Early Birth Story / A Miscarriage

Best // Worst

Recently, a friend was talking to me about duality. The both//and. The fact that when you think about it, everything comes in two. I took time to reflect on how that resonated with me, and I thought I’d write down what words, to my surprise, poured into my journal. A journal that typically sits with unfinished sentences, paragraphs and thoughts. For once, ink flooded the paper.

As the last cycle towards a full moon begins, and the last month is upon us, I can’t help but reflect on the past year. 2020 was the greatest year of my life. And: 2020 was the worst year of my life. And it seemed the narrative I kept hearing and telling myself was that everything is temporary.

Sunny days and rainy days,
Warm days and cold days,
Feelings of love and feelings of hate, Moments and memories,
All temporary?

That last one sat with me for a while. Are memories really temporary?
Or was I just shoving away the painful ones into the folds of my body that I can barely look at.
I’ve heard of this. I know this. It’s a familiar feeling; storing away the bad, the trauma and the weight that didn’t get left behind at the bottom of the tree that you once so bravely climbed.

This year there was a lot of that.
While I celebrated some of my greatest joys, my stomach sank as I quickly realized with those joys came some of my darkest moments.

A job that once was a dream was becoming a nightmare. So I left.
And after doing so, just as I leapt from cloud to cloud feeling brighter than ever, a dark cloud loomed over me, Trying to dim my light.

I became a certified yoga teacher after 200 hours of growth on and off my mat, only to be boxed onto a screen soon after.

I was able to finally purchase my first home
That I now fear if I’ll even be able to keep it long enough to ever feel at home.

I watched my father celebrate his first sober holiday since I could remember, but wasn’t there to hug him so tightly that I could smell his crisp aftershave instead of the burning scent of alcohol.

I received what I thought was the greatest joy of my life, and just 3 short months later, my body released it back to the Earth.

I hope the Earth returns it.

So, while the latter part of life’s ‘ands’ are not ever what we wish for, I know that another pair of ‘ands’ will come my way. But what do I do with the moments in between?

Notice them. Be with them.

Those in between moments are just as important as the duality of the ‘and’. They connect the two.

New // Moon

Being filled to begin life
Being filled to end it
Four perfectly shaped solid white hexagons Release shapeless and lifeless cells from my body.

The acheless pains in my heart
Have found home in my vacant womb

The only sign of infant
Is the fetal curl of my body

I wonder if clenching in pain and fear Resembles you clenching for life

Did you try Enough Did I try Enough.

My tears are not the only thing that swell I fight to hold it back
I know I need to let go
But then it will be over.

Tears start to slowly trickle down my cheek
As the blood trickles down my thigh
I can’t hold on anymore
I let out a cry as I hang in defeat over my draining body She too lets out her cry

Tears continue to pour My body pours Emotions pour.

I tear open a pad
Like a bandaid on a wound Except this wound won’t heal It may fade with time
But the pain will return
If fear is painful.

The first moment of joy
Quickly overcome by worry
A thoughtful gift turned superstition A glow of the future
Dimmed by the past.

My gaze becomes hazy
I’ve lost too much of myself
I lay my head on the pillow Letting the haze disperse slowly I inhale in hope for tomorrow And try to exhale today’s anger.

My body is resilient She will create again

Laughter Joy Tears Life

She is ready for the new moon.


I’m sinking into the foam of my mattress Hoping this is a memory it won’t hold onto I weakly peel my body away
I can’t sink any further

The phrase blood sweat and tears has never rang more true
My face felt tears in the shapes of fear and anguish
The cold sweat on my thighs was met with the warmth of my blood

Collapsing on the toilet
I was too numb to notice the bite of the seat against my body

Is this what birth feels like? Why does it feel like I’m dying

I looked down and I swear I saw it Him, Her, Them
Could it be?
They said it was small

They said it was empty
They said it wouldn’t be like this!

Were they wrong?
Or was I just losing so much blood That i was imagining things Imagining my worst nightmare Except it wasn’t
This was real.

The spins in my head started to replicate in my body
I swayed back and forth, worried that if I tried to get up I wouldn’t I made it to all fours
Squeezing my legs together as if it would slow the process

A rush of red aura overcome my body
A reflection of the blood
A reflection of the root pouring over the others Suddenly the thought of that rainbow diminished All I could see was red

Like I was being forced to start over.

I screamed in pain, in fear, for help Get up
get up

I needed to stand up
Chris needed to wake up
I was starting to think I wasn’t going to make it

The car ride there felt like time stopped
But that was the numbness talking
The lack of feeling almost made me question Was this all just a nightmare
Maybe i’m fine
Maybe it’s just my heart letting go and
Not my body

I put on my mask
fearful that it hindered my ability to show pain It soaks up my tears
It hides the quiver of my lips

Clean lines and a sterile environment I don’t belong here
This was supposed to happen at home Not here.

