Monthly Archives: September 2011

Miscarriage: The third time around. Such pain…

by Ellen DuBois on 09/04/11

Debbie says:

I went to the ER for bleeding on Thursday evening (8/1/11) only to be told I was miscarrying and there was nothing that could be done. They didn’t break it to me gently or build-up to telling me. They just blurted out I was miscarrying. I was so devastated that all I could do was cry and weep gut-wrenchingly. I went home and miscarried the next morning in my shower. I was devastated at what I saw and devastated that it is my THIRD miscarriage. I feel so torn apart and my emotions feel so erratic. I feel like I will never be able to carry a healthy pregnancy and I often wonder if my age is to blame. I am 39 and want a child so badly. I feel like my world is ending and I will never be able to recover. My husband doesn’t want to even think about trying anymore for kids and I am unsure of anything right now. This adds even more stress and devastation. I wish I could just run away from all this and it would not follow. How do I recover emotionally and mentally? I know the physical will heal eventually. I can’t stop crying and I can’t sleep. Everytime I step into the shower to bath, I relive/envision the miscarriage. Please help me, how do I bear this burden alone? No one around me understands and seems to think I should be getting over this quickly. How could they ever understand unless they have experienced what I have experienced or gone through what I have gone through?? Please help….please.

Dear Debbie,

I am so sorry for your losses all three of them. The pain you must be feeling is probably consuming to the point where you don’t know which way is up anymore. I’ve been there and I wish you didn’t have to walk this path.There’s so much going on right now. You’re grieving the loss of your babies and are afraid of never becoming a mother. It’s scary and sad, and when you don’t have anyone to talk to, it can feel extremely isolating.I wish there were some ‘magic’ words I could say to make things easier. Sadly, there are not. What I can offer you is my heart, my ear, my understanding and say to you I understand how much you loved all three of your babies and how each loss hurt very deeply. You need some healing time, and I know you’re aware you’ll heal physically. It’s the emotional part you’re having trouble with and I can understand why. You’re grieving another loss. It’s terrible and although it hurts, grief is something you go through before you begin to heal emotionally. It doesn’t mean you’ll forget your babies. It means you must grieve all three of your losses.As for you and your husband, I don’t know where to go with this. I feel he doesn’t want to see you hurt anymore, but comes off as just ‘not wanting to try’ again. Maybe he is trying to protect you from pain. But, I’m not therapist and think that if the time is right and he is with you on this, it may be a good idea to talk it out with a counselor to find out where you’re both at. Are you on the same page? While I’m not equipped to answer that question, a counselor would be. Just wanted to toss that idea your way for when/if the time is right.You lost your precious baby in the shower. I would have difficulty not remembering, too. If I were you, I’d be filled with the pain of losing my baby, of my miscarriage, every time I stepped in the shower.  I don’t know what your beliefs are, but I would ask the angels to help me and for the white light of the spirit to protect me every time I got in the shower. I’d ask to be helped, for the feeling of safety and for strength. If this feels right to you, or some variation of it, I gently suggest you give it a try. God and the angels have not let me down, but we all believe in different things and I’m just letting you know what I do when I am very frightened or struggling with something. Your miscarriage was VERY traumatic. If talking to  a counselor isn’t ‘right’ for you and your husband, it may be right for YOU. Please give it some thought. There will come a time when you’ll know whether it’s the road you should travel or not.

One thing I’ve found helps those who have lost their child to miscarriage is some form of closure. It could be planting a tree, (you could plant one for all three of your babies), or writing a letter to them, setting three balloons into the air in their memory. It may be much too soon for this, but I know after years with no closure, I finally felt some when I released a balloon into the air for my son and read him a letter. Time will gently tell you if and when it’s right for you. Just follow your heart.

Right now, I feel the most important thing is you and your healing. Also, taking things one moment at a time. What your living has many layers: Your grief, possibly facing not having a child (by birth), and healing on all levels from the three losses you’ve endured. That’s a full plate, Debbie. All you can do is your best.

One day, one moment at a time. I am here to listen, to offer what I can. It may not seem like much, but know you are heard, your loss is validated and you are cared for more than you know.

I’ll be keeping you in my thoughts and prayers. Please feel free to write any time.

Love and Light to you,
Ellen

For more information visit: http://www.miscarriagehelp.com/
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Official Trailer of “Things We Don’t Talk About”

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A Snap, then a Cackle and a Pop!

By Sharon Nesbit-Davis

I celebrated my fifth decade by performing a one-woman show entitled “Mime in Mental Pause.” I wasn’t there yet. But I was ready. Unrelenting pain, blood clots, and ruined panties were not fun, no matter how I adjusted my attitude. Sometimes the universe hears and is kind. Soon after my 50th birthday my periods diminished with barely a moan. I think it was the soy.

I do not regret being past child bearing age. I’m content to view it from afar…or close up when my daughter pops the babies out. I thought it would bother me to see her in pain, but it doesn’t. I might be slightly sadistic. Or just gloriously happy to have grandchildren. But not once did I wish to trade places.

With the perspective of a few years free of “Auntie Flow” there is something I miss. I miss the power of “PMS” (Pre Menstrual Sinfulness) I did not need to announce I had it. My husband was on the watch for it. There were times I cried easy and long and hard. When asked what was wrong my tongue jumped out and slapped him upside the head. Never mind what happened when he didn’t ask.

