I feel this so much, Jenny! I had an unexpected fifth pregnancy and miscarriage in July, the month after I’d decided to stop fertility treatments and instead take myself on a road trip to Alaska in fulfillment of another dream. I wrote about it on my Substack:
The emotions around learning I was pregnant again after four losses and three years of trying were complicated by the fact that I had finally started to let go, to make other plans. I knew if I gave up my trip, I would likely lose the pregnancy anyway and have to grieve both of my dreams.
I decided I would still go to Alaska, and I allowed myself to book my first ultrasound in Anchorage and start getting excited. Then the hCG dropped to zero and the bleeding came. I kept packing, and two weeks later I drove myself 5,000 miles to Fairbanks and picked up my husband at the airport for a belated honeymoon. He flew home two weeks later, but I’ve been driving ever since, from the Arctic Circle to the Kenai Peninsula, back through the Yukon and the Alaska panhandle to the Rocky Mountains.
I never made space for my grief. But it erupted one day while listening to an audiobook about a woman’s epic Alaska adventure. Throughout the book she grappled with the decision to have kids or pursue a life of adventure. Then, of course, the epilogue presented her happy ending: “We were hiking with our 10-month-old son…”
I lost it. I turned the book off and didn’t finish. It wasn’t even grief. It was pure rage. Rage that someone else could make such a casual decision and then have a healthy baby boy. I screamed and cried while I was driving (when I called my husband, he wisely suggested I pull over).
My grief had metastasized into anger, and it all erupted in that moment. Then as fast as I could, I bottled it at all back up so I could keep driving.
This is the first I’ve written about that experience, and I’m grateful that you opened up the topic, Jenny, because I can so relate to postponing the grief, especially the fifth time around when you are already numb to the experience.
At this point I don’t know how to process all this grief in a healthy way. I just keep driving, aiming my compass south for Mexico.
Oh Liz - I’m so sorry. But thank you for sharing your own experience of postponed grief so honestly. I so recognise that moment of losing it that you describe. Even as I writing this piece I was thinking: it’s going to come out at some point - and probably not in a good way. But I’m still waiting for it. I hope your trip gives you some kind of solace. Adventure can be a very good remedy for heartache. Xx
I so understand this. After my second miscarriage I was just angry and had no time for the grief. I just wanted to get on with life. Having known the pain of this grief already I didn’t want to endure it again - I wanted to move along to the next stage and keep life ticking over. Same as our failed IVF - I can’t be bothered to keep living the same emotions every time. I want to enjoy live and not be sad all the time! I’m so sorry for your own pain and losses, heartbreaking xxx
Yes! That ‘can’t be bothered with this - again’ feeling is it. It’s very disorienting, at times. Because there’s also that internal pressure that if you’re not outwardly sad or grieving people will assume you’re fine or that what happened wasn’t that big a deal (which, of course, a lot of people still think). Xx
Totally!! You hit the nail on the head there. It's especially true when it's 'another' miscarriage or failed IVF - there is perhaps nothing new to say so no-one says anything.
I feel this so much, Jenny! I had an unexpected fifth pregnancy and miscarriage in July, the month after I’d decided to stop fertility treatments and instead take myself on a road trip to Alaska in fulfillment of another dream. I wrote about it on my Substack:
www.lizexplores.com/p/the-end-of-the-road
The emotions around learning I was pregnant again after four losses and three years of trying were complicated by the fact that I had finally started to let go, to make other plans. I knew if I gave up my trip, I would likely lose the pregnancy anyway and have to grieve both of my dreams.
I decided I would still go to Alaska, and I allowed myself to book my first ultrasound in Anchorage and start getting excited. Then the hCG dropped to zero and the bleeding came. I kept packing, and two weeks later I drove myself 5,000 miles to Fairbanks and picked up my husband at the airport for a belated honeymoon. He flew home two weeks later, but I’ve been driving ever since, from the Arctic Circle to the Kenai Peninsula, back through the Yukon and the Alaska panhandle to the Rocky Mountains.
I never made space for my grief. But it erupted one day while listening to an audiobook about a woman’s epic Alaska adventure. Throughout the book she grappled with the decision to have kids or pursue a life of adventure. Then, of course, the epilogue presented her happy ending: “We were hiking with our 10-month-old son…”
I lost it. I turned the book off and didn’t finish. It wasn’t even grief. It was pure rage. Rage that someone else could make such a casual decision and then have a healthy baby boy. I screamed and cried while I was driving (when I called my husband, he wisely suggested I pull over).
My grief had metastasized into anger, and it all erupted in that moment. Then as fast as I could, I bottled it at all back up so I could keep driving.
This is the first I’ve written about that experience, and I’m grateful that you opened up the topic, Jenny, because I can so relate to postponing the grief, especially the fifth time around when you are already numb to the experience.
At this point I don’t know how to process all this grief in a healthy way. I just keep driving, aiming my compass south for Mexico.
Oh Liz - I’m so sorry. But thank you for sharing your own experience of postponed grief so honestly. I so recognise that moment of losing it that you describe. Even as I writing this piece I was thinking: it’s going to come out at some point - and probably not in a good way. But I’m still waiting for it. I hope your trip gives you some kind of solace. Adventure can be a very good remedy for heartache. Xx
Thank you, Jenny. Here’s hoping your grief processes in a healthier way than mine! 😂
I so understand this. After my second miscarriage I was just angry and had no time for the grief. I just wanted to get on with life. Having known the pain of this grief already I didn’t want to endure it again - I wanted to move along to the next stage and keep life ticking over. Same as our failed IVF - I can’t be bothered to keep living the same emotions every time. I want to enjoy live and not be sad all the time! I’m so sorry for your own pain and losses, heartbreaking xxx
Yes! That ‘can’t be bothered with this - again’ feeling is it. It’s very disorienting, at times. Because there’s also that internal pressure that if you’re not outwardly sad or grieving people will assume you’re fine or that what happened wasn’t that big a deal (which, of course, a lot of people still think). Xx
Totally!! You hit the nail on the head there. It's especially true when it's 'another' miscarriage or failed IVF - there is perhaps nothing new to say so no-one says anything.