The Miscarried Mind

Live more. Complain less.

These were the thoughtless words designed to uplift that scrolled through my Facebook news feed on the day I miscarried my embryo, my baby, my tiny soul spark.

Do people ever think of the way an innocuous meme might catch someone having a really bad day off guard?

Really, these words were sort of perfect to capture how I am feeling about the fact that I just flushed my embryo down toilet, a tiny spark of life that grew for too few days. This ‘live more, complain less,’ is how we treat the mothers of the miscarried. Better luck next time.

Today I had my first miscarriage. It’s not a first that I’m proud of, but it’s still a milestone. It’s the first time that I watched my mind and my emotions spring sky high, all the way up to heaven’s happiness, and then subsequently watched them sink low, down into muck and mire and my backyard septic tank.

Expecting Me

Me on the day I knew I was expecting to expect.

Don’t get too excited, people say, don’t get excited until week 12. The risk goes down and you have a better shot at a full term baby. Tell me a mother who hasn’t gotten her heart excited after months and years of trying to conceive. The elation that comes when you finally see the plus sign isn’t something you need to suppress.


Don’t be too sad, people say, many pregnancies end in miscarriage, it’s common, it wasn’t a baby yet. Tell me a mother who won’t be devastated by watching the little soul potentiality exit the womb in a sea of red. The sadness you feel as you physically become aware that the life has left your body isn’t something you need to pretend doesn’t exist.

Why am I sharing this?

I’m sharing it because it’s real. It’s happening to me, today. I’m sharing it because I’m a yoga teacher, a person who teaches others how to move through and feel their experiences without becoming too attached. For me, to move through, I have to feel it – feel it all and part of me feeling is sharing it too. I’m sharing because there are millions of women who can’t, who won’t, who were told that they shouldn’t care too much or that things will be better next time. I’m sharing because it is unhealthy to hide and disconnect from the experience. I’m sharing because the soul that tried to be born in my body deserves a little bit of recognition and mourning.

So, to that tiny raspberry cluster of cells, I want you to know that I felt you. I want you to know that someone in my yoga class this weekend told me that I was glowing and that was YOU glowing. I want you to know that I exactly know the moment you were conceived and I know the exact due date of March 25 of 2017. You were made of pure love and joy and your parents were so excited at the thought of your spark of life. I celebrated fully, I became really excited and I’d do all of that again, even if I knew I would lose you. You made me feel so happy and wonderful and your loss makes me feel so devastated and empty – but I’d do all the same things again, I’d have all these experiences again, because I’m learning and I’m growing from them. I’m alive – fully alive and feeling my life, even the less than perfect parts of it all.

Maybe the purpose of your short life was to open me up raw, to share this with others who can’t find their own voice. Maybe there is a blessing in that for both me and them.


A Rainbow in My Backyard.


I hear that a miscarriage is called a Rainbow baby. I like thinking about that, the symbol of the rainbow – of God’s promise that after 40 days and 40 nights of flood and rain and storms, that things would be OK again. I understand that now, I will be OK again, and I believe that there is a promise out there that someday, in someway, your spirit will find a home again too and that we might meet in this lifetime or the next. No matter how short your life, your mother loved you.

Until that time, I am going to feel your loss and breathe into it. I’m going to sit on my yoga mat and allow myself to be less than ok – allow myself to practice in the pain and sadness because there is no joy and light without sorrow and shadows.

So no, you don’t have to live more and complain less. You do what you need to do and if you need a hand to hold or a hug, I’ll see you and won’t say anything more because there aren’t enough words.


Something to Remember.



The light and love within me, sees and reflects that light and love inside you. Until we meet again, may we all know peace.




Mondays: 7:00 pm @Senara on Willow Knolls

Fridays: Noon & 4 pm @Senara

My Personal Practice

Alignment Authenticity Anatomy Junkie Spiritual Flow Mantras Mudras Continuous Education Practice What You Teach Progress Not Perfection Guiding Teachers: BKS Iyengar Pattabi Jois Shiva Rea Daren Friesen (Moksha Chicago) Marinda Stopforth (Prairie Yoga - Lisle, IL)

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