How Do I Lose Thee? Let Me Count the Ways

I painted this piece after my miscarriage in June

I painted this piece after my miscarriage in June, I call it ‘Spill’

When we ‘lose the baby’, what do we really lose?

We lose hope. Hope for the future, for a child in our arms.

We lose plans. Plans for a life, for a family, for happiness.

We lose faith. As our bodies seems to fail us, we lose the most faith in ourselves.

We lose security. We lose a sense of trust that things will be okay. That blissful ignorance that it won’t happen to me. We lose innocence. What happens if we try again? We risk losing a connection, a happiness, excitement. We risk losing all these things we deserve.

Sometimes we lose friendships. Often, in the midst of a cloud of grief, we have among our circle, one or two friends who cannot face that darkness. We find them drifting, avoiding, absent. We lose one more person in our lives.

We lose confidence, we lose ease. We lose the comfort we once had to face the world, to talk to others, to be honest. We lose the safety we once knew in everyday situations, now we live in fear of triggers, of those moments, like a quick, sharp slap that knock us down again.

We lose time. Time between now and when we have a family. Time spent in bed, in tears. Time from work. Time from life. Time that was once dedicated to relationships, that can often now only be spent soaking up all that hurts in our hearts.

We lose face. The world sees us broken, wounded, lost. The world sees the cracks and scars on our skins, and casts pitying eyes. The world sees weakness.

We lose freedom. The freedom to talk about our babies. We hide away ultrasound photos, reply, ‘I don’t have any kids’. We don’t speak their names, we don’t tell the world how much we miss them.Β  We lose the chance to be called ‘mother’.

We lose a fragment of ourselves, having already dedicated the whole of our hearts to a tiny unborn life. We lose our strength. We find ourselves unable to lift our bodies from our beds, to lift our spirits from the darkest depths. We lose control.

We lose a tiny heartbeat.

We lose ten fingers, ten toes, a smile, eyes, nose.

We lose a tiny life.

We lose the power to choose, we discard, flush, abandon. If lucky, we can bury, memorialize, acknowledge, but so often we are caught unawares, and we literally lose that tiny body. Lost to a place unknown.

We lose a baby.

We lose a child.


Perhaps we can gain strength as our journey progresses, gain a circle of women who understands. We can gain a voice in the darkness to call out and ease the pain on the next burdened soul to stumble in, bleary eyes, clutching at her empty womb. We’ve gained a resonating love that permeates our world, though it aches and burns at times, this love has changed us. Sometimes we gain words, the power to speak our stories and to call out our babies’ names to a community who understands.Β  Often, we gain perspective, shaky legs finding footing, we cling to the things in life that really matter, and we find ourselves buried in the rubble, we dig out towards the sun. We can gain a view of our lives we may otherwise have missed.

True, there are gains. There are moments in life that shape who we are and help us to become the people we are, though maybe never planned to be. And often, we gain character, we gain boldness, we gain an undeniable honesty about ourselves.

I try my best to be thankful for those gains, those strengths I could’ve gone on oblivious to, I could’ve lived much of my life without. I have gained gratitude.

There are gains.

But oh, there is so much lost.

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18 Responses to How Do I Lose Thee? Let Me Count the Ways

  1. mostlyprobably says:

    I have no words. This is beautiful. I particularly loved: “We lose security. We lose a sense of trust that things will be okay. That blissful ignorance that it won’t happen to me. We lose innocence. What happens if we try again? We risk losing a connection, a happiness, excitement. We risk losing all these things we deserve.” Even if I am able to get pregnant again, I will never know what it’s like to just be excited and happy and connected. After two miscarriages, pregnancy is not an exciting prospect. Pregnancy is fear.

    • CGsaysstuff says:

      Thank you.
      That’s exactly how I feel. How will I ever be able to build a connection to another unborn child, build excitement, happiness, trust? I will always be plagued with too much knowledge of the bad that can happen.

  2. This is very moving. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. Your painting is beautiful.

  3. This is such an honest post. Reading this, I know that feeling all to well, I just could never put it into words. I am printing this out and sharing it with whoever doesn’t understand me and this battle. Thank you.

  4. Jenna says:

    I can relate to all of this. Now that I’ve completed the miscarriage, I find myself less sad but more impatient, anxious, and fearful. Impatient- having to wait until my body can “reset” itself and build up a healthy womb again, but wanting so badly to conceive again now..or yesterday. Anxious- thinking of all the “what ifs.” And fearful- can I really go through this again? Thank you for sharing the painful words that many women can relate with but cannot articulate.

  5. Thank you thank you thank you…you have given words to so much that I feel. Beautiful beautiful words, thank you

  6. Cg: once again you blow me away. I read my thoughts written in your words and paint. Thanks for tapping into you to help us all. It’s a hard thing to do but you are a bit of my superhero. You do the hard things that help us all.

  7. dmdeluca17 says:

    Moved by this.

    Really. Moved.

    Thank you.

  8. ChickinNH says:

    Thank you for this post. I know this was written many months ago but I hope you know that you are still helping other mothers, like me, who have experienced losses. I just lost my baby 4 days ago at 20 weeks and am so grateful to have found your beautifully written blog. This post especially touches me and you were able to so eloquently capture what I feel in ways that I don’t know if I ever could. Thank you.

    • CGsaysstuff says:

      Oh, I am so so sorry for your loss. What a heartbreaking blow that must’ve been for you.
      Thank you for reading, I’m glad you e found some comfort, and I hope you can find some hope here too. Comment or message anytime you need to.

  9. I found your blog through a friend. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you so much for writing this. I lost my twin boys in January and every word you have written is so true. I feel like I will always come back to this post and read this over and over again when I am feeling lost.

    • CGsaysstuff says:

      Krystal, I am so sorry for the loss of your boys,what a tragic ordeal to face.
      I’m happy to hear you’ve found a connection here on my blog, and it touches my heart to hear that you feel some solace in my words :). Welcome.

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