I have thought about how I was going to start this almost every day since everything happened. I’ve meditated on it, I’ve woken up at 3 am and I’ve daydreamed countless times contemplating the many words I could piece together to sum up this terrible yet transformational moment in my life. Although I still don’t believe I have all the right words and metaphors to narrate this life changing situation, I know I need to start by showing up and sharing with you an experience that women experience everyday all around the world.

Four months ago my husband and I made the decision to begin trying to conceive our first child. I can imagine that at this point in our relationship, the people in our lives are anxiously awaiting this addition. Travelling, seeing and experiencing our planet has always been very important to the both of us. Fortunately we have had a lot of opportunities to go on planet earth adventures. Although we haven’t even crossed half of our bucket list destinations, we became very excited for the journey of parenthood.

First and foremost, let’s be real and talk TTC (trying to conceive) As I entered this whole new world of attempting to approach motherhood, I joined different online forums and downloaded a couple apps that help women track ovulation cycles and hopefully eventually pregnancy. Although it is such a amazing opportunity to have so many tools readily available, it is also incredibly overwhelming. I stayed up late reading about other womens’ experiences tracking ovulation patterns and there was so much I didn’t know and wasn’t doing (ovulation strips ). I just knew I couldn’t wait to be a mom, spending hours just daydreaming about motherhood. Some days I swear I could feel my heart growing, so ready for a baby.

In February we were lucky enough to travel to the Canary Islands. We decided this would be our last big trip as a married couple without children, the trip we would try to create life together. I used my flo app to track my cycle and we did our best to connect on the days our chances to conceive were higher and were easy on ourselves the days we “should” but couldn’t. Our trip was adventurous, relaxing, fun, eye opening and romantic. I was so enthralled by our journey through the beautiful islands we were exploring to really pay mind to that dreadful two week period after ovulation and before the beginning of a new cycle.

Once we arrived home, I remember thinking I could be… should be.. pregnant – ahhh so exciting. A few days later I took a pregnancy test- too excited to even wait till I even missed my period, it was negative. I told myself, well it’s still early it could be wrong. Unfortunately two days later I felt that familiar beginning of cycle cramping and lower back pain, then shortly came my period. It had only been one month of trying to create life and I was disappointed that my body didn’t listen. I want a baby! I’m ready, we’re ready …didn’t my body just know?! After talking to my husband and a couple close friends, I shifted my focus to letting life happen. Things fall into place when they’re supposed to and I wanted to believe in enjoying the journey of creating a family with the one I love.

A week after we got back from our holiday, the whole world turned chaotic with the rise of COVID. Everyone around us was living in fear and anxiety. Unfortunately shortly after that, we were both laid off. We didn’t expect this loss and we tried; as much as we could, to find comfort and peace in grounding ourselves at home. We tried to maintain as much normalcy as possible as businesses and franchises were closing. This left us feeling more and more afraid of our future. We talked about putting off TTC plans to the side but truly believed in our hearts that when the universe decides its our time we will figure it out…what IT may be. A few weeks later, I got a positive pregnancy test.

It was an understatement to say we were excited. In the middle of a worldwide pandemic, we created a little life to love, protect and hold. We wanted our excitement to be shared and so we shared our news in the first few days with family and a couple close friends. Everyone was just as excited as we were. As the nausea got worst and the pandemic followed suit; we told more of our family and close friends. I am very transparent and honest with my tribe, keeping this secret was hard and confusing. I know usually people wait till 12 weeks to share their news but during some of the most difficult times for my friends and family, I wanted to share some of my light.

Into my 6th week, my grandfather died. Our relationship was complicated and we hadn’t been very close in years. The week before, I called my grandma on her birthday to tell her I loved her and that I was pregnant. She was super excited and shared the news with my grandpa. I hadn’t spoken to him on the phone for a long time, we shared our excitement and he told me he loved me despite our distance and couldn’t be more excited for us. I said I love you too. I felt so grateful to have had one last quick word with a man that taught me a lot about life. With this death, I was sad and felt so much empathy for my family and especially my grandma who lost her mom not long before. Despite so much sadness, I couldn’t help but to feel peace and gratitude for our last words together on the phone.

