This is me at 28 weeks pregnant, just before heading to my ultrasound appointment to check on my baby boy. I was filled with happiness, relaxation, and even a bit of confidence about my appearance — enough to want to snap a photo to capture the moment. After seeing my child on the ultrasound, who was measuring ahead of schedule, my pride in my growing belly only intensified, as it was nurturing a healthy little one.
However, later that day at a prenatal massage, the therapist asked how far along I was. When I shared my due date, her shocked response was, “Wow, you have quite a journey ahead of you. Are you expecting twins?” I wasn’t. Suddenly, all my confidence evaporated. The pride I felt for carrying a big baby seemed misplaced, and I was left feeling embarrassed. Guilt and shame about my appearance bubbled to the surface.
You see, aside from a few short months, I’ve been pregnant for over a year. I lost my first baby at 21 weeks, and just a few months later, while still engulfed in grief, I found myself pregnant again. My body never truly had a chance to recover. How could it, after such trauma? I had nurtured a baby past the halfway mark, only to lose her.
The emotional toll was devastating. Physically, I went through the motions of postpartum recovery — from hormones to bleeding and abdominal cramps. The most painful part was having my milk come in with no baby to nourish. Even when the weight began to drop due to my sadness, my postpartum belly lingered, a constant reminder of a pregnancy that ended too soon. I learned a lot about my body’s capabilities during those weeks, but I also grappled with the guilt of feeling like I had failed.
I looked at my body with disappointment and anger. I was fearful of intimacy again, and when we did try, I assumed my body would let me down when it came to conception. Surprisingly, I conceived quickly, which only added to my anxiety. Throughout my first trimester, I struggled with self-loathing and anxiety, convinced that my body would betray me again. But as the weeks passed, I began to realize that maybe this time would be different. I started to marvel at my body’s resilience.
What the massage therapist failed to recognize was the arduous and painful journey I had taken to reach this stage of pregnancy. She couldn’t see that the life growing inside me was a beacon of hope after a time of profound sadness. My body wasn’t just carrying one baby; it was also holding onto the memory of another, along with the dreams of starting a family. While she may not understand this, I do, and ultimately, my perception of my body is what truly matters. My body hasn’t failed me; my perspective on its strength and beauty has.
The truth is, we all carry something within us. It may be the promise of new life, the weight of past loss, or a mixture of both. It might be fear, hope, joy, and pain all intertwined. Regardless of what you carry, it is far more significant than what you see in the mirror.
For those on similar paths, you might find value in our other blog post here, which offers insights into emotional and physical wellness during pregnancy. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, check out this reputable online retailer for an at-home insemination syringe kit. Additionally, for comprehensive information about pregnancy, the NIH provides an excellent resource that can guide you through this journey.
Summary
In this reflective piece, Lisa Harper shares her emotional journey through pregnancy, touching on the challenges of grief, the joy of new life, and the complexities of body image. She emphasizes the importance of self-acceptance and the unseen burdens many carry, reminding us that our experiences go beyond what is visible.
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