I'm going to be honest with you today, because that's the whole point of this space. I'm going through a miscarriage. Alone. It was chemical, which is the word they use when it ends early, and I know some people would say that means it doesn't count. It counts. It hurts the same. The loss feels immense, and right now it's hard to feel anything else.
After twenty years of birthing babies, maybe my body just knows what it's built for. And I think what I'm grieving, more than anything, is the end of that chapter. That part of my life is closing, and nobody throws you a party for that. You just stand there with the grief and figure out how to carry it.
So here's the thing I want to say, and the reason I'm writing this at all. Text your friends. The real ones. The ones you can text and say 'it hurts' and they don't try to fix it or talk you out of it — they just show up with coffee. I don't know what I would do without the women who do that. They don't make it go away. They just sit in it with you, and somehow that makes it survivable.
If you're carrying a loss nobody can see, I'm not going to tell you how to feel about it. I'm just going to say: tell someone it hurts. Let them show up. You don't have to carry this one alone.
Thank you to my friends who show up with coffee. You know who you are. Who's yours?
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