Miscarriage and Spirituality

Miscarriage and Spirituality...

I've spent the last hour trying to make sure all 250+ posts in The Babyfruit blog had a corresponding category so that random posts were not lost in the ether. I am not done with the process yet, but note some new categories on the right side and also some "new" old posts in existing categories. I tried not to get sucked into reading all of these older posts as my pregnancies and miscarriages blurred one into the other. I just don't want to go there right now.

I was blogging a little about spirituality and religion on one of my other blogs, and it made me think about the shifts in my own spirituality and beliefs since I began miscarrying.

After my 1st miscarriage - which came about so unexpectedly - I didn't turn to God or religion or spirituality per se. But I do remember while I was getting a reflexology treatment and lesson from an ordained minister from some non-denominational church (she and her husband also married G. and me), she told me how she explained miscarriage to her daughter who had had one.

She talked about how sometimes there are spirits that need only a short time on earth and therefore, once they have had that time, they leave and are grateful for that time. We, as miscarrying women, are hosts to these spirits.

This theory was far more palatable to me than the "you were my angel and now you are in heaven" mumbo jumbo. That is so not my style. But the spirits invading my body for just a moment of earthly knowledge also pushed my spirituality envelope. Still, I tried to draw comfort from it somehow.

I wasn't angry at God for the miscarriage. I didn't think it was God's will. I didn't think that God fit into the picture in any way.

After the 2nd pregnancy and miscarriage, I held a healing ceremony that I wrote with help of the same minister. The location was surrounded by some amazing rock formations in Vedauwoo in Wyoming, the sky was steely gray with a brisk chill wind blowing. I looked up at one rock formation and saw an ancient fertility goddess figure in its curves. I expected to cry during the ceremony, but I was surprisingly calm and my mind and heart were clear. I'm not sure how much comfort I derived from the ritual, however, I was glad that I had done it. The act of holding any kind of ritual at all was opening my mind (heart, soul) to new ways. I was not resistant so I think that was a good thing.

After the 3rd pregnancy and miscarriage, I addressed spirituality in a different way, speaking with an Aryuvedic practitioner who recommended that I build several altars to deal with my emotions, particularly a grief altar. In theory, I liked the idea of creating concrete spaces for my spirit to purge and heal. But the reality was that I didn't have a backyard for my grief altar (it wasn't supposed to be indoors) so never got around to doing it.

After the 3rd pregnancy and miscarriage, a dear friend of mine offered to perform a ritual to speak to my uterus. She also said she thought that she could speak for my uterus, letting me know what "she," (my uterus, not my friend) needed from me. I adore this friend and believe she has a gift so agreed. We were joined by another wonderful woman friend one evening. We danced inside of a space sectioned off by colorful feather boas and candles, with African tribal music and beating drums playing in the background. My friend had me lay down and the women placed their fingertips lightly on me to make a connection.

Then my friend went into a trance-like state. She said in a soft voice what she felt my uterus was saying to me. "She" (uterus) wanted me to acknowledge her. Wanted me not to blame myself. I think I said something to my uterus, too, relayed through my friend. I don't know what to make of the experience although I was deeply grateful to my friend to do this for me.

Now I don't feel drawn to any particular religion or spiritual belief or ritual after 4 miscarriages and 1 chemical pregnancy, but I do feel spiritually drained. I'm not sure how to replenish the old spiritual coffers. Certainly not by embracing Jesus Christ as my savior or by reconnecting with my Jewish heritage or converting to Buddhism or similar thing.

The closest I've come to anything remotely spiritual these days is being drawn to yoga. I think the breathing and the quieting of the mind/meditation is very appealing to my never-ending buzzing brain. I seem to fill my brain with lots of thoughts and projects to mask my empty heart and soul. But yoga quiets this brain of mine and allows me to come to terms with my deeper emptiness.

