‘I Kept My Miscarriage a Secret From My Best Friend’
Over the next few weeks, I bumbled through the idea of becoming a parent again. My breasts grew tender, my stomach started to bloat, I shared secret smiles with my barista as I ordered decaf. Then one morning, when I pulled back the bedcovers, I saw a dark crimson stain on the sheets. It was over. I’d had a miscarriage.
My husband and I stood staring at what might have been, devastated. But it’s strange how fast self-preservation kicks in—I stripped the bed, dressed Fin for school, made his breakfast, got ready for work, and grabbed my Starbucks (relishing the caffeine) on the way in. Later that day my doctor confirmed I had miscarried.
I did what I think a lot of women must do when this happens: I went to Google for answers, not quite sure how to talk about the pain of miscarriage. I reran in my head all of the things I must have done to “cause” this. (Obviously, with the benefit of hindsight, I know I hadn’t done anything.) Still, I didn’t tell Sophie.
After a few weeks I called to tell her what had happened. “Oh angel, I am so, so sorry," she said. "Why didn’t you tell me, weirdo?” We laughed; I had a little cry. I said I was sorry a million times. She called me crazy a million times back, and then she said, “What’s really wild is how common this is.”
She was right. An estimated 10% of all known pregnancies end in miscarriage. The same number of women will have trouble getting pregnant in the first place. And still, we hardly talk about it. The fertility industry is projected to be worth a whopping $36 billion in the next four years. But what’s more remarkable is the lack of investment into the emotional and mental well-being of the women impacted by fertility struggles. (And the lack of education regarding conditions we might experience: endometriosis, PCOS, premature ovarian failure, early menopause—the list is endless.) We don’t know enough about alternatives to pregnancy or about how to navigate loss. We often don’t know what we don’t know.
When I created Peanut, I wanted to build the mother of all social networks for mothers to support one another, to build community. What I didn’t consider at that point were all of the different roads to motherhood. But as I watched my best friend on hers, and I had my own experience of loss, it felt only right to do what Soph asked me for all of those years ago. Adapt Peanut to create Peanut TTC (trying to conceive). It’s a place for women on their fertility journey to find and connect with other women dealing with their own challenges, to support one another, to share, and to help end the silence.
Michelle Kennedy is the founder of Peanut, a social network for women to connect across fertility and motherhood. Follow her @Peanut.
