sharing your stories and remembering your children
By: Nick Carrington EPLA Editor
I kept the door shut. I felt like an impostor and the less I interacted with others, the less likely they would find out. Sometimes, I would keep the lights off; if I slouched behind my computer, maybe no one else would know I was there. Teaching college kids humbled me, and my anxiety didn’t go away even after a few months of doing it full time.
Knock Knock Knock
I couldn’t hide for long. My mentor was at the door, checking in on her first-year colleague. I couldn’t let her know. What if she thinks she made a mistake in hiring me? I was young, scared, and alone.
“How’s it going,” she asked.
Convicted, I couldn’t outright lie.“Not bad…but I feel like every day is a struggle, like I’m learning along with my students.”
My mentor, who had taught for more than 30 years, smiled and said something that acted like a balm to my troubled heart: “I know exactly how you feel. My first year of teaching, I stayed one day ahead of my students. They never knew.”
We laughed over stories of jotting down notes moments before class started and struggling to answer questions with confidence, even though we knew the answers. She had experienced my fears and come out on the other side. I wasn’t alone; in fact, I wasn’t even that unique.
Sharing our stories can be cathartic for us, but it also comforts others who have fresh wounds or have inadvertently opened old ones.
Sometimes, we feel alone and too scared to tell anyone about it. In reality, other people have probably been through something similar. But hearing their stories helps us deal with our own emotions, whether feelings of grief, fear, anxiety, or pain.
On October 15 of last year, we launched Hope Blooms, our digital publication meant to share your stories and remember your children. In almost a year, we have cried, grieved, and rejoiced together. One thing we know for sure through this process: if you have struggled with miscarriage and all the emotions that come with it, you are not alone.
You need to know that all the guilt, emotional turmoil, pain, anger, confusion, and grief you feel are not unique to you, and you need not shoulder that load by yourself. It’s likely your family, friends, and co-workers have experienced something similar and are willing to help.
Sharing our stories can be cathartic for us, but it also comforts others who have fresh wounds or have inadvertently opened old ones. Your stories have taught us a lot about miscarriage and grief, and our community of care continues to grow.
In year two of Hope Blooms, we want to hear more of your stories. We know that not everyone is a writer. That’s OK; our editorial board will help you express yourself in a way that accurately reflects your experience. Your story matters, not just to you and your family, but to others who have wrestled with miscarriage grief.
If you have miscarried or are a loved one of someone who has, we encourage you to write your story. We want to hear it and would love to share it with our community. If nothing else, let us remember your beautiful children who may be gone but will not be forgotten.
Send your stories to firstname.lastname@example.org or send us a message on Facebook.
Nick Carrington is an Editor for the EPLA and Assistant Professor of Professional Writing at Cedarville University.