Love in the time of miscarriage
A few months ago, my husband Oli and I happily found out that I was pregnant. The decision to intentionally become parents has been a journey for both of us. Over the years, we’ve had to dive deep into murky waters and find our inner young ones in terrifying memories of abuse stuck in our nerves and fascia, within well-trodden neural pathways, imprinted in us without our consent or choosing.
Becoming parents ourselves was out of the question - not while we were still calling ourselves back in, sifting through force-fed untruths about who and what we are. Bequeathing these toxic legacies to another generation was a hard no.
And then, slowly, organically, we eventually arrived at the space of softening into a quiet, wholehearted yes. We could look at ourselves, each other and feel the genuine desire to become parents, well-earned and intentional, move through us, in the space between us.
We held the yes lightly, allowing it to take the time it needed.
And so, a few months ago, I became pregnant. Our immediate joy had a striking sweetness, in stark contrast to previous times when unintentionally, we had found ourselves pregnant. Then, we had looked at each other with dread because the wounds of our inner children were still so raw, so present, longing to be re-membered with fierce love.
Then, we had responsibly wielded the birthright of choice to say no. Not while the abuse of former generations was still waiting to be composted. It ended with us.
But this time, joy - which naturally mingled with all the initial trepidations that this life-changing new adventure held in store.
It was to be short-lived. At our first ultrasound, no heartbeat was detected. The shock was a deafening numbness. Below, the ground opened up and took me in.
More ultrasounds and tests over the following weeks confirmed the loss. I moved through it all in an altered state, but from a place of commitment to allowing all that arose to be felt fully.
Every time I let myself surrender to the grief, free from the distracting meanings around why and why me, I connected with the vast, vast web of women throughout time who have experienced this. I felt held and tuned into a deep well of love, power and strength. It was like a psychedelic experience, except I felt it in my tender heart and womb spaces, not in my head.
I discovered how common miscarriages are (1 in 4, apparently). It’s part of being a woman, my sister said.
Yes.
The shared experience of womanhood, of saying yes to life and death, reached out with countless open, loving arms to hold me across space and time.
Supported in this cave of timeless sisterhood, I let myself be guided by grief to see what I needed to see. I thought I had called all my inner young ones back into loving integration, but no. Hiding in a very secret place, camouflaged into invisibility in the deepest of shadows was a child, almost feral with lack of love and the light of consciousness. This one was holding on so tightly to all the lies that she had been fed about herself in order to stay safe, that she was utterly identified with herself as bad and wrong.
I coaxed her out, promised not to hurt her, ever. Slowly, she’s letting me love her. Then, Oli said something that helped her begin to let go of all the untruths that she had been force-fed. He said that all children are completely perfect as they are, in their exploring of the world, in their play and curiosity, in their light and shadow.
It’s helping her because the simple truth of it pierces effortlessly through all of the lies.
If colonization is the cutting off of one’s innate meaning, then children being forced to believe that they’re anything less than whole and worthy is crucial to the inter-generational pandemic of (self) alienation that keeps us as adults separate from unconditional love and compassion, for ourselves, for each other; that forces us to give up our indigenous power to external structures of control and oppression.
But the consequences of brokenness are temporary, because that brokenness is a lie, an illusion. Our innate identity is that of wholeness - in light and shadow.
Slowly her heartbreak and mine are beginning to heal, as we love each other, and are held in love.
Surely there will be more layers of this loss to move through. But as I stay open to allowing grief to be my guide, I am brought further into re-membering and resolution.