This photo was taken nine days before I left Mexico and saw my now ex-husband for the last time.

(Can I get a GOOD RIDDANCE?!)

While I look happy in this picture, I was broken. I had my first miscarriage one year earlier, I was moving back to Michigan to my parents’ basement to get a job because we had no money, and my marriage was falling apart.

I wouldn’t realize just how broken I was for almost another year. But I was skinny, so for most people, that’s all they saw. And we all know skinny = happy, right?

Now when I see this and other pictures from that time in my life, all I feel is sad. The woman I’d become while living in Mexico didn’t know how to speak up. How to speak out. How to shout that I needed help.

It took me awhile, but I did eventually figure out how to get the help I needed — and help others at the same time.

We only told a handful of people that I was expecting because “you’re not supposed to tell too soon” in case you lose the baby. But the minute I did lose the baby, I wanted everyone to know. It felt disingenuous to keep something so life-changing from the people in my life. As I began telling my secret, I quickly realized just how common miscarriage is. Even if you personally haven’t experienced one, I guarantee you know dozens of women who have lost a baby. And often, like myself, more than one.

The Mayo Clinic says,

About 10% to 20% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage. But the actual number is likely higher. This is because many miscarriages happen early on, before people realize they’re pregnant.

Sharing my story is cathartic. But less selfishly, I’ve learned that talking about my loss has made others feel less alone. As most anyone who’s suffered a loss knows, there’s a camaraderie in shared grief. But not everyone is comfortable blasting the intimate details of their life on the internet. Not everyone has people with whom they can confide. Not everyone feels the love and support I did after losing my babies. So I’ll keep yammering about what I went through for as long as it makes others feel less isolated.

Recently I was reminded how harmful suppressing trauma can be.

Last week I had a conversation with a friend who shared the trauma of her miscarriage. I’ve heard horrible stories over the years, many ending with the woman almost dying from blood loss (Pregnancy: it’s not the cakewalk society likes to pretend it is) but this story left me speechless. I won’t share details to respect her privacy, but what struck me more than her horrific experience was the pain in her eyes several years later. How broken she still is.

Grief never fully goes away, but this wound still seemed fresh.

I didn’t want to push, but I asked if she’d talked to anyone about what she went through. Keeping any kind of personal trauma locked inside can slowly eat away at you and make it impossible to see a way to the other side. She indicated she’d talked to friends, but it was clear those conversations hadn’t been enough. I did my best to let her know she’s not alone, to assure her that the pain would get easier with time, but I don’t know if she truly heard me.

I’ll keep talking to my friend. Not all at once, and not the next time we see each other, but soon.

I don’t know if it will be enough, but I’ll keep trying.

If you have experienced pregnancy loss or know someone who has, these resources may help:

Finding Emotional Support After Pregnancy Loss

Supporting Someone Through Pregnancy Loss