Unspoken

"Treat others with kindness. You never know what burdens people bear or what they are going through. You may have power to lift their spirits or break them." -Unknown

Pregnancy has made me keenly aware of this, and I pray that writing about it will keep it in the forefront of my mind a little longer.

In March, after eight months of trying and five days of knowing we were pregnant, we started to lose our first baby. For the next week, I miscarried. During those seven days I had conference calls, I coached two tennis meets, I worked a vet conference in Nashville and hosted a fellowship breakfast, I went to the doctor's office on my birthday to confirm what we suspected; that there was nothing we could do. My family celebrated my birth... And no one knew.  

People treated me kindly, others treated me poorly, most treated me just like they always would, just like they would treat any stranger, or acquaintance. No one had any idea that a tiny life was dying inside of me, along with the hopes and dreams that it took with it. 

Statistics say that about one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage. I began to think about all the women around me and how little I knew about their daily battles. Some of them were newly married and just getting to know their spouse as they lost their first child. Others were raising young children who demanded all of them, their time, their energy, their focus, as they grieved the end of a life that would never demand any more from them. Some had been struggling with infertility for years...

If we knew any of this we would have great compassion on people. We would offer gentleness, grace, forgiveness, and understanding. 

What is stopping us from assuming everyone is suffering in such a way, instead of assuming the alternative; that no one is? When you ask how someone's doing as you greet them in the grocery store or church parking lot, they're not going to tell you they're losing a baby...

There's another side to this emotional coin. For almost two months, other women are walking around carrying the huge secret of a living fetus. It may be before they share their exciting news, or their bump expands their waistline, but the highs and lows of the quiet first trimester of pregnancy are as real as any public roller coaster. Just because she hasn't told you she's pregnant, doesn't mean she's not always sure to have a hair clip handy and an awareness of the closest bathroom in case of another unwelcomed wave of nausea. Even though she appears to be going about her normal routine, you have no idea how terrified she might be every moment, that she'll lose this one too. 

We sympathize with the new mom who has a tiny baby keeping her up all night, but do we give grace to the exhausted woman who might be newly forming an even tinier baby in her womb and feeling nearly as fatigued?

If you've struggled to conceive, if you've lost a baby, you have likely also been bombarded by social media announcing to you that what feels like every woman of child bearing years, and some who don't even qualify, are giving birth. Every day on my Facebook wall, it seems like at least three new people announce they're pregnant with an ultrasound photo or tiny shoes. Another three people reveal the newest addition to their family, robed in its hospital blanket, mom still glowing with perspiration and triumph.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice," right?

The irony of that incomplete scripture is that the second half is to "Mourn with those who mourn,"-Romans 12:15.

I'm sharing this because people who've miscarried tell me how alone they feel. They are alone in an invisible crowd.

Let's lift each other up, whether we're celebrating a new life, or grieving the loss of one. Whether we know our friend is fighting a secret battle or we have no idea what she may be going through. Unless I've walked a mile in her shoes, I'm going to try to stop assuming they're as comfortable as they may appear.