Coming Alive After Miscarriage: Bring on the Paper Plates

Miscarriage. Statistics suggest that 1 in 4 women has experienced at least one. The experience of miscarriage is different for us all. If I’ve learned anything from my own experience and the experience of others it’s that every loss is a loss, every loss is different, and every loss is significant. If you are grieving post-miscarriage, I affirm your grief. If you are angry, floundering, or simply sad post-miscarriage, I have been there.

Miscarriage is a plethora of emotions that are compounded by life that continues all around you.

If you are walking forward in the wake of miscarriage, know that I have walked a similar road. If you are in a place of thriving after loss, I now share with you in that joy. It is my hope that any reader who has found their way here might find a little encouragement and feel a little freer to extend themselves grace in the grief process when they leave. This is not an all encompassing answer to life again after miscarriage. It is one significant lesson though, that made a huge difference in my experience of coming alive after miscarriage. I call it…

Bring on the Paper Plates

“I should be able to get the dishes done,” I told my therapist. Since losing a baby in the 2nd trimester of pregnancy, we had been using disposable plates and cups. It wasn’t glamorous, but my three young children didn’t mind, as long as the peanut butter and jelly was still served.

My husband was wise enough to know that in a season of grief, time was not best spent doing dishes. He was the one who bought the disposables. It took a load off after meals, and provided increased time for needed rest in the evenings, yet I still felt guilty. I felt guilty that our bright, happy plates sat unused. I felt guilty for the waste generated by the disposables – though they were recyclable. Most of all, I felt guilty for not being able to maintain what I thought was a reasonable level of tidiness at home.

A competent mom can wash dishes even while grieving, the lies would call to me.

Now that we were coming to the end of our stash of paper plates, my angst had come to a crossroads. Should I swallow my pride, admit that I did need the rest and buy more paper plates? Or should I force myself to make it work, adding regular dishes for five back into my routine? I knew that I still needed the rest. But I wanted to be back to normal. I wanted to be out of this season of grief and to feel skilled at adult-ing and running my home again.

“Do you want to know what I think?” my therapist asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You should buy another pack of plates.”

I felt both relieved and conflicted. I asked her how long she thought it was reasonable for us to use the paper plates. How long it was OK for me to focus on rest and grieving over getting back to my normal responsibilities.

“You’ll know,” she said. “You’ll know when your desire to use regular dishes supersedes your desire for rest. You’ll know when your need for folded laundry exceeds your need for kid-free rest time during naptime. You’re going to be in this phase of grief at least through your due date, likely longer. Now isn’t the season to do it all. I’d get another pack of plates.”

I tucked this thought away in my mind for a time when I could unpack it further and we continued talking. Then she hit me with, “Guilt doesn’t help you rest. If you’re going to embrace the grieving and practice self-care, don’t cheapen it by carrying guilt with you. You’ve made the choice to rest – now reap its benefits.”

On the drive home, I chewed on this thought more. I mulled over the things I knew to be true: I was still grieving and needed more rest than usual. My kids needed my rested heart, mind and body more than they needed non-disposable plates. I wasn’t willing to let my pride cheapen the rest and self-care I wanted to embrace.

I pulled into my driveway, picked up my phone and called my husband. “Hey honey, I thought of one more thing to add to the Costco list. Paper plates. We need more paper plates.”