by Band Back Together | Sep 15, 2010 | Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage |
This post is not intended to knock people who have said some of these comments. I myself have mistakenly said these to someone before I had gone through a miscarriage. I have been told each of these statements at some point during my losses and although it can be difficult to know what the right thing to say is and most people genuinely mean well, here is why I find these statements so hurtful:
You can always have another! -or- You can always try again.
Although it is true that many couples struggle with infertility, the end goal of getting pregnant is not the positive pregnancy test but the baby. Merely being able to get pregnant is not a comfort for most women who experience a miscarriage.
Many women can go on to try again after a miscarriage, and indeed many find comfort in that idea after time. However, for someone grieving a loss, one baby does not replace another. Each loss needs to be dealt with individually and the woman needs to think about trying again on her own time when she is ready.
Be grateful for the children you have!
Even if a woman has living children, they do not replace the baby she lost. Grieving does not mean you are ungrateful!
I know what you are going through.
If you have not lost a baby, please do not say this to a mother grieving a miscarriage. Just as with anything else in life, unless you’ve experienced it yourself, you simply do not know how it feels. However, if you have had a miscarriage, it can be reassuring to a woman grieving a miscarriage to hear your story.
It was not a real baby – it was just a fetus.
This comment is hurtful on so many levels! It was a baby to the mom – you feel the connection and the physical effects and your body changing from VERY early on.
At least you didn’t know your baby!
All women know their babies growing inside of them. You mean before it was a real baby and I got attached? Nope, this does not make any difference. It still hurts like mad. Some of us love our babies from the minute we found out we were pregnant.
There must have been something wrong. -or- It’s probably for the best.
Never speculate that a miscarriage was for the best. Miscarriages happen for many reasons, and you do not know what may or may not have caused this particular loss. The best for whom? Me? The now-dead baby? You? The greater good of the nation? This does not make the person feel better.
It won’t happen again
Everyone hopes that everything will be fine in the next pregnancy, but sometimes it isn’t. Women who have recurrent miscarriages often remember being reassured by others that everything would be fine next time, and sometimes this makes for an even harder time coping with the second loss.
After so many miscarriages you should be getting used to it.
I have had 10 miscarriages and each one was equally painful – no matter how far along I made it to. Each one was a baby and each one was important and wanted!
Be brave, don’t cry. -or- Get on with your life, this isn’t the end of the world!
It is healthy and important to grieve.
Remember, when a woman is going through a miscarriage, she is mourning over
- the death of her child and the fact that she will not get to hold her child or meet her baby face to face
- the knowledge that she will not get to watch her child grow up, see her child’s personality develop or see her child achieve his/her dreams
- a sense of failure. I haven’t met a woman yet who has miscarried and hasn’t wondered if it was somehow her fault. She failed, her body failed, she’s being punished for a past mistake, she shouldn’t have eaten this or drank that – all of these thoughts can easily play through the grieving mommy’s mind.
6 SIMPLE WORDS TO SAY:
I AM SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Coping With Losing A Partner, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Parent Loss, Partner/Spouse Loss |
part 2
14
SEP
maybe.
so.
he’s dead.
dead..wtf? my life my future, my love? what the hell just happened?
i sit there, in the ER. all i can think about is my son, at home. not knowing. HE DIDN’T KNOW..his dad is DEAD!!!
friends have started to arrive at the ER, (friends….i got friends)…i don’t know how they knew (susan? yes)…and i have to comfort them, but my son is at home. TAKE ME HOME!!
so, of the friends who have arrived, i take sheri and david. david drives me home, sheri following in my car.
as we drive up..i see the kid in the driveway. HOW???HOW????
i get out of the car, and he starts to scream. i will NEVER forget that howl. later, i will learn that the same howl emanated from me in the ER..i don’t remember it. but the kid’s…i’ll never forget that sound as long as i live. the sound of a heart breaking, both of our hearts, broken.
prior to leaving the ER i had told them i was going to go get my son and could they please clean everything up so i could have him see his dad. they did great…when we got there…well, tom looked as good as a new corpse could. we cried, and held him, and talked to him and cried and cried and cried….
and there were more people there by that time. because, because my husband and i are so lucky to have the friends we do, did. when we were on the way to the hospital, my friend susan, who i called, called her husband, and the word started to spread.
and some came to the hospital, but most people went to another friends house. and when the word came that tom was dead, well…all those gathered headed for my house. and the word kept going out. and by the time my son and i got back home there were 40 people in the house . and an hour later 80. and food, like the loaves and fishes…..
i can’t write anymore tonight.
maybe a little more. this is MY story, our story, but grief.. god, grief is binding. and there is so much neo-natal and child grief on this board that i cannot read it because it KILLS me. but i know it, just differently.and i pray that someone else will come on with a story like mine because i need to be identified with. if you’re reading this and not posting…please do.
PLEASE.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Anger, Anxiety, Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Caregiver, Coping With Cancer, Family, Fear, Feelings, Guilt, Stress, Trauma |
I’m not even sure to where to start. Remember that fever? It finally went away. Then it came back. A second set of bloodwork later, the doctor still thinks it’s viral. I get a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia. Next is a CT scan, then a biopsy. The biopsy has to be done under general anesthesia by a mediastinoscopy, and a bronchoscopy is thrown in for good measure. Now they think I have Hodgkins.
I know that there are readers who will get this so much more than others that have already heard it from me. My biggest fear? What if I have to have chemo and stop nursing my daughter? It’s going to break her little heart (and mine) if she looks up at me, her mama, with her pleading, beautiful blue eyes and signs for her nursies and i have to say no.
