It has taken me some time to write about this – grief has no timeline for newsletters, schedules or calendars.
Earlier this year, I experienced a loss – one that was so wanted and cherished – a desire I had only let go of two months before finding out I was pregnant.
All my childhood, I was obsessed with babies and what it would be like to have one of my own. However, as I grew, I became more aware of the world around me – realizing the reality a child would be exposed to and the challenges it would potentially face. Still, what really shattered my dream is when I was stuck in an abusive marriage – realizing that no matter what gender of a child I would have – the baby could grow into a predator or a victim if it was a witness to my day to day. At that time, I placed what was left of this dream into a tiny box and tucked it far away in a dark corner of my heartspace.
As many of you know, I worked in the birth world for the greater part of 16 years during my nursing career. I specialized in fetal bereavement and loss – a decision I will never regret, as being able to support in the deepest moments was to be in service to women everywhere. However, being exposed over and over to such deep grief then encased the box in a chain and lock – to be intentionally forgotten.
It is so ironic to me – the hours I spent holding the hands of women I barely knew, dressing and documenting babies that could have been and watching fathers drown in the reality that washed over them, that I still lacked the skillset to hold myself when it was my turn.
At 41 years of age, I’ve now waited so many times for the right moment to have a child. But as I would tell so many parents whom I have helped deliver their babies – there is no right time nor right way to have a baby.
A part of me thinks I waited too long – that I kept my dream locked up in the namesake of serving others. Another piece of me thinks I spent too long abusing my body prior to my recovery journey – self-medicating myself from the pain around me and the pain I felt for myself. Too long being dissociated from my strengths and only feeding the parts of me that were lost. You can imagine the guilt and shame I felt when I lost the pregnancy earlier this year. The culmination of all choices I have ever made in my entire life came crashing down around me.
I remember the exact moment the miscarriage started – the inner peace and joy I had felt inside my heart started to waiver. The sharp waves of pain wrapped around from my lower back. I remember thinking “oh no” but was unable to speak a word. All the doubts I had about the scenario surrounding the pregnancy seemed like whispers compared to the grief that bubbled up inside me. How could I have thought I wouldn’t be a good mother, how could I have created an inner world so uncomfortable that a soul decided it was time to depart? My not so straight, not so perfect journey in recovery had me doubting that I had the tools to be a good mother. And of course, everything around me started to reflect those dark thoughts. And here I was, in pain, in deep sadness, shaming myself for every negative thought I had during the time I was pregnant.
As the pain progressed and bleeding started, I stayed at home and invited the divine to sit with me. It was a Saturday night and most people were not around and it was very last minute. The phone felt heavier than a brick and all I wanted to do was sit with the embryo inside me with what little time I had left.
When it was all said and done, I compartmentalized it away, not able to look the grief in the eye. Even after I went to the doctor a week later, realizing my breathing was not the same – finding out I had come into contact with Valley Fever from local dirt – I continued to blame myself. Grief is tridoshic in nature. From the Kapha emotion of attachment, to the Pitta nature of anger towards myself and to the ruminating Vata nature of replaying the scenario over and over, my mind was deeply affected. It has taken me many months to unravel the Ayurvedic journey that ended up in dis-ease in my body. It got to a point where my Rasa (our blood building block and essence of life) became so vitiated, I started to experience heart palpitations and dizziness. Eventually, it became a diagnosis of severe anemia. I have shared parts of this story with you in previous emails. And here I am – to expose its root.
In Ayurveda, all disease starts in the mind. With the busy-ness of life and our inner perceptions coloring our world, it is not always easy to see the root cause of something – even something so scientific as a low hemoglobin and improperly formed blood cells. Bone marrow, which produces our blood cells, is affected by a disturbed nervous system. The evidence is all there when I map it out – it all leads back to how I see myself, how I view myself and how I hold myself. And that is where the real work began – not in “performed” spiritual practices, not in taking all the herbs and supplements and not from attaching myself to a victim mindset. After staring my shadows in the face, I have been able to process my grief, unfurl my samprapti (disease process) and bring myself back to balance. I was able to see how my daily choices of ignoring my own true needs brought me to a place I never wanted to be.
I share this story in solidarity with all women who struggle with loss alone. For the caretakers who overgive to make sure others are comfortable. For the family and friends who quietly hold space while others do not notice their absence. For those who are told to be independent in scenarios where community is needed. I have only been able to heal with a whole team of support – from other powerful healers that held me when I could not hold myself to dear friends who have heard my silent gasping cries to my everloving family members who had experienced my vicious backlash of the inner turmoil I was holding within myself.
Thank you for being here and congratulations if you made it this far. I hope that this share brings you closer to understanding yourself and how to make the everyday hard decision to choose health – by allowing your shadows to bask in your own inner light.
