Nine years ago tomorrow, on October 15, 2010, we said goodbye to the first baby we lost to miscarriage. Here are some things that I wish I could tell my pre-miscarriage self.

I still vividly remember that October day 9 years ago. I remember the doctor’s words, “I’m so sorry, but your baby’s  heart is no longer beating.” I remember going into the hospital, being asked all sorts of medical questions I wasn’t prepared for (like what I wanted to do with my baby’s remains). I remember crying as the nurse prepared me for surgery. I remember the kindness of many of the medical professionals I encountered. I remember leaving the hospital empty-handed…and feeling empty on the inside too. I remember the drive home, as I stared out the window in silence.

What I didn’t know back then was that that day was only the beginning of a very long and painful two years, where we would lose 3 more babies, run test after test after test, visit infertility specialists, try all sorts of medicines and herbal remedies, pray over and over again for God to heal whatever was wrong with my body or with my babies, and still walk away unhealed.

There was so much I didn’t know back then, on the day of that first miscarriage.

If I could go back and talk to that naive 26 year old, this is what I would tell her.

What I Wish I Could Tell My Pre-Miscarriage Self:

1. People don’t know what they don’t know…so give them grace. But also teach them…because when people know better, they do better.

There were so, so many times that people said things because they were trying to be helpful, but their words stung. They said things like, “You’ll have another baby,” or “At least you have one living child,” or “God needed them more in heaven.”

These words were so hard to hear, not only because some of them were just plain wrong, but also because they seemed to minimize my pain.

What I know now, and wish I had known then, was that it wasn’t really fair of me to expect people who had never had a miscarriage to understand what it’s like to have one.

Should they seek to understand? Should they listen? Absolutely! We all should! But even a great listener can’t fully understand what another person is walking through because each of us are so very different and have walked such different paths to get where we are today.

So I wish I had been more understanding and didn’t allow other people’s words to hurt me as much as I let them. Most of these people meant well, and they wanted to help.

2. Don’t miss the life you have wishing for the life you always thought you’d have. 

I spent way too many days wishing for the family I envisioned, and thus failing to fully enjoy the family God gave me.

Did I need to grieve? Of course! But I wish I would have spent more time being grateful for the 1 biological child I did have and then later, the 1 adopted child I had, instead of longing for the babies I lost.

If your life isn’t the way you always pictured it would be, can I challenge you to grieve what isn’t but then move forward with what is?

Maurice Setter once said, “Too many people miss the silver lining because they’re expecting gold.” Don’t let that be you.

3. You’re going to be okay. Really, you are. 

There were so many nights I cried myself to sleep on those days…so many days that I just survived…that I wondered if I would ever be myself again.

I wish I could tell my pre-miscarriage self that yes, I would be okay. I’d eventually get to a place where I could go to a baby shower without crying. I’d eventually get to a place where babies didn’t make me sad (though even now I have my moments). I’d eventually get to a place where pregnancy announcements didn’t sting as much.

I’d eventually be okay.

It did get easier. I really am (most days) ok.

But I’m also not the same naive woman I was back then. I know now that God doesn’t always heal. He doesn’t always fix things.

But the truth is, I’m finally (somewhat) okay with that. God is still good, even in the hard.

With today being National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, I wanted to reflect. Thanks for bearing with me as I processed my thoughts. 

Since I’m not blogging as much as I used to, I don’t often get a chance to process (since for me, writing is how I process.) So thank you. 

And thank you for remembering my sweet babies with me.

Eden, Jesse, Ella, and Jadon, you are not – and never will be – forgotten.