Mercy Street
February 8th, 2011
A few days ago, I sent an email to some of my closest real-life friends, asking them that if anyone became pregnant, for the love of God, just please TELL me, and to not spend a lot of time talking among themselves deciding how to break it to me, how I would take it, etc.
I can take it. I can. The last thing I want is for people to tiptoe around me, you know? I’m never good at being perceived as weak, particularly when I’m not really feeling weak. I know that sounds really warped, but I think the idea is that pity makes everything worse. As if, on top of everything else, people feeling sorry for you is … oy, it’s too much to bear, really. It’s similar to the feeling I get when I’m upset about something and someone goes out of their way to be nice to me — it’s not that I don’t appreciate the kindness, it’s that for some reason it just makes everything more acute.
But I really can handle pregnancy announcements. Really. My friend Anna sent me the kindest email telling me about her pregnancy and when I read it, I felt nothing but happy for her, and that, honestly, made me feel like I was really healed, for lack of a better word. And she handled it beautifully — it was kind, it was thoughtful, it was full of mild concern, but it never made me feel like she felt sorry for me. There was no pity. (I don’t think Anna does pity, and that’s one of the things I like about her.)
This probably isn’t making sense. The point is, people who get pregnant now? All good. In a way, we’re all in this together — we’re all trying for more kids, hoping this is the month and oh, look! One of us got lucky first, and it had to be someone, right? Yay, for you! Sincerely, and without a drop of sarcasm. People who were pregnant before I got pregnant? Thrilled for them. I was before, and I still am.
What I do not handle well, relatively speaking, are the people who confided their pregnancies to me at the time that I was also pregnant, or people who announced at the same time, with similar due dates. This includes some close friends. It’s not that I begrudge them, or feel a drop of bitterness towards them — and I speak completely honestly when I say that I don’t, and would tell you if I did, because I sure did that first week, let me tell you. I hated anyone who was pregnant that week, rather indiscriminately.
It’s that I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed! Like this is somehow a personal failing; that I was somehow stupid to believe my pregnancy would make it, but it didn’t. Like people are judging me for telling people when everyone knew this was a possibility, right? Oh, what an idiot she is. Poor Jonna.
There we go again, with the pity. Pity that, by the way, I haven’t seen a drop of, except in my own twisted mind.
I envy them, of course, but again, not in a way that is begrudging or bitter or even directed at them. I’m happy for them — by and large, these are people I really love — but of course, I’m jealous and a little sad, because there will be babies born around that time, and none of them will be mine, and there was a time when it would have been. I think that’s … understandable. But it’s not bitter or angry, it’s just a relatively simple, uncomplicated feeling that only creeps in occasionally. I think about it, give it some air time, and then move on to being happy for them.
But still. I’m weirdly embarrassed, because I know at least one person probably clucked, “Well, this is why you don’t TELL people that early!” as though suffering alone is preferable to having people know what you went through, or why you’re not around, or why you’re sad. As though the act of telling people changed any of the circumstances for the people going through it. Telling people didn’t make me know that I was pregnant — I already knew, and the loss would have been as significant for me no matter who else knew about it.
So no, I don’t regret telling people as early as I did. I have really no regrets about any of that, because it was the fact that everyone knew that made getting through it that much easier.
And yet, there is a wee subgroup of people around whom I am embarrassed. Puzzling, really.
In every day? I am happy. I am great, even, and I’m not exaggerating. I have, at the end of it all, a wonderful life, and I do appreciate it a thousand times more than I did before, and it’s in large part due to what we went through. These aren’t consuming feelings, but isolated ones that crop up and need to be worked through as they happen, and I think writing them down is part of that, however disjointed.
So there you go. Done.
I hope you have an awesome Wednesday.
*Peter Gabriel
Entry Filed under: Gettin' thinky with it,Miscarriage,Pregnancy,Teh Second Baby,The anxious anxiety
30 Comments Add your own
1. Noemi | February 8th, 2011 at 10:07 pm
I had kinda wondered, in my real life, how to handle my pregnancy news/whining/updates with people who recently miscarried, or others who are having trouble conceiving (again, people in my real life, although I suppose the same could apply to certain people on my twitter feed, though I’m not naive enough to think my bullshit 140 characters has the power to mess up someone’s day).
I guess kindness and gentility, the same as any other delicate issue.
