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For the last five weeks, I’ve been going through a miscarriage. And I’ve been embarrassed to talk about it more openly because I didn’t want you to treat me differently or think I was suddenly weak or an emotional mess or suddenly less professional or less dedicated to my work and therefore not worthy of your potential business because of the awkwardness.

In fact, I’ve been in two minds about penning (typing?) my thoughts at all, and yes I know it’s an awkward topic, but if I don’t share this, then the taboo continues.

With an increasing number of women stepping into leadership roles or running their own businesses, it feels more important than ever to raise awareness about how freakin’ tough it is to stay strong while going through a miscarriage.

What many people don’t realise is that the sad process of a miscarriage is rarely done and dusted in a day.

It’s sometimes weeks and weeks of hospital visits, scans, tests and crying before there’s closure.

And that has been my life for the last five weeks.

It’s over now. I’m fine. I don’t need your sympathy. I’m good.

 

I am here to speak up and be the change.

I’ve always been quite good at burying my emotions.

But then I quit the booze in 2018, and suddenly I was forced to acknowledge my feelings. Urgh. There was no way of numbing them with Prosecco. Or wine. Or frambozen beer.

And I admit that I’ve been feeling all the feelings the past couple of months.

The highs have been high.

Finding out I was pregnant (an unexpected surprise but entirely welcome none the less) in December motivated me to go full turbo with work – maybe you noticed a sudden surge in activity. Early mornings, Facebook Lives, daily podcast episodes, 11x marketing. By golly, Grant Cardone would have been so dang proud of me. If I was to think ahead to a maternity leave, then I’d need to put in ALL the effort now to reap the rewards later this year.

But the lows that followed have been mixed with brutal blows.

It has been tricky to keep my shit together.

Maybe you noticed the video visibility peter out. I didn’t want you to see my tired face and sad eyes.

Maybe you emailed me to ask where the podcasts had gone. I didn’t want you to hear my voice crack or break with emotion.

You see, the good thing about working remotely is that it’s easy to hide behind positive words and a computer screen.

Throw in a few superlatives, exclamation marks, and the world believes your excitement. Heck, you can even convince yourself too.

No one is any wiser about what’s really going on.

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Meanwhile. Behind the scenes. A miscarriage.

2020 has been tough. Unbelievably tough. I am kind of hoping it’s not a sign of how the rest of the decade is going to be. Or maybe the universe has put the Big Massive Test at the beginning, so I’ll be comforted by a smooth ride for the remaining nine years and eleven months. I can but hope.

The last five weeks have involved far too many hospital visits, blood tests, scans, bleeding and waiting. 

Truth be told, I’ve wanted to hide, sleep and ignore the world.

Instead, I’ve woken up with vertigo/sickness/exhaustion/tears and wondered how I would muster up the enthusiasm to be an Adult With Responsibilities. I didn’t want to be responsible. I wanted to be selfish and disappear for a while. 

I’ve pushed through 10x cramps that have had me doubled over in pain and popped painkillers until I thought I might rattle.

I’ve done my best to show up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for my clients and to the outside world on social media.

But I’ve also arrived late to things and left early merely to avoid small talk. To avoid forced smiles through tired eyes.

I’ve eaten approximately eleventy million white-refined calories a day in a pathetic attempt to change my mood.

I’ve put on a brave face and turned up to sales calls with prospective clients, mentoring calls with VAs, and meetings with existing clients while my heart was full of sorrow because I didn’t want to let anyone down.

“Being a strong woman is very important to me. But doing it all on my own is not.” – Reba McEntire

You’ll know that I set up this business because Adam and I had an awful miscarriage loss experience in 2016 and we honestly didn’t think we’d have the strength to go through that shitshow of an emotional rollercoaster that comes with another miscarriage.

We didn’t ever think we’d go through another, let alone one with so many complications that would drag out over weeks and weeks.

This draining limbo has felt never-ending.

The only thing I can liken it to is when someone dies, and there’s that weird period where the world still turns, and you’re just stuck standing still. Everything looks the same, but you feel different. Everything IS the same and life seems to be moving along at the same pace as before, and you feel like you’ve been left behind.

There was a time when doing a pregnancy test was accompanied by the fizzy excitement of what might be. I’d allowed myself to feel excited. I wish I hadn’t.

Yet taking that last pregnancy test turned into a clinical process to confirm what I already knew.

“How are you feeling?” the nurse asked me.

How am I feeling?

How *am* I feeling?

Empty. My womb is empty.

My body just didn’t want to believe it and had been clinging to the pregnancy hormones like some cruel joke for the past month or so. The punch line was all pregnancy symptoms without the reward.

But at least now we gain closure and can move on.

If I don’t look after myself, I won’t actually have a business.

The hurt over the past five weeks has undoubtedly changed me, but I feel very positive about the future. After all, I’m probably crossed between a realist and an optimist – I am naturally full of gratitude. That certainly helps.

I’m proud of myself for pushing through this life test with as much ease and grace as I could muster. I’m pleased that I recognised the signs to slow down and be kind to myself. To lean on my team. Stop the daily Facebook Lives and podcast episodes. To turn down opportunities that I knew I wouldn’t be able to do well while in this weird limbo. To say no more than ever in an attempt to protect my mental health and wellbeing.

I’m posting, not because I need sympathy, or because I am brave – I am simply being honest. 

 

I’m ready to thrive and move on.

With an increasing number of women stepping into leadership roles or running their own businesses, it feels more important than ever to raise awareness about how freakin’ tough it is to stay strong while going through a miscarriage.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I don’t want this to be taboo. 

Miscarriage. 

One in four. 

I really don’t want there to be any shame. 

Because trying to act normal, keep the social media posts a-coming, when all you want to do is hide is freakin’ exhausting. 

If you’ve experienced something similar, I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need to talk. Just send me a message if I can help. 

We fall. We break. We fail… 

But then… 

We rise. We heal. We overcome.

 

Resources

The Miscarriage Association

NHS