The Hidden Pain of pregnancy loss

Welcome to the club you never wanted to join.

I’m so sorry for your loss. A few weeks after my loss twenty-one weeks into my first pregnancy, I found myself aimlessly walking the isles of Whole Foods. In those early weeks, I remember how hard everything was.

Hard to smile.

Hard chit chat with the checkout clerk.

Hard to decide what to shop for and what to cook for dinner.

But mostly it was hard carrying the weight of my hidden grief.  I felt like a mother, I was a mother, but I knew no one could see the mother in me.

I could hardly see her either.

In those early weeks, I felt confused and disoriented, angry and bewildered by the loss of my baby, but also by the liminal space I existed in during that time.

Not quite a mother. Definitely not the woman I’d been before.

He had a name, I carried his ashes. Breasts full of milk - no baby to drink. 

Invisible Mothers.

It was years later that I considered an alternate identity for myself, Invisible Mother.

Invisible mothers are those of us who’ve experienced pregnancy, infant, or child loss in its many forms.

We carry around the burden of our grief privately and silently. Not by choice, but as a consequence of there being very few spaces for us to share our stories, speak openly, or even say our child’s name.

We endure seemingly innocuous questions from perfect strangers at the grocery store or on the street, “how many children do you have?” or “is this your first”?

We exist in a liminal space of loss and grief with no language, no others, no words, only a constant breaking inside. A breaking we didn’t know was possible.

Intangible Grief.

The grief associated with pregnancy loss is often intangible. It’s slippery, it’s translucent, and it’s a heavy fog that descends and disappears unpredictably.

It’s impossible to grasp. We try to hold it between our palms and it slips through the cracks like water.

Our grief is invisible and therefore we, the mothers, are rendered invisible, too.

There is no oxygen for our wails, no water for our tears. We are imploding inward with nowhere to release. 

Making the invisible visible.

The loss shattered me in every way. Early on I realized the only thing more painful than losing a baby was losing a baby and feeling completely invisible and alone in my grief.

I knew I was a mother, but I also knew that no one could see the mother in me. With empty arms, and no older children, my grief was hidden, shrouded, and I believed I needed to get on with my life.

But I couldn’t move on. 

I realized that the only way I would survive this loss was to find a way to make my grief and my identity as a mother visible.

I found ways to do this.

Avenues and platforms for telling my story. Every time I told my story, it felt like some broken part of me stitched itself together again.

Little by little, by claiming my space as a mother, by telling my story, by using my voice to speak my truth and my pain, I found the unbearable became slightly more bearable.

There is no right way to make the invisible pain visible to those around us, but for most, this aspect of our healing is crucial.

How each of us goes about this is unique and varied. There’s no direct path or roadmap. The healing must initiate from within our hearts, no matter how shattered and broken we feel.

You are not alone.

Invisible Mothers may be hard to find, but we are all around. It’s risky to open up and share with a near-perfect stranger, but I found beautiful connections and life-long friendships this way. When you open the door to sharing your story, you give others permission to do the same.

The simplest way to find the invisible mothers in your life is to courageously share your story with others. This can be as one liner said in passing or a more detailed and vulnerable share.

I know that feelings associated with pregnancy loss can be challenging and often conflicting. We need to feel safe to be vulnerable and often these safe spaces are few and far between.

If you are looking for a community of women who understand the nuances and complexities of pregnancy loss, please join our wonderful community of Invisible Mothers HERE.

If this resonated, I’d love to hear from you in the comments below. This is a safe space to practice being vulnerable and sharing a bit of your story.

Invisible Mothers are honored here. You are honored here.

With love, Rachel