2. Suzanne | February 8th, 2011 at 10:11 pm
I think the decision to tell or not to tell in early-ish pregnancy is never easy. I mean, ideally no one would tell until they were LEAVING THE HOSPITAL with a totally healthy, pediatrician approved newborn because really, that’s the only time you can be sure everything will end well. If you don’t tell and you suffer a miscarriage you have no one to send you kind thoughtful emails and no one understands why you’re sobbing into a napkin when they announce their own pregnancy at lunch. But if you do tell everyone makes the I’m-so-sorry pity face when you tell them about the loss and of course you risk running into someone 5 months from now who heard about the pregnancy but not the miscarriage and having them say “Wow, you look FANTASTIC for 6 months pregnant!”
Awkward awkward awkward.
I’m so glad you’re great.
3. Jennifer | February 8th, 2011 at 11:02 pm
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
4. agirlandaboy | February 8th, 2011 at 11:16 pm
I never regretted writing about my miscarriage either, and like you said, the support was a good thing and the only awkward pity moments were the ones I was inventing in my head. I was the opposite when it came to what made me more upset, though: I forgot my original due date pretty quickly and let go of the baby that could have been, but I was SO intent on having the next baby that hearing pregnancy announcements after the miscarriage always made me cringe. (Which is, I think, perfectly healthy and normal.) I didn’t begrudge anyone their happiness, and I wasn’t any LESS happy for them, I was just sad for me. Normal, normal, normal.
5. Tara | February 8th, 2011 at 11:48 pm
Totally with you! After my daughter was stillborn I HATED when people walked on eggshells around me with their children. It was rough, yes, to see babies of the people with whom we went on our hospital tour or who were in our breathing class, and especially the couple that lived in our building who had a perfect, live baby girl 3 days before us. It was hard to tell acquaintances what happened after everyone on our small-ish military base had seen my gigantic belly as it had grown over 9 months. But I didn’t want people to hide their pregnancies or children from me! I needed to love on the kids of my friends. I needed to know that the kids I adored were healthy and would not have wished our situation on my worst enemy. And I wanted to know when friends were pregnant because it was a GOOD! THING! and not something to hide. (Sorry for the novel of a comment!) All that to say: I’m with ya!
6. Marie Green | February 8th, 2011 at 11:51 pm
With my first pregnancy, I made only one (1) day at work without telling anyone, and I swear to you I almost exploded. David had wanted to keep it quiet, but I went home after than ONE day and demanded his blessing to tell at least a few of the ladies I worked with. Pregnancy is all-consuming, and I’ve never been good at keeping it quiet.
7. anna | February 9th, 2011 at 2:03 am
I lost my first pregnancy at 10 weeks and I felt exactly the same way. I had no bitterness towards anyone who announced their pregnancy after the miscarriage, but babies due around the same time as I would have been always gave me a twinge of sadness. I see those babies now and I feel
….. something, not sadness exactly, but they remind me slightly of the loss. Then I look at my beautiful baby boy and I feel grateful for him and so glad that he is here. I was also really glad I had told people I was pregnant before I lost the baby. It made the experience so much better to know that my friends and family were supporting me and I didn’t have to have any awkward “Oh, by the way, I was pregnant and now I’m not” conversations.
8. Swistle | February 9th, 2011 at 8:24 am
I’m so glad you’re documenting this. I think you’re making so many good points.
9. laura | February 9th, 2011 at 9:18 am
After 2 months of trying, I got pregnant for the second time and struggled for a bit over how to tell my friend who’s been trying for 10 months to get pregnant. I knew she’d would be truly happy for us, but I knew I could quickly start driveling on in a pitying way as I told her if I wasn’t careful (because I love her, and can’t wait (!) to see her baby . . . and because I am a talker and if I am thinking it, I talk about it). The feelings you’ve expressed are similar to how my friend feels, I imagine. Thanks for putting this out there.
10. -Jen | February 9th, 2011 at 10:03 am
My mother suffered through a couple miscarriages, so we decided to keep my pregnancy quiet. Then when I miscarried it was terrible. There was an ER visit, hospital stays, horrors abounded – and there was no one that knew why. Completely isolating. In many ways, sharing is so much better.
11. jive turkey | February 9th, 2011 at 10:08 am
I know some people who would react to the news of a miscarriage with a reproach about THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T TELL PEOPLE SO EARLY, and frankly, if that’s your reaction to such news, you’re an asshole. What is it about pregnancy/parenting that takes the sympathy out of people? It seems like sometimes it’s all about one-upping with our mighty stores of knowledge and experience, as if there’s a ‘right’ way of doing any of this stuff.
12. Li | February 9th, 2011 at 10:09 am
Just wanting to say that I love you! And I love your honesty. And I love your strength.