As the weeks progressed I tried my best to remain positive despite the world being in complete chaos. I was dealing with the constant nausea making it extremely difficult to eat. There was also uncertainty of my future and in addition to that there was the death of someone I loved. I questioned everything and worried about everything. I cried more often than ever. I leaned on my husband about all my self doubt and fears. Being pregnant is hard, being pregnant during a pandemic is very very hard. Most mornings I felt too overwhelmed by my nausea to make plans to accomplish anything for the day, I tried to stay active and occupied myself on the online pregnancy forums. I wrote in my journal to the best of my ability about my experience. Some nights I was too tired or too nauseous to show up in any capacity for myself. The experience of being nauseous all hours of the day as well as exhausted, gave me permission to be easy on myself. I am growing life. I am navigating a whole new sense of reality.

Staying true to my trend of transparency during a first trimester check up, my doctor taught me that pregnancy hormones elevate anxiety and with our worlds current state as well as my already naturally anxious demeanor, speaking to a counselor might help. I scheduled for an appointment call one week later. Melanie was great, she reminded me of some things we often easily forget. We can only control so much after all. During difficult times treat yourself as you would your best friend. This advice would later be part of my mantra.

As the pandemic continued to push its way into every crevice of our lives, just as quickly we are pushing forward to set into action a new way of going back to what’s considered our way of life. I had made the decision with the help of my doctor , that I would only return back to work after the end of my first trimester June 1. I was met with lots of love and support from my employers and colleagues. This love and support lifted the heaviness and the guilt of feeling selfish. Being pregnant, I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for this precious life I was growing, holding within me and it was my job to keep our starseed safe.

During my last week off before heading back to work, I wanted to spend as much time outside with my first baby Luna ( my dog). Terence and I were spending a lot of our free time outside riding our bikes throughout the city. I was starting to feel better during that 11th week. Terence went out with friends and I decided to use whatever energy I currently had to go for a run with Luna. Although I would never call myself a runner, I started learning last summer and enjoyed it enough. It was a beautiful evening. I ran slow, my slowest yet. Luna was warm and my ankles were tight and painful. Although it was challenging I completed my first 5 KM run with the baby! I went home feeling amazing! Accomplished. Energized. I did some stretching and putzed around the house trimming dead leaves off house plants, feeling better than ever. Eventually my sweaty damp clothing was irritating me enough to decide to shower. As I undressed I saw a dark color in my underwear. GASP. My heart sinks to its lowest possible cavity. I’m scared.

I immediately called my mom. She reassured me that something like 20% of women experience some normal spotting during their pregnancies. I want to use logic first and foremost. It’s science, science doesn’t lie. I could be totally fine. My mom tells me she experienced spotting during pregnancy. Ok, I thought I was fine. I’m at 11 weeks. I have been biking a lot and I did just go for a run. I must of over done it. Why did I go for that run. stupid stupid stupid. I call my sister in law who had a misscarriage a couple years ago. She also experienced spotting during her healthy full term pregnancy. ‘You’re far along”, she reassures me, “I bet you’re totally fine”. I called my Dr. who also told me to take a deep breath and not to stress. Take it easy for the next few days she suggests. Relax and rest, put your feet up. I spent the rest of the evening crying, stressing and obssesing on every online pregnancy forum. My husband held me and let me feel all my fears. I didn’t have any cramping and the bleeding subsided. With my husbands positive affirmations manifesting all possible positive outcomes, I went to bed believing that the universe works for us. Whatever will be, will be.

The next day I decided I would get up and go buy something for our little starseed. I went to winners, my first time shopping since the world as we knew it changed. I quickly picked out a white new born onesie that said LOVED. Unisex and adorable. I was so excited again. I hadn’t bled since the one time after the run. I am healthy. I am pregnant. I am meant to be on this journey right now. Gratitude filled me up.

