I saw a trend when I shared on my socials that I had miscarried.”Me too” was shared by a lot of women on my posts. A few weeks later, I asked my followers if they knew of someone who had miscarried. The responses were overwhelming, with people knowing at least one woman who lost a child in utero.
It’s such a widely experienced phenomenon, but the loneliest one any woman can go through.
So many can attested to this. My post held many of their hands down memory lane to the darkest moment of their womanhood.
“An experience I know oh too well,” was shared by a mom I have seen on the timeline occasionally. I have even engaged with her once. And I had no idea that she was once pregnant and had no child to show for it.
That is my pain of miscarriage
Having nothing to show for those positive pregnancy tests or the subsequent excitement. The first few weeks of my pregnancy were typical of first trimester woes. And after all of that, there is nothing. No child.
It stung when I realised that I have been around women that went through this pain as well; an older black woman I look up to. The cool blogger mom I occasionally chat to. The girl that’s dating my cousin. My best friend’s sister. The “everyday woman” who has done battle with the darker side of fertility.
This is especially difficult in black communities. This woman must awkwardly answer questions about why she does not have kids yet.
She’s the Makoti dealing with the pressure of not bearing the expected fruits of marriage. “Where are the grandkids, Makoti?” has become the bane of her existence.
The woman next to you might be that woman
It is, however, a private matter. A matter that probably leads so many of us down lonely paths of trying to figure out if we are even justified to grieve. What are you grieving for?
Hurt because you “lost a pregnancy”? “Was it an actual baby yet?” “Should you be crying?”
It’s an emotional rollercoaster with you alone on it, even with the most supportive family members.
This is why knowing that someone else went through it, and is still standing, has been empowering for me. A reminder that “this too shall pass”. This alone has encouraged me to share my story. Sharing mine makes the next mom feel a little less lonely. Loneliness breeds sadness, and sadness can lead to depression. The mental wellbeing of an angel mom is dependant on how lonely or understood they feel. When Karabo shares about her emotional rollercoaster, the next woman can relate, and is given hope that tomorrow will be a less sad day than today.
One in four
These are the staggering, yet silent statistics.
For every room with 20 women, five of them may have lost, or will lose, a child.
A reminder to be kinder to our kind.
Karabo Mokoena is a wife, a girl mom, a writer and content creator. She is the Resident Contributor for Parenty and a Mommy Blogger, creating relatable parenting content for her blog Black Mom Chronicles. You can engage with her on her Instagram and Facebook pages. She is a Political Science graduate, who has worked in Human Resources for most of her professional career. She loves engaging with people, thus her choice to specialise in recruitment. She loves telling stories and sharing her life’s journey to brighten someone else’s day