After what seems like hours
They finally hear me
Even though I’ve barely said a word My tears must have been loud Enough to show the pain

I’m asked to tell my story over
and over
And over again

Hard and cold facts
Soft and emotional details

They toss aside the latter
I’m a statistic
I’m a case that needs to be solved I’m not human

I’m carefully escorted to an ultrasound
This one feels so different than the first
On the eve of thanksgiving I left not knowing who I was

This time, I knew
I was not a mother I was empty

I stood up to sit on the paper covered bed
A clot the size of my heart harshly hit the floor My actual heart followed

Everytime I stood
Everytime I shivered and convulsed Everytime I cried on an exhale
I felt more and more leave my body What was left?

The next time I was told to lay down I was drenched in myself I got angry that they didn’t offer a change of clothes
Why do they want me to see a constant reminder of what I am Empty– my insides on display outside of me

I toss and turn trying to get comfortable I don’t know how much time has passed Or how much blood has passed

Someone comes in to explain what they’re about to do But there’s nothing that could’ve prepared me for this

The suction was so loud
Would it be louder than my thoughts?
I could hear the pull from my body
I could hear the larger masses slowing the pull

I clenched My jaw My toes My hands

Finally, somebody heard my thoughts over the suction I felt a kind hand on mine
Our eyes met and I knew she knew
My pain made her revisit her own

We both cried
But there was comfort in these tears She let me squeeze her hand
I had to hold onto something
As I continued to lose so much

After // Care

I remember waking up Hoping it was all over.

Asleep just long enough
To dream of brightness
To forget the darkness
Only to be brought to another room So I can be prepped for the end

I was too tired to ask why this wasn’t done sooner Why did I have to wait until my life was at risk?

D and C
Dilate and Curettage
If dilate means to become more open
Why did I feel so closed off
If Curette comes from the French that means cleanse Why did I feel so dirty

There was no warning countdown
There was no talk until you sleep
There was only anesthetics seeping into my lungs And the panic attack waiting in my throat
Trying to block and fight it off

My mind started to wake up
But my body wasn’t following
I couldn’t open my eyes
What started as small movements
Ended in the lifeless hanging of my limbs from the table

I could feel something was wrong Or that something wasn’t right But I was too exhausted to care

Then I felt more masses escape my body One after another

I started to grow more concerned

I voiced my concerns
And suddenly a dozen people hover around me Like the fear hanging over my body

My legs are ripped apart My arms are pulled out long

Tied up Poked Proded

They need more blood Haven’t I given you enough? For God’s sake
Find the fucking vein!

They keep asking my birthday
Each time they asked I grew more and more tired Why do you keep asking me?
Am I saying it wrong
Do I know where I am
Do I know who I am
I start to drift

I’m woken again by a song from Dirty Dancing; it was playing on the nurse’s radio or phone.
Besides the woman holding my hand in the ER, It was the most comforting thing I had experienced since my time in the hospital. At the time, I didn’t realize what happened to me after surgery. I remember having conversations with my nurse, asking her about her life, family, and kids. I was so drained, but I was desperate to make someone see me as a human instead of a patient.

After regaining a bit of strength mentally
I was ready to find out what had happened physically

They said lost a lot of blood
They said surgery was supposed to fix everything But mine didn’t
It was as if my body wasn’t done screaming
And I don’t blame her
But I’m glad she finally gave in
The fight was crippling

Out of an abundance of caution
And concern that I could barely manage to stand
I stayed another night and went home the next afternoon Finally I wasn’t alone anymore

Now the aftercare begins.


As the best and worst comes to a close
And the last full moon of the year has phased on The rush has settled and steadied
What is life after loss?

Usually resolutions pile high
The higher the pile
The more out of reach they become.

Why resolutions
Why hold myself to a standard
That I have no idea if life will allow it to happen.

Climbing a tree that is so perfect
It’s missing the blemishes and imperfections That tell it’s stories
And make it easier to climb

There’s nothing wrong with self improvement
But I think there’s something more to be said about self care

So let’s climb a tree that lets us sit on his highest branches And, as my friend once said, leave behind at the bottom Only the layers that make it harder to climb
And bring with you what you need to stay awhile.

So– at the bottom of my tree
I exhale the toxicity of the job I once loved
I unplug whenever I decide to recharge
I sage out lingering fear from my home
I forgive dysfunctional holidays
And I let go of the fear that I will suffer this immeasurable loss again

But with me to the top I carry
The possibilities in creating new art and movement
The opportunities with each swipe at my fingertips
The vision boards and paint samples to color my home with love The memories of the first sober Christmas
And the hope that I will one day carry and hold life

The view looks good from up here.