Three hours later, there it was again. Blood. I panicked and called Alberta health link. I told the compassionate nurse on the other end the whole story: my healthy normal pregnancy journey, my symptoms and what I was seeing in my underwear. I told her about the running and I couldn’t hold back the guilty tears. I shouldn’t have gone. I’m so sorry. The nurse made sure to tell me more than once that regardless of the outcome, it could never because of me, “it’s definitely not because you ran”. She told me to rest and keep an eye on it. I couldn’t wait. I needed to know. I got off the phone and walked directly to my husband and asked him to take me to the ER. Without hesitation, we got into the truck and drove down the street to the Grey Nuns ER. Because of COVID, he wasn’t allowed to come with me. For the most part all the health care workers were compassionate and friendly. I went through a series of triages explaining why I was there and confirming that I didn’t have COVID or any of its symptoms. Hours past and I was called out to receive a blood test by a very sweet nurse. We set up for my blood draw near the entrance of the ER in a waiting room chair, cold and vulnerable. More hours passed. I was then called into another waiting area to wait for my ultrasound. I knew this would be the hardest moment…the answer to everything. Up to this point I tried my best to stay as positive as I could. I didn’t google. I didn’t call anyone (ER waiting room etiquette). I didn’t know if I was over reacting coming here but I was now bleeding enough that I had to wear a pad. The bleeding was not subsiding.

The ultrasound was the worst… eerily quiet and terrifying. They did the best they could to make me comfortable but I was definitely not relaxed. I just stared at the ceiling crying in my mask. Holding my breath. Asking the universe to keep us safe, make this a funny story to tell at my baby shower. The male ultrasound tech and the female nurse both sat there in silence while the slowest most painful minutes crawled by. I tried to pay attention to physical reactions and any non verbal cues, but with the mask and with my debilitating fear I just sat there quietly giving the universe my trust. What will be, will be. This is all happening for me.

Two hours later I found out it was all over. I lost the baby. The heart stopped at 9W6D. I went into the hospital that day believing and knowing I was 11 weeks. This news although devastating was confirming what my body knew, that I actually wasn’t. The doctor who told me the news -that would forever change me, was compassionate and kind. He was honest. Gave me science and kindness. I was encouraged to keep reminding myself that this was not my fault. Nothing to do with what I ate. It wasn’t the biking or the running. This happens. Women experience this devastating loss more often than we might know. It happens to 25% of people that experience pregnancy. That’s 1 in 4 of you and your friends. Chances are it has happened to more than one women in your life, we just never talk about it.

My greatest fear happened. I lost the life that Terence and I created with love. We were ready. We wanted this. The thing is, none of that matters. It’s nature. It’s our body’s way of taking care of us. I knew this but still it hurts. I was referred to the early pregnancy loss center and received a phone call from them the next morning. The nurse I spoke to was the most kind, thoughtful and loving nurse in the world. I felt supported ,understood and most of all seen. She told me about all my options. There are three. Naturally (Advil and Tylenol for pain management) ;You can use a prescribed medication that helps your body let go of the pregnancy and all of its tissues or you can get a DNC ( dilation and curetage ) which is a procedure that is used to surgically remove remaining pregnancy tissues from the uterus. I went with the natural option, I had an inner knowing that my body would take care of me. I had severe cramping the whole night and was bleeding and passing clots already. The nurse reassured me that the choice I made was the right choice for me. She warned me of potential severe pain for approximately 2 hours and a passing of a small mass that would occur (gestational sac) followed by what once was the placenta. I unfortunately was among a smaller statistic of women that experienced extremely severe pain for approximately 8 hours. I timed my contractions until they couldn’t be timed being as they were constant. My pain management wasn’t working. The Tylenol, Advil, Motrin and Midol hadn’t touched the intense cramping and contractions. I unfortunately once again went to the ER. The experience this time around was much worst. They tried to remove the ‘”mass” but my cervix wasn’t open yet. I was prescribed Oxycodone and sent home. Hours passed and the pain continued to worsen. A few hours later my body fulfilled it’s purpose of protecting me and successfully rejected my baby. I flushed our starseed down the toilet and went back to bed. I was grateful, traumatized, relieved and empty.

