Recurrent miscarriage makes a routine visit to the gyno way more than wincing from the speculum action. Walking in, greeted by all the big bellies. I remember sitting on the waiting room couch optimistic for good news just earlier this year, imagining rubbing my belly the way all the other women were.
Was I “cautiously optimistic?” I don’t know. I think that phrase is a load of BS, honestly. Phrases like this make me feel mechanical and disconnect from deeper emotion.
You can be both hopeful and fearful at the same time. One of the great beauties of being human is holding this duality. We say “cautiously optimistic” as an illusion of control over these emotions, dreams, and visions so that, in the off-chance we get bad news, we can say we were cautious with ourselves. What does it mean to be cautious with your feelings? Haven’t you done that enough in your life?
It’s time to feel the feelings. Fully.
Without the yellow caution tape protecting you.
I was optimistic. Despite having a 75ish% chance of non-viable pregnancy, I was still optimistic. I was still filled with hope because you gotta be, right? Why on earth would I try to get pregnant again, knowing these odds, if I wasn’t filled with hope and optimism? How else do you go into the unknown without hope? I felt it fully. I believed pregnancy #6 was going to stick the same way pregnancy #4 did.
But, to our shock (yes, shock), it wasn’t good news. We were all, doc included, crushed. Now what? I bawled. I sat there staring at the ultrasound screen in disbelief.
Gideon and I walked out of the office, by all the pregnant bellies, and went out for coffee. I stared into space most of the time. And then months of recovery— physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
And last week, I walked into that office again for my routine annual appointment and I was hit with a wave. All the memories back again, wondering if I’d ever be there again with a big belly. I brought a book and couldn’t read. I just stared into space, once again, remembering and hoping for good one day.
Just as I got settled in the exam room, I heard the ultrasound in the next room. I mean, really? Was this really happening? The perfect heartbeat over and over of a baby, likely days away from being born, reverberating in my brain. My heart rate increased. I felt chills. I began to brace myself and stuff down these feelings. "You're at the OB's office, there are pregnant women around, just deal" is what a voice told me. That voice is one I knew most of my life. I don't listen to her anymore.
The voice I listened to instead felt like a hug.
It said, "This is hard. Let it out. Feel it."
And I cried. I listened to, what was the longest ultrasound in history, and let myself feel the sadness, the longing, and the hope. And then with a smile, I remembered when I heard that sound for Zeke.
When my doctor came in, I told him what it was like to hear it. He got it. We talked about my last appointment and how I'm doing now. We talked about next steps. He listened to me, honoring every experience in such a human and kind way. PSA: Only work with health practitioners who trust, honor, and respect your body and experience.
If you're a sensitive being who feels things strongly, as I do, know that you don't need a thicker skin. Your skin is perfect.
Permission to feel your feeling is something you’re born with, but learn, over time, that they should be tucked away and hidden. Especially the really hard, confusing, and dark feelings. If you can sweep then under a rug, they go away, right? Nope. You just have mounds of dirt and to dust deal with.
Disordered eating gives us a tool to distract from the real stuff. Those of us who have had this struggle know that we feel things differently from most people around us and so it’s that much harder to go there.
You can stop shoving those emotions down. They are there and they need to be heard. Honor your experiences. Don't deny them. Look at them, be with them. They are right there asking for your attention.
There are a gazillion ways to numb these hard life experiences and they don't work.
Your sensitivity is a gift. Trust and love yourself.
What’s one way you can show yourself more love and kindness today? How can you trust the wisdom of your sensitivity today? I’d love hear your ideas in the comments!
