One in 10 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. But even though it's a relatively common occurrence—and a traumatic one—it's rarely talked about. Because of that, women often feel shame, guilt, and isolation after losing their babies.
Psychologist Jessica Zucker, who went through a miscarriage herself, is trying to open up the conversation. Her Instagram account, @IHadaMiscarriage, provides women with a space where they can share stories about their experiences. The goal, Zucker told Self, is to create a community of support that'll help women feel less alone as they go through the recovery process.
Judging from the outpouring of support, gratitude, and personal stories in the comments on Zucker's posts, it's working. Clearly this kind of community is something we've needed for a long time, and we hope more women find it when they need it most.
@thejonesmarket shares: "Life keeps moving. And there are "good" days. This really just means you were able to leave the house and make small talk if you have to. So, there you are standing in a safe, shallow spot of a relatively calm ocean, small talking and almost beginning to enjoy the sun when a wave comes from no where and drags you under water. You don't know how long until you'll be able to breathe again. You never know. All your mind can think is "I want my son, I want my son, I want my son, my son is dead, my son is dead, my son is dead". If you try to fight your way back up too fast you'll get knocked against the unforgiving sharp shells again, so you stay. The bottom of the ocean feels like an appropriate place to be anyway. Grief." _ #IHadAMiscarriage #miscarriage #infantloss #stillbirth #grief #loss #motherhood #1in4 // Illustration by @pedrotapa found via @picame.
@translucentdreamm shares: "23 was a year of firsts for me. I would have been 15 weeks along if my little one decided to stay with me. I didn't know anything about miscarriages before my loss. It's not really something the average woman researches. So when #ihadamiscarriage I was so beside myself, confused, and in shock. I felt like the only one on earth at that time. I was angry with my body for failing me. I was even ashamed, and felt like I couldn't open up and talk about what happened. Almost as if I did something wrong. Even now it's hard to share this, even with all the acceptance and strength that I've built along the way. It's a hard battle to overcome. Not one day goes by without me thinking about that Saturday in April. Not one day goes by without me yearning and missing the feeling of beauty that I had when I was carrying my little one inside me. The thought that my body created a tiny human that was part me and part my lover was more beauty than I had ever felt in my 23 years. All of that vanishing is hard to swallow. It leaves you in a state of disparity. Today I am sharing my story and writing this in hopes to reach all the women who feel alone and misunderstood in their loss. I am sharing this to end the self-blame and the shame that comes along with it. You are not alone, I am here and so are millions of women that have been and are going through this. I don't want anyone to ever feel like they don't have someone to reach out to. You are strong, and your feelings are valid and you are capable and beautiful. I love you all. We will overcome and heal together✨💕 " _ #IHadAMiscarriage #endthesilence #1in4 #miscarriage #pregnancyloss #grief #loss
Our Losses Don't Protect Us by @jmassdini. Stories from around the world (Santiago, Chile). Posted with permission. _ I delivered my first child stillborn. I know he was blonde, like his father was as a baby. I know his youngest sister has his long second toes. I know his name. _ Five months after holding him, I had a miscarriage. I know the biology. “Partial molar pregnancy.” I know the numbers. One in 1,000. Three sets of chromosomes instead of two. Five percent chance of developing cancer. Months of blood work in the same hospital where I’d had 8.5 cumulative months of prenatal visits, but no living baby to show for it. _ I also know that we’d heard a heartbeat. We’d hoped. “These babies are connected,” my husband would say. We thought, surely, things wouldn’t go wrong again. But they did. They do. Our losses don’t protect us. How I wish they did. _ At my ten-week appointment, my doctor had said the baby was “floating,” as he undulated his arm. The motion did not imply life, but the opposite. _ I screamed. _ I was alone. That’s how confident I was, even after innocence was also gone. _ After, I tried to part the waters of what felt like vast, pooling grief. I created more differences. As opposed to the labor that led to my son, I opted for a surgical D&C. It was the day before Thanksgiving. Instead of stunned, ringing awareness, I dove under until it was all over. _ As we know, it never really is. _ When I awoke, I did so in several ways. I could no longer wait to mother. I had to live, too. So I climbed. I wrote. I volunteered. I reclaimed the time I walked the earth on my own, in between my lost and my living children. All of them, connected. _ #IHadAMiscarriage #stillbirth #stillborn #molarpregnancy #miscarriage #pregnancylosscards #pregnancyloss #lifeafterloss #rainbowbaby #motherhood #grief #loss #1in4 // Art by @_lauraberger_.