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Black Women & Miscarriage : My Story - Trigger ⚠️ Warning

Updated: 4 days ago

Racism & loss trigger warnings ahead, read at your own risk. Comments will NOT be responded to regarding this blog. I’m sharing this on my website because this story deserves a house to live in other than my mind. #hearher #sayhername #blacklivesmatter #blackmaternalhealthcrisis #blackmamasmatter #rainbowbaby

This is me a few hours after going through the storm in my womb.

These items were helpful for comfort, convenience and hygiene.

This was my last outing while pregnant. We got to take our angel baby to the beach. For that I am forever grateful as bodies of water are symbolic to me and keep me calm in the fire.

“We have to tell the truth until we can no longer bear it.” —James Baldwin

We experienced the loss of our unborn baby one month ago and it’s been beyond devastating and brutal on our already somewhat tattered heart & souls. The toll has taken and enormous amount from us and then some, passed go and collected more than two hundred dollars this past past 2 years.

While I hadn’t experienced an unexpected pregnancy loss myself until now, I had been a bereavement doula for a few years which—inadvertently—led me to being an (in)fertility doula for a few clients who asked, because there was need for it and my sisters were asking, so I provided it. Even though I’ve had to help others learn to cope with loss, I didn’t know how to cope with my own. Suddenly, a flood of emotions came over me as I wrote this because it brought back those losses I once held space for and never forgotten and now I truly “innerstand” their pain.

I’m having a hard time processing how everything happened and going through all the stages of grief over and over. I fear that I’ll never get over it, trying to find a light to carry on and continuing to help others as I work as a birth worker by day AND by night. But I’m exploding with rage over how much of myself I gave to others during this pregnancy and feeling like the stress of it all robbed my womb. I’m trying to figure out how to get back to serving the community in a compassionate way as I did before. I work with pregnant, postpartum and trying to conceive families on a daily basis. This will be hard, this shit is fucking hard. Excuse my language but I’m furious and it's okay for me to not be okay about it.

Daily, I have to manage a steady stream of folks reaching out with cries for help. Typically fielding questions and concerns of 5-8 different people at one time from sun up to sun down. It can be about anything under the sun from "is this normal? to how do I...?" and things like helping with safety planning to leave an abusive relationship or managing housing and food insecurity resources, just so people can basically live.

People have jokingly and adoringly referred to me as an "Olivia Pope" type for being a particularly and damn good unbiased resourceful person when it comes to perinatal and parenting related issues. While I can be great at "fixing" problems and I do like helping people, I'm really not interested in being a 24/7 helper.

Not going to lie, it annoyed me when people would ask me to help them after I lost my own baby, but I'd have to tell myself, It's not their fault and they don't know what's going on. Then thinking they may start to wonder why I'm being so short with them. I didn't want to tell them what was going on with me for many reasons from worrying about them thinking of me as a failure as a birth worker since I couldn't save my baby, to worrying about them being scared for their own situation causing anxiety I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Plus just not wanting to deal with "nosey" folks who just want to give me their well meaning anecdotal advice. Lastly, not wanting to hear "I'm sorry for your loss" yet one more time, it's my least favorite thing when someone is grieving and I avoid saying it myself at all costs. A note on talking to grieving folks, words have meaning, think before you speak.

When I had to start supporting people again just two weeks after my loss, my immediate internal thoughts would start running through my head like a stampede..."what about me? how am I doing? what do I need? Is anyone going to check in on me? No one genuinely wants to know how I might be doing or feeling myself". The stampede would get louder anytime someone would tell me I'm the only one to support them in the way they see fit, for their wellness, but no one is here for mine. And like déjà vu, I kept giving myself the harsh reality pill, that this isn't the reality sis. Had to remind myself why I do this work, because others are in my situation too, you are not alone. I realized a support group is truly what I needed, but couldn't wrap my head around searching for or creating one at this awakening moment.

Leading up to this planned pregnancy, I was the 'me' for me. I did everything right and more, I exercised as often as I could, I ate healthily and I took the things recommended