After I said we would all be dead in three days because I detected a shift in the earth’s orbit, so we didn’t need to renew the life insurance policy, my husband asked if my period was coming. I chastised his sexist remark and he apologized. Two days later I hid the tampon dispensers at the bottom of the trash. He caught me with a heating pad under the blanket. He’s a good man and never said “I told you so”, but he isn’t perfect. He smiled too much.

A couple years ago my daughter-in-law invited me to a women’s gathering. I was the only post menopausal woman there. The topic was our periods. We shared how we learned about it, our first one and embarrassing moments. The stories were funny and sad and what I expected until a young woman said she loved her periods. Really. Just loved them. She felt a oneness with all women. She meditated on this life giving essence and was thankful for her role. She felt creative and spirit filled during this time. She did not mask the pain. She welcomed it. Other women nodded. I laughed. A lot. Then told my stories of fainting and trips to emergency rooms and my gratitude to be done with them. They politely listened and exchanged glances I recognized from my youth, when I respected elders but knew they didn’t understand. And never would.

They were wrong. I do understand. What this woman expressed is the way it once was. Thinking about it almost made me want a “do over”, but only if I could have my own moon lodge.

In Native American tradition there was a special lodge for women when it was their moon time. Other women cared for their children and cooked for their husbands. They brought her favorite food, then circled the lodge and prayed for her. She was free from work, could rest, talk with the spirits and create. She returned with new songs and geometric designs and renewed energy. Western observers surmise the women were involuntarily isolated and considered unclean. It was never that. When asked the medicine men explain women have a “built in” purification process. Men put themselves through sacred ceremonies to attain what women have naturally. Women in their moon cycles do not participate in sacred ceremonies. Their power is too strong. It’s been known to send spirits running and crashing into things.

Without periods my life is balanced and calm. Maybe a little too calm. I miss not knowing what thoughts may scream their way past polite filters. Sometimes the power of that made me feel beautiful. I knew I wasn’t. I had mirrors. When pimples erupt on a middle aged face you don’t claim outer beauty. But there were moments I felt like a warrior woman. And she was magnificent. I wish I had honored her more, instead of reaching for the Pamprin®.

Of course there is still time. My warrior woman didn’t die with PMS. She morphed into Big Fat Mama: Post Menopausal Juicy Crone. No one knows what that means, but with a perfectly executed head snap, and a cackle then a pop from any number of bodily regions, it’s scary enough to have some fun.

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Bone Knowing: No Question

by Oceana Leblanc

Something I know in my body has placed me around the picture that I witness being colored and splashed, and painted with brushes from this world and most certainly others.  I frame it.  This is the only way I can think to describe my journey with the Red Tent, which began decades before I met the physical raising up of my own commitment to honor the sacred wisdom of women.

Roughly fifteen years or Oceana LaBlanc and Alisa Starkweather, Red Tent Temple, Grafton, MAso before I had even heard the words ‘red tent’ uttered, I found a book that changed my relationship with my moon cycles and my blood forever.  “Her Blood Is Gold” touched my soul and I began to embrace my own sacred blood secretly, wondering if anyone would think I was crazy for using flannel pads and watering my plants with my moontime blood.  The comfort of bleeding onto a soft cloth after years of tampons and ibuprofen was a great relief and brought me into a more intimate and loving relationship with my body than I had known.

More exciting to me was the thought that my blood could heal this earth, and was a gift and an offering of the greatest value.  At the time there was an innate knowing, much like the knowledge that I was absolutely committed to holding a space for a red tent when the idea emerged as an invitation.  There was no hesitation, only an intense commitment and a knowledge that this had been waiting for me patiently for years…maybe lifetimes.

“A life of its own” is how I like to describe the red tent, clichés be damned.  There seems to be an Energy that will live the red tent into being and gather women all over this tiny dirtball flying around in the universe.  That Energy seemed to know me and gather me up in Her path towards calling Her own daughters home.  I went so willingly and to this day am grateful.

I have had the deep pleasure, privilege, and honor of meeting so many women over the years I’ve held the red tent.  Standing in awe as each brings her wisdom which is unique to her, and claims her place in the circle.  I have watched the red tent transform lives, and seen it ripple outward to families and communities.  Today I see this thread that is spinning a cohesive bond among women that gather and know each other. A simple statement to be sure, knowing each other, but in today’s world, this is a profound and earth shifting reclamation.

The women come and some get that feel in their bones and ask me to teach them how.  I am overjoyed!  Yes, weave more.  Yes, create new stitches with your own flourish.  Yes, bring your women together and heal.  Yes, you are wise beyond your own knowing, for until you sit in circle with your sisters, mothers, daughters, and grandmothers,  and speak your heart into women’s listening…until then, the silence of your wisdom is one more little death.  Once you begin to unfurl your dreams, and listen in sacred space to other women, the mystery of our collective power to heal each other and this world becomes quite real.

What is the red tent?  I don’t believe it can be captured as a thing, but rather it is a remembrance, a rhythm, a celebration, an affirmation, a reclamation, an honoring, an herstorical rising, a gathering together, a calling, a dreaming, a gestation, labor and birthing of the feminine from Herself unto Herself, gifting humanity with new hope…one woman by one woman by one woman.  It is quiet revolution gathering up loose threads to cradle hope until she becomes strong enough to look a new world in the eye and claim it as her own.

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