I write this today with so many emotions. Most of all I feel gratitude. Grateful I shared my news with my family and friends. My heart is full from all the love and support I’ve received. I am surrounded by so many amazing, strong, resilient and compassionate people. I am grateful for my life partner who held me up during my most ugly difficult times. I am grateful to have the opportunity to share my story with you in hoped to allow someone… anyone… to forgive themselves. I want to talk about it . I want to talk about women being warriors. There are so many of us that push through the most difficult things- too often in silence. There should never be guilt,responsibility or shame attached to misscariage . I know there are women who walk this earth everyday carrying this pain ALONE. I want my story to be a reminder that this devastating loss can happen to any of us. There’s no such thing as deserving the loss of a baby. I do believe that life happens for us and although this circumstances has pushed this mantra I personally live by to a whole new level, I believe this will change my life positively. I know that part of my journey on earth is to help someone in healing from this trauma. It is my personal belief that together we need to help each other heal from all of our traumas and generational preconditioning. I hope in reading my experience I can inspire someone to reach out to a family member or friend to allow themselves to heal. I hope that I can influence the familiar conversation topic addressing the obvious lack of pregnancy in the life of the women in our lives.

The expectation that every happy couple will easily conceive, should even want a family or typical insensitive comment ” don’t wait too long” is no longer tolerated. Conceiving can be challenging. Unfortunately infertility affects 13% of our population and only half of couples who are trying to conceive are successful after 3 months of trying. Chances are someone in your life has experienced a miscarriage, infertility, difficulties TTC and other personal circumstances that make having a baby not as easy and stress free as I imagined it.

This loss has truly shown me that women are warriors. We are strong, resilient, determined and intuitive forces. I am overcome with gratitude and admiration for the women in my life. My most valuable lesson is that it’s important to admit when you’re not good, when life is not easy. I hope this can be an open invitation to anyone in my life to start a difficult conversation. I believe that there is always purpose in pain , I know healing takes time and I understand it will likely change my life forever. What positibely changed me the most from the loss of our baby is truly knowing that i’m never alone- We’re never alone. Stand up and reach out because there are so many people in your circle that will open their ears and hearts to your story.

As a little girl, my strongest memory was of always being afraid.

Afraid of meeting new people, nervous about trying new things and sick to my stomach about experiencing something different. One of my most vivid memories was when I was about 5 years old. I very distinctly remember hiding in the very back corner of my parents closet, crying because I was afraid that the Christmas tree would grow through the roof. I cried and argued with my parents, terrified that this big tree would just keep getting bigger and bigger and then the roof would pop off and we would die. When these “attacks” would happen I would feel uncomfortable in my skin, I would breathe quickly and recklessly, I’d feel tightness in my chest and throat and my mind would race. Unable to calm down it would lead me having to wake up my parents or call them from a sleepover. Although they didn’t quite understand why these “attacks” were happening or what triggered them, they did their best to calm me down

 Fear is a feeling. It is triggered by a perceived danger or threat that occurs, which causes a change in metabolic and organ functions and ultimately a change in behavior, such as fleeing, hiding, or freezing from perceived traumatic events. 

Where do our fears come from? How was I so young yet so afraid that in any instant my world could come tumbling down. I spent the majority of my life living in a state of high anxiety. Experiencing sleepless nights and intense knots in my stomach that made it hard to eat. I spent countless hours playing scenarios in my head of things that could happen if I said the wrong thing, wore something unflattering/untrendy, laughed too loud or at the wrong thing and so much more. I didn’t feel ok most days and more often than not I daydreamed of being somewhere else where these feelings didn’t exist. Fortunately I didn’t feel the immense sadness and hopelessness that depression often comes with but I knew that I couldn’t live this way forever. 

I spent all of my school years in this state and it didn’t help that I never really fit in anywhere. Being French in a mostly English city, I went to a small school and the “mistakes” I often made stuck with me. I couldn’t get away from this uncool, emotional, needy, supper awkward person that was me. There were times that I felt less out of place and had some good days, but for the most part I wasn’t sleeping or eating enough. My head and body weren’t happy. 

I needed an escape

I always wanted to feel useful, like I was doing something that helped people in some way; naturally I couldn’t wait to get a job. Although I had a fear of making mistakes and making people angry I knew that I had the capacity to make them happy. After spending most of my summers from the age of 12 babysitting, finally at 14 I had my first job. This opportunity allowed me a second reality of not being the person my classmates and my family decided I was and allowing myself a new chance at new relationships. With these new people I had the ability to let go of some of the negative self talk, consequently there was a slight shift in my self esteem and confidence. During this time, creating friendships became easier and took less effort. I looked forward to work as a way to get away from my past and my awkwardness.