And I agree with Jen’s comment above — not telling anyone, then having a miscarriage, can be very hard in its own way, because you feel that you have to hide the whole thing because its just weird to share a miscarriage/pregnancy after the fact and people don’t really know what to do with you….so not sure if that helps, but wanted to share…
13. Rachael | February 9th, 2011 at 12:17 pm
It is especially hard to see my cousin’s baby who was born within a week of (one of several) miscarriages–but only b/c we both announced our pregnancies around the same time and his wife obviously had a baby and we had another disappointment. That being said, I don’t begrudge them their beautiful little girl but her birthday will always be linked for me with our loss. But I am over it, really! The pain fades and we have a healthy baby to show for all of our “effort” and time and disappointment that came before…pity isn’t the problem, it is what is in our own heads that can break us down!
14. Carla Hinkle | February 9th, 2011 at 1:27 pm
Isn’t the embarrassment a crazy emotion? It’s totally nonsensical and yet, with each of my 3 pregnancies, I was embarrassed IN ADVANCE and IN THEORY over what if I told people? And then lost the baby? I would feel so STUPID! And I was lucky enough not to have any miscarriages but still. Such a weird, wasted, yet understandable feeling.
15. Life of a Doctor's Wife | February 9th, 2011 at 1:45 pm
I’m so glad you’re feeling better and I feel grateful that you’re being so very open and honest about it – including about the complicated feelings.
I hope YOU are having a great Wednesday.
16. ABDPBT | February 9th, 2011 at 1:59 pm
I actually figured you would be fine with the news, but the truth is that you never really know until you go through something yourself. So, I wanted to email you to be better safe than sorry — your reaction was so kind and made me feel great. Now I’m hoping you’ll get pregnant again soon so we can share the utter joy hormones create in both of our lives.
17. Angella | February 9th, 2011 at 2:56 pm
The feelings ARE complicated and I totally get how you’re feeling. It’s been nine years (this Valentine’s Day!) since I found out our baby had died and I needed a D&C (Woah. Got teary there…) and I was glad then (and am glad now) that we had told people.
We had so many people come out of the woodwork and share their own stories of loss. And, since then, I have had many opportunities to hug women who have told me the stories of their own loss and be able to say, “me too.”
Hugs, Jonna. And thanks for writing this.
18. Robyn | February 9th, 2011 at 3:28 pm
i’m going through a miscarriage too. our baby would have been 8 weeks right now. i completely agree with everything you said and are feeling. the embarrassment is the worst. i felt so awful that i had posted that i was pregnant on FB after we found out i was going to miscarry (blighted ovum found on ultrasound). i was so embarrassed. like you said, i was sure some people were thinking, that’s why you dont’ tell anyone till 12 weeks. but it was even more awkward telling someone who didn’t even know i was pregnant in the first place. so, next time around, i probably won’t post it on FB till much later in the pregnancy, but i’m definitely still telling family and friends, because every pregnancy deserves to be celebrated, after all, a life was made, even if it didnt’ make to being born.
19. Leigh | February 9th, 2011 at 4:17 pm
I totally get this. I think you are a very pragmatic person by nature with a very strong sense of yourself. You are not a victim, but you have oodles of compassion for others and so can’t help but be a tad concerned about how others are handling what you have gone/are going through.
Personally, I don’t feel pity for you but I was sad about the miscarriage, partly because I never want anything bad to happen to you and yours but also because I was enjoying your preganncy and hearing about it and anticipating the birth. But its pretty inappropriate for me to say that out loud, so some of what your perceiving may be people’s discomfort with their OWN feelings around this and not wanting to ever put you in a position of having to comfort them for something that happened to you. Yeah, complicated for sure.
Anyway, you won’t be hearing any pregnancy news from me. We can talk about peri-menopause and the indignity of getting an unsolicited AARP membership card in the mail the other day….
20. Leigh | February 9th, 2011 at 4:20 pm
Oh yeah, also your complete honesty is what makes you such a good writer. I don’t mean about the pregnacny necessarily, but posts like this. It’s one of the things I love most about you and your blog.
21. Jen the Trephinist | February 9th, 2011 at 5:18 pm
I think there’s this societal pressure toward dignity in a society, and this idea that somehow having bad things happen to you is undignified and embarrassing, as if it makes you a fool. I’ve never had a baby, but I think it’s part of the reason people fear divorce so much (well, apart from the obvious reason of “I will lose my spouse,” of course). You know there are people out there muttering that they just KNEW you had problems or they just KNEW you two weren’t meant for each other or whatever else, and that they bet you’re really regretting being so open about how happy you were in your marriage before. You can tell yourself it’s your imagination, but you know it isn’t. Look at how magazines handle celebrity divorce–they love quoting the person from a few years back gushing about the now ex.