Yoga classes here in Anchorage are very expensive. I have found one woman who teaches a few classes a week in the basement of a Methodist church (how fitting - I'm doing yoga in a church) and she is charging $11 per session. I have taken one class and while I'm much more used to Hatha yoga that gives me that time to breathe and meditate, I endured a flow class of Baptiste style yoga. Very intense for me, someone who hates for my heart to pound or my pores to sweat (just a weird hang up of mine).

Two days later, my muscles are very sore, but I'm also feeling like I should go again. It was physically challenging, yet I somehow feel that I need to be worshipping at my own temple - My Body. I should be my own religion. My religion should entail filling up my heart and soul while re-conditioning my body to move and flow, gain strength and endurance. I will probably go again to the class, feeling a bit masochistic about it but also feeling like I have to shake myself up somehow, get to my core. Maybe my healing will happen through flow yoga.

I have no desire to pray about my miscarriages. I have no idea who would be listening other than myself. (My theory as a child was that God was actually inside of us, not a higher being or power but actually the deeper part of us. We were God. But what did I know since I was only a child?) While pregnant the first few times, I did speak in my mind to my ovaries and to my uterus and the tiny sac growing inside of it. A lot of good that did.

This isn't about God. This isn't about religion. This isn't even about spirituality although I do see that my shift has gone from seeking answers in the cosmos to seeking peace within myself. Face it, this is all about me.

Each one of us deals with our losses in such individual ways that it isn't fair for me to say "This is the right way to think about miscarriage" or "This is the right spiritual way to deal with miscarriage." I can only share what is working - or not working - for me. I hope you will share what is working and not working for you.

Comments

[Angie]

I wanted to let you know that at a community college close to where I live, the fee for sitting in a yoga class is $35.00. Of course you don't get credit for it but it is pretty cheap when you consider you can go 3 times a week for a full semester. You can also usually sit in for free a class to see if you like it first.

[Bec]

I'm not great at coping with things, I tend to pretend it's not happening, which really doesn't work that well :)

The one thing that really helped after my second miscarriage was writing everything down. Everything I was feeling, physically and emotionally, all the stupid things I was thinking.

[cat]

The RPL experience has certainly made me wonder how there can be any higher power. It seems cruel that there could be Gods that are so detached and uncaring.

Maybe the universe and the energy in it is just not that complicated or intelligent. Perhaps it is only there when we gather it and mold it for our own needs and peace of mind.

I guess it's easier to stand at my altar and envision myself gathering energy to help me as needed. Somehow it is easier than believing there is a God or Goddess that watches me suffer and does nothing to help.

Finding other women who understand and share my experience has really helped. To me it's more helpful to know that other women think of me and gather their energy to help when I suffer while I do the same for them.

Maybe it's that I feel more in control of my own destiny that way.

[opalLeaves]

I just had a miscariage this past May. It was my first pregnancy. I was 10 weeks along. We went in for our first ultrasound and the doctor told us the baby wasn't going to make it. I was in complete shock. I felt like I was going to die and that my existence had been ripped from me. Thank God for my husband or I would either be dead or really hurt from trying to kill myself.
It felt so unfair that this had happened to me. I am a Montessori teacher by training and have waited my whole life to be a mother.
The only thing that gave me piece was the saying "God never gives us more than we can handle." About a week before we found out our baby had stopped growing my husband and I had the genetic testing conversation. We decided that if something was wrong, we wouldn't keep it. I know that might sound awful to some of you, but that was our decision. However, I know that desicion would be extremely painful and difficult.
So for me I feel God was protecting me from something I might not have been able to do or endure. What if our baby had been born with no heart, or half of a heart (there was no heart found at the ultrasound).
I identify with God, not so much one prophet or another, Jesus or Buddah, but I know there is a power of God over us, helping us, and protecting us.
I hope someone else out there can benefit from my thoughts. Thanks for listening.

[ivy]

Soon it is gonna be a year since I lost my second baby at 8 weeks. I was never the same since then. The second was more painful after we heard the heartbeat. The first one was blighted ovum.
Whenever I see the ultrasound scan photos, it always make me cry.

I am now going through series of tests to make sure my next pregnancy will be safe.

this is one helpful blog. keep it up.