Where do Stillborn Mothers Belong?
Finding out where to belong is a strange exploration. There's a process to feeling included in friendships, relationships, and even work. Sometimes, it’s as natural as breathing. Sometimes it’s an ordeal. My struggle was with motherhood and how this defines a woman. I’m childfree after infertility and delivered my daughter stillborn. I’m a bereaved mother and no longer trying to have kids. I’m a mother in a way no one wants to be. So, where do I belong?
Belonging is being seen and heard by those around you and feeling welcomed into a space. Often, people will define their lives around parenthood. Infertility made motherhood a club I couldn’t get into. My friends quickly made their way into the VIP sections of this society. People applauded their entrance as I held back tears and did the same from the sidelines to fit in.
The CDC states that 1 in 5 women deals with infertility in the United States. This community is strong, and you likely know someone going through this. The CDC also reports that 1 in 160 births are stillborn. This community is smaller and, from my experience, less likely to reach out. Neither of these groups was one I had dreamed of joining, and yet here I am.
I enthusiastically joined the IVF community, assuming this path would make me a mom. I received my first positive pregnancy test and felt like it was finally my turn. I was in with the cool kids. And then quickly escorted out with a miscarriage. Still wanting to be included, I tried again. The next transfer was successful, and I carried my daughter for eight months. I developed a rare liver disease, and it took her life. I delivered my daughter stillborn and established myself as a bereaved mother.
A few things happened here with my access to motherhood. I was still allowed in but wasn’t encouraged to share my experiences. It frightened the other mothers. Like many moms, I had a birthing story that felt beautiful- we honor our stillborn daughter and are better for having her in our life, however briefly, but it ended the conversation when I shared. I felt kicks and had weird cravings too, but with no baby to show, these stories never landed well. I realized that maybe I didn’t want to be in this club anymore because I liked discussing my experience.
Today, I don’t refer to myself as a mother. This response often makes others uncomfortable, like I don’t recognize that I had a daughter at one point. When asked if I have kids, I say no, because I don't want to get into it. If I were honest, I'm considered an outsider, but I belong somewhere. Everyone belongs somewhere. I acknowledge that a bereaved mother is still a mother, but it's not where I feel I fit in. You might belong in places you never imagined. And from sharing my story, I’ve found those places. Sometimes it’s with other bereaved mothers, but primarily those without kids. Your ways of identifying will change over time, and so will your place of belonging. Keep exploring as you’ll find others that do this, too. You belong.
~Carrie Hauskens @bloomingwithcare