Despite these strides in my confidence, my self worth and self esteem were still very low. Dating, even just being around boys was the most challenging. I embarrassingly desperately wanted to be admired and desired. I didn’t know how or what girls did to get boys to pay attention to them. Mimicking the actions and words of all my beautiful girlfriends only somewhat worked. I knew there was a big part of romantic, even platonic relationships where I wasn’t truly my genuine self. My fear, anxiety and self doubt increased. 

Sadly I turned to alcohol. It was the catalyst in making all my problems disappear. 

With alcohol came confidence and a decreased need to constantly over analyze all conversations. I was fun and carefree. I convinced myself that I was better with it. My behaviour became reckless, selfish and erratic. I had become a shell of who I wanted to be, who I knew I really was. This alter ego I had created became a bigger part of my life than I knew how to control. Spending time with boys who didn’t value or respect me became a new normal. I would often wake up with a terrible headache, gut wrenching stomach aches and crippling anxiety about the previous night. My health was taking a toll for the worse. Not only was I constantly ill but I lived most days with at least one headache and hardly ever had an appetite. Over these few years I developed shingles, acute psoriasis that was sporadically all over my body and a weird phenomenon where I randomly vomited for 3 hours every second saturday.

To my family none of this made sense. I was a healthy looking young woman, conventionally nice looking, I got along well with most people and so naturally I appeared to have the world in my hands. I was able to finish cosmetology school at 19 and was doing well at the hair salon I worked at. Despite my accomplishment, over time I felt like a fraud. The late nights and copious amounts of alcohol consumption lasted longer than I’d like to admit.

I was living on my own, renting the basement suite of my grandparents’ home, and things continued to get much worse. Although I was extremely grateful and appreciative of the opportunity to live there, I certainly didn’t show it. They welcomed me with open arms but had rules. Being conservative and from a religious background they had certain expectations of me. On more than one occasion I behaved in a way that definitely did not reflect my true self. I spent time with selfish, egotistical and quite honestly bad people who not only took advantage of me but of my centrally located living space. Despite knowing better and wanting better I continued to allow this behavior in my life. 

It wasn’t until the end of an extremely unhealthy relationship where I eventually hit my inevitable rock bottom..

I was asked to do wedding hair for an old friend from school. This old friend and I had a tumultuous relationship that dated back to grade 1. For the most part in our early school years, we got along well. It wasn’t till high school where things really shifted. As most of us know, girls have a reputation of being horrible to each other in the name of jealousy and insecurity. 

In grade 10 she allegedly started the rumour that became my narrative from grade 10-12; SLUT. That’s what I was deemed for all of high school, all because I drank too much the night of my first high school party, to curve my crippling social anxiety, and woke up in a bed with more than one stranger. To this day I still am not sure what happened that night. What I do know is that it changed my life forever. I was bullied for something I couldn’t deny with certainty. Subsequently I quietly coexisted, dodging the hurtful words and the erasers that were constantly hurled in my direction everyday for three years. I spent many nights crying myself to sleep, wondering how awful I must really be. I deserved this, slut. 

Not wanting to finish high school feeling anger and hate, I reached out a couple weeks before graduation to clean the slate. We agreed to let it all go and enjoy the last couple moments we were forced to share. 

When she reached out a couple years later asking me to do her hair for her wedding day, it was as if I was in highschool all over again. Despite having cleaned the slate, I felt a great sense of unworthiness and resentment that came back to the surface. I convinced myself that it was no big deal and that I should be nice and participate in her big life event. I should have realized this was a bad idea when I attended the bachelorette in the middle of the demise of my abusive relationship. Playing my role in my own narrative of the sad girl who drinks too much and acts foolish, I again came home with a headache and a very bad case of the booze blues. 

Then came the worst night of my life.

At the wedding, although I still had lingering feelings of hurt and resentment from our past, I was happy to see her find true love and start this new chapter in life. The day started off good, everyone was excited to be there and the energy was high. At the reception I’m not sure if it was the toonie bar, the fact that I was newly single at a table with couples, or the fact that I had to see the familiar faces of the people who mistreated me; but true to form, I over drank.

