There are moments when walking into the office feels overwhelming, where the desire to retreat back home for a bit more sleep or to escape reality entirely becomes almost unbearable. Yet, logic tends to intervene, urging you to stay and tackle the day’s responsibilities. Other times, you might be justified in leaving early but choose to stay, knowing that postponing tasks will only lead to a greater backlog. So, you sip your coffee and push through until the clock signals the end of the day.
For me, though, it was different. As I walked through the office corridor, passing the reception area, I felt a crushing wave of loss wash over me. Just moments earlier, I had learned that my hopes for a December baby had vanished. When I made my way to the restroom, I discovered the physical remnants of my pregnancy. It felt deeply unsettling to merely flush it away, but what was I supposed to do? Should I document it? Could my doctor need proof that this was indeed a miscarriage? Deep down, I already knew the truth and had to come to terms with it, both physically and emotionally. After cleaning myself up, I wrapped the sad reminder in tissue and returned to my desk, determined to dive back into my work.
As the hours ticked by, I could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but I scolded myself internally. Crying would only invite questions and pity from my colleagues, all of whom were men who wouldn’t understand the turmoil I was experiencing. So, I maintained a composed facade, typing away, smiling at passing coworkers, and ignoring the profound emptiness that loomed over me. I felt a sense of pride for holding it together, convinced that I was showing strength.
I tried to focus on the positives. At least I was prepared with a pad, avoiding any unfortunate accidents. I had some pain relief on hand to help with the physical discomfort. I reassured myself that I was fortunate it wasn’t a full-term pregnancy. No names had been chosen, no nursery decorated. At just eight weeks, I should be grateful.
I clung to this mindset throughout the day, knowing I had no one to confide in about my experience. What comfort could anyone provide? I had already shed tears earlier that week when the doctor informed me that my pregnancy was not viable, and I had managed to convince my coworkers I was simply battling a nasty cold. I was presented with surgical options, but I was not ready to undergo a medically-assisted procedure just to expedite the process. The waiting was agonizing, yet the finality of it all felt equally daunting.
With a young child at home, I constantly strive to embody the ideal of “supermom.” Sleep-deprived? No problem, we can still make it to class. Hungry? I’ll feed you before myself. Longing for some alone time? That’s okay as long as you’re smiling while we play. I applied this same attitude to my miscarriage—my coworkers needed me, and I wouldn’t abandon my responsibilities. I believed I could handle this. Women are expected to be resilient, to carry on without complaint, dressed impeccably and composed.
But how healthy is such a mindset? Enduring pain, heartache, and the demands of life does not mean we should ignore our emotional and physical wounds. The fact that I felt compelled to remain at my desk after experiencing a miscarriage is troubling. The biological remnants of a potential life were discarded in a matter of minutes, unnoticed and unacknowledged. We hear stories about young women giving birth in restrooms and returning to celebrations, and we might wonder how they manage. So why was my situation any different? I hadn’t welcomed a baby into the world, but I felt the loss deeply and failed to grant myself the respect to mourn it because of a fear of appearing weak. I was too ashamed to explain my situation and request a day off. Yet, others leave early for far less significant reasons without hesitation.
That evening, while rocking my son to sleep, I held him close and sang our usual lullabies. As I swayed gently, I let the tears fall—tears for the physical pain I had endured that week and tears of gratitude for the child in my arms. I finally allowed myself to grieve my loss.
I cried because I felt isolated. The last time I experienced prolonged bleeding was after my C-section, when family and friends surrounded me to help with recovery. This time, I faced the aftermath alone, with no one to support me. I had to take care of myself while juggling my obligations at home and work. And while I could manage, it was disheartening that, as a woman, I felt compelled to shoulder this burden alone. My husband went about his routine, never asking how I felt or checking in on my emotional state. If the roles were reversed, I could only imagine the expectations placed upon me to step in without question.
My miscarriage remained a secret for months until an HR mishap led to my supervisor learning of my loss. Even then, I felt I had no right to voice my discomfort regarding my privacy being breached. I kept silent and did what was expected of me, neglecting the time I needed to process the fact that my winter baby would never arrive and that my body had failed me. I pushed my feelings aside because life goes on, and responsibilities abound. Isn’t this what we all do as women?
That day at work marked a turning point for me. Being a woman isn’t solely about motherhood or domestic duties; it’s about maintaining a facade of strength even when faced with overwhelming challenges, and often suffering in silence, as it feels like that’s what our loved ones need. I believe in the importance of self-care, but when circumstances don’t allow for it, I found the strength to remain brave and hold it together, just as my mother did when times were tough. Many women do the same every day, and they are nothing short of heroes.
I hope that one day, we won’t have to choose between appearing strong or vulnerable, and that prioritizing our well-being will not be viewed as a weakness.
Summary:
This article reflects on the experience of enduring a miscarriage at work and the societal expectations placed on women to remain strong and stoic during personal crises. The author grapples with feelings of isolation and the pressure to continue fulfilling responsibilities while neglecting her own emotional needs. It highlights the importance of acknowledging pain and the need for support while challenging the notion that women must constantly uphold a façade of strength.