The Silence of Pregnancy Loss - Sabene Gomes
There are certain times in life when there are no words that one is capable of uttering in order to explain the events of our existence. None seem adequate or give justice to the situation at hand. I’ve had an incredibly difficult few weeks in which I’ve felt like I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride that I can’t get off. There have been times when this rollercoaster has taken me to the depths of a stomach-churning low, which has made me feel anxious, angry and terrified for the future. There have also been such high and joyous highs that have made me feel like I’m being subjected to proverbial whiplash as the ground underneath me shifts and moves again and again.
Earlier this year, I found out that my team was being disbanded at work, and I was notified that my role was at risk of a potential redundancy. I felt all kinds of things in that moment, and it was an incredibly traumatic experience for me as I grieved the loss of my job and my team. Around this time, I also found out that I was pregnant. To say that this news sparked a feeling of renewed joy and hope within me would not do the description of that feeling justice. I felt like everything had happened for a reason, and the sadness of my impending job loss was overcome by a new beginning towards parenthood. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long. At 7 weeks pregnant and after a day in the emergency department at the hospital, I lost the baby.
I cannot explain the overwhelming sadness that overtook my body and my mind at that time. It felt like the weight of the loss had meant that I’d been swallowed into a black hole, and I couldn’t see anything but that nothingness. Everything was muted. I had a sensation that I would never feel joy again, and I felt so lost that it was difficult to find the motivation to keep going. It was as if nothing made sense, and it truly felt like nothing would ever make sense again. I felt debilitated as the world went on without me; as my family would have conversations around me, but all I could do was stare into the nothingness, without the ability to engage. It felt like my consciousness, my heart, my being had left my body, and all that was remaining was a shell that looked like me.
In the days that proceeded, I found myself feeling numb one minute and then in another, I was overcome with feelings of grief, of loss and mourning of what could have been. It feels so strange to grieve someone who was never really there in the first place. Someone who was faceless but was still a part of me. I understand that nothing will ever be the same again. No matter how much time passes, I’ve been forever altered in a way that has branded me. My heart will never be the same again. But at the same time, I also understand that as time goes on, the hurt, the loss and overall grief will subside. I will never entirely stop hurting, but I know the more time goes on, the less strong that feeling will be.
In knowing all of this, it still feels incredibly lonely. The future feels daunting now that I am back at square one. Or even worse than square one. I know that no matter the future, even if I am to conceive again, I will be riddled with anxiety the entire pregnancy.
What I’ve come to realise is that no one speaks openly about miscarriage. It’s only when you share your own story that others open up and share their experiences. I am shocked at how many women have experienced the same, and it makes me wonder what people are going through at any given time behind closed doors. The silence that a miscarriage brings is one of the most deafening things that I have experienced in my lifetime. Very few people speak openly about pregnancy loss. It remains an extremely taboo subject, even though close to 30% of pregnancies result in miscarriage, and most of these occur in the first 12 weeks. There is an invisible community of women out there who carry the pain in their hearts silently. Those who keep the anguish, grief, shame and guilt to themselves. So many of them self-blame and torture themselves by thinking that this loss was caused by something that they did. I can’t say that I am not one of them within this.
I hope to help break the silence around pregnancy loss by sharing my story, in the hope that others will feel safe and comfortable to share their own, in their own time. As a society, we need to promote more conversation about miscarriage so that those who go through it can feel less alone. We need to break the taboo to help raise awareness.
For me, every day is still hard. I am still overwhelmed with feelings of utter hopelessness. Things feel mundane, and I go between feeling a complete numbness, to a few minutes later feeling like a cloud of sadness has descended upon me. My focus for now is protecting my heart, being kind to myself and going slowly with regaining joy and hope in life. I am allowing myself to grieve in the hope that one day, I will be able to move forward without everything being tainted by that overwhelming sadness.
“I've considered myself a writer and a blogger for a long time but I've never really had any success in properly publishing my work. I've had multiple rejections over the years telling me that my sentences are too long, my descriptive pieces too wordy and therefore not good enough. The consistent element of that messaging has certainly gotten to me over time. I would never be brave enough to submit this piece anywhere else but I believe in the power of my writing and think that it should be out there in the world.”
Sabene is an intersectional feminist, humanitarian, writer and blogger. She is a first generation Sri Lankan/Australian whose family migrated to Australia when she was 2 years old. Sabene is passionate about gender equality, disability inclusion, poverty reduction, social justice and decolonisation. As a blogger, she runs her own social commentary blog titled ‘I Blog for Change’; and she serves as the Founder and Editor of SpeakYoTruth, an online publication aimed at elevating the voices of women of colour to enable a safe space for them to tell their own stories.