This time I ended up with the best man, who without my knowledge or care was not available. The next part is very blurry to this day but I remember being sick in a house I didn’t recognize. I was afraid. Trying to leave I made a mess and broke picture frames and other things I couldn’t see clearly. He left, I think and I awoke, scared and alone in an unfamiliar place. I had no idea where I was. I called my grandparents. I can only imagine how messy and disappointing I must have sounded. Slurring my words, not completing full sentences and then hanging up. I woke up hours later, with my underwear off and a somewhat familiar face in my crotch. It was the best man. My head was pounding, my eyes barely able to open and my mouth tasted like vomit. I got up and thanked him for not violating me (although he had) and asked him to call me a cab. I had fallen asleep with my contacts in and had contracted a severe eye infection that lasted weeks. This all resulted in an extremely diminished sense of self worth.

Here I was again, slut. 

Yet again I drank too much and recreated my high school identity I worked so hard to forget. She was right, I deserved it. They were all right. SLUT. I spent the day with my closest friends who tried to cheer me up and make my burning infected eyes cry less but I knew when I got home I would have to explain myself to my grandparents who I grew to love and admire so much. 

This would be my second warning, being more conservative I had a feeling it would be the last. The next morning they asked me to come upstairs. With a knot in my stomach the size of the world, I nervously welcomed the scolding and disappointed looks.

The conversation started with both of them expressing concern and obvious disappointment. They didn’t sign up for this. This living arrangement was supposed to be temporary and easy, and I certainly wasn’t being easy. I listened, really listened and humbly swallowed their truth.

It was time for a change, a big change in my life.

I was able to dig deep and speak my truth. Without going into too much detail, I explained to them that it was the worst night of my life. I knew I had truly disappointed them and worse than that, I disgusted myself. I promised them that this would never happen again and that I was ready to make some serious changes. 

I’m not sure how much they believed or my explanation but they agreed to give me a second chance. This was the unconditional love that I desperately needed. 

I didn’t grow up spending lots of time with my dad’s parents and when I initially moved in, I worried what they would think of me. It turned out to be the most rewarding experience in my young adult life. Not only did they hold me accountable for my actions but they allowed me space to grow and learn. What was supposed to be a temporary situation lasted two years. In those two years, I accomplished more than I ever imagined possible.

 After hitting rock bottom, everything shifted.

I took a long break from alcohol, stopped spending time with boys, rather opening my life to men who respected and valued me. I started teaching myself to cook, learned how to properly clean, acquired a similar love for plants that my grandmother has, committed to facing my fear of learning how to drive and most importantly introduced exercise into my daily routine. I believe that their unfaltering unconditional love broke the rusted thick old chain I had surrounding my life. My fear of never being enough took away the joy in living. Numbing my fears with alcohol was never the answer; it was blinding my ability to see my potential.

I see this transitional, awful and painful time in my life as one of the most special years because of the value in the lessons I learned.

I began to realize that although I will never be perfect, I will always be worth loving. My inner self,my soul started shining through and I started to truly love myself. I started to exercise almost daily and the changes in my mind and body were visible. My anxiety became less invasive and my self confidence was climbing. 

Everybody has imperfections and we all have a story of what made us who we are today. I believe that our stories and imperfections are here to teach us and guide us to our bigger purpose. In my soul I know without a doubt that everything in my life has happened for me and not to me. My life experiences, childhood traumas (believe me there are many), adolescent obstacles and my young adult tribulations have given me the ability to recognize my strength and resiliency. Everything that has happened and even continues to happen (no life is perfect), has given me the gift of unconditional love for all.  

If you’re reading this and are currently struggling with the question – Why is this happening to me? I invite you to redirect your question to – What can I learn from this? What skill, attribute or life lesson can this provide for me and my future?

Not every life lesson will be life altering but I promise you it will be a much heavier gift than you could ever imagine. 

Thank you for making time and space for me in your day or evening.
My soul honors your soul.I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides.
I honor the Light. Love. Truth. Beauty and Peace within you, because it is also within me. In sharing these things we are united. We are the same.
We are one.

love and light

Mélodie

Namaste.