I have tried to learn, but am still struggling to learn, that tragedy and misfortune happen to everyone (I almost said “failure,” which just goes to show you my mindset on such unfortunate events as they apply to me), and that guarding against all of that by never expressing love or excitement or good news (IT WILL JINX YOU, YOU FOOL!) is utterly unhealthy.
And if anyone enjoys Knowing Something Wise about your tragedy and feeling smarter than you because of it, that’s more of a reflection of their desperate need to feel that they are shielding themselves from future misfortune in their own lives–as if, by being careful enough themselves, they can avoid such tragedies altogether. Which is why people so industriously pick apart the reasons for a divorce or shake their heads in such a superior manner at women who reveal pregnancies early–so they can reassure themselves that they will never suffer as you are suffering, despite the truth that at some point, in some way, they absolutely will and deep down they must surely know it.
So, if it helps, my conclusion has been that I would rather endure public misfortune than live my life so carefully that I’m not enjoying it as much as I could be. I hope that has been yours, too. It sounds like it, and good for you.
22. @officeballerina | February 9th, 2011 at 5:48 pm
Thank you so much for this post. It is so spot on and captures a lot of what I’m feeling at the moment. I too recently had a miscarriage (on Christmas Eve! Oh, the fun that was!). While I am honestly thrilled for all my friends annoucing pregnancies since then, I do cringe a bit at hearing about the ones that are due when I would have been. It’s just a touch of “oh, what could have been.” Plus I feel completely stupid for getting my hopes up about the pregnancy. Like I somehow should have *known* it wouldn’t last. Anyway, thank you so much for sharing. (And many good thoughts for future healthy pregnancies
)
23. Charlotte Breen | February 10th, 2011 at 6:58 am
I’ve been following your blog since mid-2008, while I was pregnant with my 2nd daughter, and you were pregnant with Sam. I found it extremely comforting to read of your progress while going through the same thing.
I’m gutted that this pregnancy didn’t work out happily for you all.
I know someone who, having miscarried, planted a flowering tree in her garden. It flowers around the time the baby would have been born. So that they have a reminder of the baby, every year, and something beautiful to share.
May your next pregnancy go swimmingly.
24. Veronica | February 10th, 2011 at 11:38 am
Youre a bad ass in a million ways. Your grace is admirable too. Your friends are lucky.
25. nic @mybottlesup | February 10th, 2011 at 2:23 pm
i’m really grateful for this post. i’m struggling right now after having miscarried in november… distracted myself with holidays, my family, travel, etc… so now i’m struggling.
that being said, i’m really glad i read this. i needed it more than i probably realized.
so thank you.
26. Kristin | February 10th, 2011 at 4:49 pm
I am practically giving myself a concussion nodding my head up and down in agreement after reading your post and the comments that follow, especially #21 from Jen. Life is complicated.
27. Katy | February 11th, 2011 at 1:10 am
Is it bad that I find this *interesting*–because so many of these feelings perfectly mirror the feelings I have as a the mother of a special needs child. Pity is pretty much the worst emotion you can show me. I’m frank and honest about our situation, but I’m not looking for sympathy. I hate that. HATE IT.
And for a while I was sad about other people’s babies, but now I’m mostly fine. I still struggle with a few that were born around the same time as Charlie–I call them “ghosts”–they’re just giant reminders of how different things could have been. And while I don’t begrudge anyone anything, it can still be hard to see children do something with ease that mine is nowhere near doing.
I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I think you’re handling it as well as a person could.
28. Maggie | February 11th, 2011 at 9:15 pm
I’m just sorry Jonna, which might be different from pity? I couldn’t not tell, but knew I would feel that same irrational embarrassment if something happened. I’m so sorry something happened.
29. Maya | February 15th, 2011 at 3:56 pm
I swear I am going to print this out and NAIL IT TO MY HUSBANDS…..HAND, so he can read it. He was one of the ‘cluckers’….and while I detest pity, a little (just a tiny! wee! bit!) of sympathy or understanding is 100X preferred, as far as I am concerned. And we better get the hell outta here for early July. Or be pregnant again. Either one will do.
Thanks, AGAIN for being awesome.
30. Jessica | February 16th, 2011 at 8:55 pm
My best friend gave birth a month after I miscarried 2 years ago. I was scheduled to stay with her and help her with the baby and she was so concerned that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I was fine though. If anything it made me realize just how much I wanted another baby, that it was ok to try again.
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