colorado, accompanied by a host of issues in our marriage. For sure there were some beautiful moments, like the birth of our first two kiddos, but it was a long slow road back to health for my husband and I.
It never fails — when the days start to shorten and the fall light starts to turn, I remember that painful autumn with crisp clarity. Just the other day I was getting a cup of coffee and noticed this beautiful couple ahead of me. The woman was about my age, and she looked rested and happy and beautiful. She was wearing a crop top showing off a fit body and her shoes were clean and her hair was washed and her makeup was perfect.

Immediately I felt jealous — I’ve had a few kids and my body wears their stories and things like clean clothes feel optional these days.

But as soon as I felt that jealous feeling rise up, I remembered when my own life collapsed during the fall and how my journey to motherhood was complicated and hard. We never know someone’s full story — and its possible that she was looking at the smudges of peanut butter on my dirty leggings and the softness I wear in my middle and feeling those same feelings of jealousy towards me. 💛

So mamas — this year as we enter into October, a month where we honor pregnancy and infant loss, can we all join arms? We’re all in different places in our motherhood walk and even though it’s easy to talk about supporting each other, I actually think it can feel really freaking hard to truly unite in support. And whenever anything feels hard, I always just start small. So start in your own heart — giving grace to yourself and to those around you and honoring your story by treating it with care. Because each of our stories are important, and each deserved to be celebrated.

We love you all.