top of page
  • Writer's pictureKatie

Working through it

Broken heart with a needle stitching it up

I just want to move on.

That's the phrase I keep repeating. I just want to move on. I want to put my head down and work, I want to get my next period so I have a timetable going forward, I want to stop feeling so bad. I want to move on.

I'm riding a wave of productivity right now, which usually means I'm ovulating. I never connected the dots on that before we started trying for kids, but I've realized that the blasts of motivation/laziness I experience as an adult are very closely tied to my cycle. In theory, in about two weeks I should start to feel sluggish and like I can't fully concentrate on anything, which aligns with what my doctor told me about my period returning four to six weeks after the D&C.

Thank god.

I'm just ready to stop feeling so shitty, you know? Miscarrying was such a big blow to us. I met a woman recently who confided she'd miscarried multiple times -- I cannot imagine going through this again. It was devastating.

Actually I can imagine it, because this feels weirdly similar to another shittiness I've experienced in my life: breakups.

Hear me out on this. When men I deeply cared for/loved have broken up with me, I was left with some combination of shock, rejection, vulnerability and heartache that made me feel like my chest was caving in. And what compounded it, which I can finally articulate now, was the uncertainty: Was this breakup the last I'd ever experience? Would I ever be loved again? It's not a guarantee, after all. Some of those breakups were brutal -- the most intense agony I'd experienced in my life until that point -- and it got worse the older I got because of everything society tells you about pairing up and settling down.

With this miscarriage, it's a similar heartache. It's shock, rejection (well, in a way -- I wanted my baby, and I didn't get to fully love it the way I know I could have), vulnerability, heartache that makes me feel like my chest is caving in all over again, and, of course, that same uncertainty. This too is not guaranteed. And since I'm now 36, it's all pretty acute.

I hate feeling like this! This is why I so desperately want to move on -- I want to get to the point where all shoes are firmly on the ground and we know what is going to happen. I wish I could just peep two years into the future, see what my life is like then. Whatever the outcome is, whether we have a child or not, I'd at least KNOW, and I could calm down in the present.

That is the one mitigating factor in this whole circumstance -- I'm glad I have R. The "for better or worse" part of our vows has never been tested so much as it was through this miscarriage, and if nothing else it has made our bond even stronger. We've taken turns breaking down and supporting each other. I don't know what I'd do without him, and however it is that we ultimately move on, I'm glad we'll be doing it together.

48 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

What I've Lost

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by my wasted potential. In my 20s, I had a blog. A blog I couldn't wait to write in. I'd go on dates — terrible ones — and would start composing full paragraphs in my brai

An important life update and some hopes for the future

I'm delinquent at blogging... yet again. But this time, I have a good reason: I'm sitting at my desk in the office in our new house with a 7-week-old baby strapped to my chest. We named her Maggie and

And just like that, more than half a year went by

Oh, hey, been a minute since I've been in here, huh? A LOT has gone on since the last time I wrote: * The pandemic is still raging, though both R and I have now been fully vaccinated (Johnson and John


bottom of page