I can’t say any more than that right now. I just can’t. This fear is crippling me and the tears won’t stop.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Infidelity, Psychological Manipulation, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, September 11, 2001 |
I dated a man that was prettier then I was, and he took it upon himself to tell me everyday for three years. He also enjoyed telling me nobody else wanted me, that I was lucky to find him (as if he was doing charity work for dating me), and that I would be alone in life forever if I did not stay by his side with my mouth shut for the rest of my life.
I felt smaller then the tiniest grain of dirt. My self-esteem and self-worth out the window. I was worthless without him. He signified my worth and my inner bank balance was $0.
When I cooked him homemade meals to prove I would make an excellent wife, he scraped half of my portion off telling me I was too fat. Who could ever imagine a size 0 being too fat? When he came home from Rome (where he is from) telling me on New Years they kiss their friends on the lips (I found a photo of him kissing a friend), I believed him (really Aimee, frenchkissing?). When he went to school in Milan for 6 months and I paid all of his bills in the U.S.A, and made all of his phone calls, and held down the fort, I trusted he was doing right by me. When I found proof of his lying, snake ways, he talked himself out of it and made me believe I was making it up in my head. I was the crazy one.
This is abuse. Abuse people never speak of, or think does “real damage”. Verbal abuse certainly does damage, and a lot of it.
We broke up on 9/10/01, just a day before the attacks on 9/11/01. I had just moved to Boston to try and regain some self strength, and he just started a new job at the World Trade Center. When the postman at my new job told me the news I freaked out. I frantically called him for hours, and I began to think the worst. He did call hours later telling me he was alright. He ran out as bodies fell from the tower windows, and jumped over body parts, office supplies, and the pavement soaked in jet fuel. He ran 8 miles as fast as he could without stopping because he thought he would lose his life if he hadn’t. Sadly so many made it out of the building that day, but stayed to “watch” and didn’t make it any further.
In our relief, we rekindled our relationship. I had high hopes this moment had changed him – that since God had let him live and gave him a second shot at it, he would find it within himself to be a better man.
I stood beside him a week later at Ground Zero holding his hand. We wept. The heavy smell of death encircled us and permeating all of our being. The city was in silence. All you could hear were machines cutting steel trying to find bodies. The hospital close by had a wall of “missing” posters filled with people that were now part of the largest burial ground in American history. He wondered why he survived and why they didn’t.
We broke up a year later when he told me about his girlfriend in Italy and the prostitutes he had slept with. I cut all ties and moved on with my life. A few years ago I got an odd e-mail from his new girlfriend asking me questions in broken English. He wrote me and said, and I quote, “If you ever cared about me and 9/11 you won’t tell her anything”.
Yes, he was trying to use 9/11 to shut me up. A day that he should have gained perspective and feel blessed, he was using to hide behind as a last attempt shield to not let his new girlfriend find out about his cheating, abusive ways. I was disgusted, and copy and pasted his e-mail and sent it right to her. I also told her every little bit I could about my past with him.
How could he go on to take this day as “his”? How can he accept emails today that say “thinking of you” or “this day must be so hard for you” and still go on unscathed. Why must I remember such an asshole who didn’t really deserve a second chance over so many good hearted people that died that day. Why did I accept his abuse for so long, and let him be all of who I am? And why must such a significant day always be about him?
I am pissed. He doesn’t deserve the day.
He once asked if I would light a candle in honor of him every year on this day for the rest of my life. I will do one better for you babe–I’ll light up a finger in the air, and you can see it all the way to Rome. Plus I will eat an entire plate of pasta in my size 14 jeans, and sit on the floor and eat up the love I have with my family. My family I created with a wonderful, loving, non-abusive man, that believes I am wonderful just the way I am.
I will always mourn that day, the people who lost their lives, and will never forget seeing and feeling the aftermath. I will always grieve for NYC, a place that will always have my heart and that will never be the same.
And for that…. I will never forget. For that, and only that, I will light a candle.
by Band Back Together | Sep 14, 2010 | Abuse, Child Abuse, Psychological Manipulation |
I’ve always been uneasy talking about my upbringing.
I knew that it wasn’t “normal,” but it didn’t really fit the pre-defined concept of abusive. My dad never once punched me. And I only broke something once, when I hit back. My finger.
I don’t like to talk about that.
He spanked me, with implements. He pushed me. He dragged me. He screamed obscenities and names
and so did I, right back at him, an inner voice whispers in my ear.
at me.
He controlled. Oh, he controlled. I don’t like to talk about that, either.
I was 17 before I had my first non-church-event date. And that’s because I lied through my teeth to go meet with the guy.
Movies were strictly monitored, and hardly ever allowed.
Home schooled. 4H was protested. All those bad influences.
So was going to friends’ houses.
And I didn’t have friends over. The yelling. You know.
Except….most don’t. Because that’s not normal. The yelling. I don’t like to talk about that.
But I hesitate to say any of it. He’s gotten help since then. He’s been a much better father to my younger sisters. And I know he cares about me. Worries about my family. he cares, he cared then…he just didn’t know how to show you.
I hesitate to write any of this down on the page. Because my inner voice keeps telling me, he wasn’t that bad. It’s not like it was real abuse.
Most of the time, I don’t think about it. But I sometimes find myself yelling. And I sometimes find myself wanting to throw things. Or break something.
When I sit down and look at my weakest parenting issues yelling. Oh the yelling. and my most shameful moments as a parent. When I talk about being socially inept. When I start to choke up at just the thought of new people, and having to interact…..I see a thread.
I think, “real” abuse, or not…it definitely has left a mark.
But I don’t like to talk about it.
