Parenting
The Unseen Mothers’ Collective by Clara Mitchell
Updated: August 3, 2016
Originally Published: September 24, 2013
My kids, Max and Lily, bring considerably less daily chaos than any children you might have. I can assure you of that.
They don’t wake me in the middle of the night with endless pleas for a drink, a hug, or to scare off imaginary monsters. They don’t disrupt my belongings, break things, squabble with each other, or constantly seek my attention. Instead, they allow me the freedom to pursue my own interests, enjoy uninterrupted showers, and complete grocery shopping at my leisure.
Yet, neither of them made it to full term. In fact, they didn’t come close. And still… they are my children. The situation is perplexing.
Setting aside conflicting moral and religious viewpoints, science affirms that a human being begins at conception. Conceived by my husband and me, they are our children. Initially, I thought this concept was straightforward. However, their absence introduced more complexities (grief aside) than I ever anticipated.
What do I say when someone inquires if I have children? I often respond with “no,” abruptly ending the conversation, while internally questioning if I’ve diminished the significance of the two little souls who existed within me for an all-too-brief time. When I do say “yes” and share the circumstances, the dialogue often halts abruptly, frequently accompanied by what I term the Pity Face. Both scenarios are challenging.
Invisible motherhood is more common than you might think—until you find yourself as the mother of an unseen child. You find yourself holding back tears long enough to engage in conversation, only to discover that women with similar experiences seem to emerge from nowhere, sharing their heartbreaking stories and empathy. I often want to ask them, “Where have you been until now?”
I had always viewed the word ‘miscarriage’ as somewhat taboo—a distasteful reality of life, akin to dental procedures or ingrown toenails. Consequently, I had minimal understanding of it. I knew a few relatives who had experienced one and a family friend who had a stillbirth. Yet, not one conversation touched on the emotional aspects of motherhood. It felt as if those babies were rendered invisible.
That’s why the experience hit me so hard. I had anticipated the possibility of miscarrying my first, given my family’s history, but nothing could prepare me for the overwhelming emotional weight that soon enveloped me in a shroud of despair. I was unprepared for the waves of resentment that crashed over me when I saw pregnant women or misbehaving children being reprimanded by their frustrated parents.
At no point was I warned about the isolation I would feel from my husband, who, in the beginning, simply couldn’t grasp the depth of my sorrow. I was defenseless against the internal accusations claiming I was unworthy of motherhood or had somehow failed during my pregnancy. I also lacked the knowledge to handle thoughtless remarks from the well-meaning but oblivious, which often left me feeling emotionally battered.
In response, I dug deep, reached out, and began to forge connections for myself. Since then, I have aimed to give back to those newly navigating the realm of invisible motherhood by sharing what has helped me along my journey. I started by blogging snippets of my experience, and the positive feedback confirmed that many resonated with my words. Others expressed gratitude for initiating conversations that allowed friends to support those in similar situations.
I’ve penned guest posts for bloggers aiming to foster understanding around miscarriage and childlessness, hoping to spread compassion and empathy. I’ve participated in writing challenges featuring my story, striving to reach a broader audience. I’m gradually becoming more comfortable discussing my experiences in real life.
It remains a struggle, and the pain is still raw, but I aspire to take my online advocacy into everyday interactions. I want to work toward a world where miscarriage is no longer a hushed topic—a space where women can openly acknowledge and mourn their losses without questioning the validity of their emotions. I aim to be a reliable source of information and support, helping to demystify miscarriage while creating constructive dialogues around it.
I will advocate for a mindset where every lost life is acknowledged, and the grieving parents are enveloped in compassion and understanding from those around them.
My children matter. They have transformed me, and I carry their legacy.
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the often-unspoken struggles of invisible motherhood, sharing personal experiences and the complexities surrounding miscarriage. The author emphasizes the importance of acknowledging lost children and fostering open conversations about grief and parenting. Through blogging and outreach, she aims to create a supportive community for those navigating similar challenges.