This post was originally posted on my publication, Simple Faithful Motherhood, on Substack.

Well this is a chapter I never imagined I'd be starting.

Yet here I am, knee-deep in the mud of heavy, despairing emotions, praying it’s not quicksand. Because I don’t want this thing of grief — this amorphous, unexpected, unwanted grief — to swallow me whole.

So in the aftermath of my miscarriage (ugh, such a cold, technical term for devastating loss), writing is how I’m trying to keep from going under. This is how I’m keeping the faith. This is how I’ll grieve. By putting words on a page and reminding myself — out loud, publicly — that this sucks. None of this is okay. And yet… God is still good.

It’s been three weeks since it happened, and I guess I should start you at the beginning but truth is, we’ve kind of found each other in the messy middle, so I’ll start here.

Image credit: Troy Squillaci from Pexels via Canva.com

I've been waffling on and off about sharing my (fresh) journey through grief because of a few hesitations:

It’s terrifying to be vulnerable.

Writing about my miscarriage, and then publishing it, didn’t seem to fit well in the context of social media. This is a place for achievements and announcements, not for sorrows or struggles. It felt incredibly exposing for my weakness to be help up in plain sight.

But what if my story could help somebody?

I worried what others might think of me.

I didn’t want to be seen as attention seeking. I wondered if this would give people a chance to judge me. For someone who already can’t help but wear her heart on her sleeve, I actually don’t like drawing attention to myself. I’d rather hear someone else’s story than talk about mine.

But what if I spoke up — not for approval — but to break the silences and stigmas more of us are trapped in?

““Others have it worse,” I’d tell myself. “You’re not allowed to wallow in self-pity.” But what if God isn’t asking me to compare sorrows, but to bring mine to Him?”

I wondered if my grief was unjustified.

“Others have it worse”, I’d tell myself. “You’re not allowed to wallow in self-pity.”

These self-censoring thoughts came from both cultural conditioning and awareness that people are facing devastating losses: disasters, drugs, war, and lives shaken by every kind of instability. So what was my pain in comparison?

But what if God isn't asking me to compare sorrows, but to bring mine to Him?

In the end, I silenced those fears — by speaking up

This is what I’m doing by sharing my story:

I share to bring feelings of darkness into the light.

To sear and slay lies that love to feed in the silence, festering hidden. To name the fear, anxiety, and ache, so that they no longer own me. To turn suffering into an offering.

I share because, sometimes, this is how we carry each other.

A friend once wrote, “Grief is love with nowhere to go.” That sentence comforted me deeply. Sometimes, all we have are words to help carry someone else through the ache. If you’ve found yourself here because you’re grieving too — I’m sorry you’re hurting.

And I hope, amidst the scroll of announcements and achievements, that these words help carry you.

I share to give my precious baby a loving tribute.

His (he? I just had a feeling) life was way too short, but every day his heart beat inside me, he was valuable, he was here, and he mattered. He has left an indelible mark, forever, on the timeline of my story. We named him posthumously (but chose a unisex name just in case) so that he can be known by his name.

“Every pain, struggle, and weakness is a testimony. I am not strong, but God is, and He is helping me. One day I’ll come back to these grief-chapter pages, and see how He carried me through every moment I thought I couldn’t endure.”

I share to testify.

Even pain, struggle, and weakness is a testimony. I am not strong, but God is, and He is helping me. One day I’ll come back to these grief-chapter pages, and see how He carried me through every moment I thought I couldn’t endure.

I share to lay down a memorial stone.

To mark this place that I never wanted to stand in, but where my trial met the God I trust. May this memorial stone, with all its unpolished edges, stand to tell all who pass by: Yes, even here, He has proven himself good and faithful.

I know I’ll one day see my sweet baby for the first time in heaven. I know he is with Jesus and his experience forever is being fully content and at peace.

I know I’ll heal. I know in the end that every tear will be wiped away, and all will be restored in the grand scheme of God’s salvation plan. But between now and then, there’s a lot yet to sort through.

Meanwhile, I’m clinging on to this: there is God’s story of hope in this story of grief too.

DID YOU FIND THIS HELPFUL?

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