Breaking the Silence: Why Do We Keep Miscarriage a Secret?
Introduction
My husband and I recently experienced our fourth miscarriage...our fourth encounter with loss and grief over something so small, yet so impactful. Today, we also mourn the expected due date of our third pregnancy, another painful reminder of what could have been. As we once again navigate the complex emotions of loss, grieving in silence while discreetly seeking support, I find myself asking: Why do we keep miscarriage a secret?
For us, this time, it’s because we kept the pregnancy a secret...and now, it feels strange to share. How do we share such short lived good news with the devastatingly bad news that follows…“I was pregnant… but now I’m not.”
The Struggle to Share
I rarely share my lived experience through an emotional lens. Sixteen years in the military have taught me the skills to self-regulate whilst keeping emotions at bay. Validating the valid, but quickly switching into a forward focus, I have learnt to ‘park’ the distress of the past and instead plan my next move. But as I drift further into my infertility journey, I feel an overwhelming urge to share my experience. I do, after all, spend my days promoting the benefits of self-discovery and discussion, so it only feels right to share my own story, embracing the same openness and reflection I encourage in others.
Perhaps, by sharing, I can act as a reminder that you too can choose to share your story, should you want too. There is also a chance that I might encourage those who haven’t experienced pregnancy loss to pause before asking fertility related questions or making offhand comments about the joys of a child free life.
The Fears That Keep Us Silent
Fear That Speaking It Makes It Real
If I say it out loud, I have to admit that my baby is gone, that my pregnancy is over. The process that follows a miscarriage is often far from straightforward. Some of my losses were silent miscarriages, discovered only at routine scans. The excitement of seeing our baby again, quickly replaced by the harsh reality of leaving with a handful of miscarriage treatment leaflets. Making the next decision meant accepting it was over, it all felt too fast, too soon.
Then comes the aftermath…weeks or even months of physical recovery, pain, hormone fluctuations, and the cruel necessity of testing negative to confirm that my body had caught up with the loss my heart already knew. It already feels so overwhelming, the thought of then sharing the experience with others only added to the trauma.
Fear That Words Can’t Capture the Depth of Loss
For me, miscarriage is more than the loss of a baby; it’s the loss of pregnancy, birth, maternity leave, a future we had envisioned. It’s the loss of that precious naivety before miscarriage, where pregnancy meant having a baby. "How can a simple sentence express the magnitude of the loss we feel?”
Fear That Others Won’t Understand or Will Minimise It
Nobody else saw the changes we felt. The excitement of welcoming our baby wasn’t yet visible. I go back to my earlier statement: How do we share such short lived good news with the devastatingly bad news that follows…“I was pregnant… but now I’m not.”
Fear we'd hear well-meaning but painful reassurances:
“At least you can get pregnant.” (Yes, and we are grateful...perhaps this isn’t the time to discuss the multiple loses and IVF journey it took to get here).
“It happens to lots of people.” (Yes, and we share their pain. But that doesn’t make ours less real).
“I’m sure it will happen next time.” (We hope so. But that doesn’t erase this loss).
Fear of Causing Pain to Loved Ones
They wanted to be grandparents, aunts, uncles or friends to our unborn child. With every pregnancy announcement, they secretly imagined their future roles. And with every loss, they grieve, not only for our baby but for the dreams they had, too.
The pain of losing a child at any stage of pregnancy, to me, is only matched by the pain of watching our loved ones grieve with us, desperately wanting to ‘fix’ something they cannot.
Fear Others Will Stop Sharing
Many of our friends are also starting families, and we want to be part of their journey without them worrying that we can’t handle it. Yes, it’s painful for us, and we are aware we can't always fully engage in their journey, we feel sad that we are not yet able to share in the same experience but we do want to hear about it. Sharing our story risked us being isolated from their news.
Fear for the Future
From a young age, I knew I wanted to be a mum. I was born to be a mum.I cannot even begin to explain the love I have for my future child. But with every loss, a growing fear lingers: What if that never happens?
The Advantages of Not Sharing
While openness can be healing, choosing to keep the news of a miscarriage private also had its benefits. Privacy allowed us to process our emotions at our own pace, free from external pressures or expectations. It provided a sense of control over our experience, preventing unwanted opinions or reactions that didn't always align with our needs. Keeping it within a close circle of loved ones also helped maintain a sense of normalcy and minimised the emotional toll of repeated conversations.
The Advantages of Sharing
In some ways sharing the experience of a miscarriage has offered comfort and connection, reducing feelings of isolation. Opening up to our friends and family provided an opportunity for us to 'drop the masks' and allowed them to provide compassion and practical support.
Our experiences give us an acute awareness of just how little our society truly considers infertility issues. As women, we have probably all been asked "when we will be having children" or in our thirties, told "not to wait too long". Just recently, an estate agent valuing my home casually remarked on "how wonderful my child free life must be"...if only they knew. I guess sharing might help break the silence around miscarriage, fostering awareness and encouraging more open conversations about pregnancy loss.
A Message to Others Experiencing Loss
To those who have received bad news, I am thinking of you. As you sit in shock, as the news sinks in, as you feel forced to make decisions about your care and that of your baby, as you grieve and navigate the uncertainty ahead...I am thinking of you. Right now, much feels out of your control. But what remains within control is the choice of whether to share your experience. Whether you choose to or not, know that you can. This is your story, and despite any similarities, your experience is different.
Commenti