Content Warning: miscarriage, termination, abortion, loss, grief, postpartum PTS, periods.
The past couple of months have been the best I’ve had in years. Going home for Christmas filled me up in ways I couldn’t have imagined. And most of January was filled with fun, connection, creativity, and celebration. But this week hit me like a ton of bricks. Tomorrow will be 2 years since Tanaz’s birth and death, and I’m struggling.
The week started off amazing! I went to an event at Sol Collective (a local art and culture center deeply rooted in community, social justice, and education for/by marginalized groups). The event was centered on bringing community back into birthing situations, education of the birthing process, and how to provide support leading up to, during, and after.
The room was filled with women of all ages. Young teens wanting to be more knowledgeable of, and connected to the process of life. Young women who’d never given birth, but were connecting to the act of birthing in other areas of their life. Women who’d already given birth many times, and women who were pregnant, and women who lost their babies, and practicing doulas, and birth workers in training, and elders who held us all up.
I got to share my story of my three babies. And got to listen to other people’s stories. Toward the end, we gathered in a circle, and each of us gave our gratitude, to the teachers, to our ancestors, to each other. Then we sang to the person who would soon be birthing her child. We held her and her baby in our hearts, and showered them with love.
Afterward, we walked the circle, hugging each person heart-to-heart. I got to connect with everyone in the room, hear a little more of their stories, ask them questions, cry with them in support, and hug them some more. It was the most amazing experience of healing I’ve ever had. I felt so much love, so much support and connection, and my heart was wide open.
But wide open hearts in grief make for lots of pain. During the event, I was on the verge of triggering PTS from Tanaz’s birth. As we learned of the different stages of birth, my mind flashed images of that day. How they tried 10 times, but couldn’t get an IV in while I was in active labor. How after those failed attempts, I had the nurses draw the shades, and made everyone leave the room, including Rich. How I knew nothing of the birthing process, but trusted my body to know exactly what to do. How I didn’t know how to manage the pain, because birthing a 20-week gestational baby who was not even half a pound was more painful than any other experience I’d been through.
I’ve been wide open in grief all week. And of course the universe saw it fit that I get my period this weekend too, so my emotions are running wild. It’s exhausting. And solitary. And yet, here I am, remembering my baby Tanaz, feeling the pain, sharing our story, and getting through the week.
Life has a way of moving, of passing, of changing, and shifting, and dulling, and sometimes sharpening our past pains. And sometimes, after holding the pain so closely, there can be a little release that makes space for healing and renewal. And sometimes your healers remind you that your stupid fucking menstrual cycle always makes way for new beginnings.
I don’t know what this weekend will bring. But I do know it will be centered in love and gratitude for having Tanaz in my life, no matter how difficult my time with her was. And in deep reverence of all the ways my healers, community, family, and friends have loved and supported us along the way.
Trying to Find My Way 