Suffering in silence

You don’t announce a pregnancy until the end of the first trimester, because you want to be as sure as possible it’s a viable pregnancy first. Everyone knows this.

I hate this rule, and I think we should get rid of it.

For many women, miscarriages are extremely emotionally painful.

Why would we want to suffer in silence? Suffer without the help of our village to lift us up?

I know so many women who had a miscarriage and talked about it months or years after the fact, and about how horrible it was.

We grieve publicly when other members of our family die. Is it really only because everyone already knows them?

(Don’t read into my politics on this post. I’m talking about personal experiences, not legislation.)

There are so many personal things I’ve posted about, often on Facebook but sometimes here too, and I get texts or emails in return: thank you for talking about that. I don’t talk about it, but that’s me, too.

The whole #metoo movement highlights this.

How many women have a story of trauma that they don’t tell? How does this secrecy affect them in any or all other areas of their lives?

But let’s not leave out the men in this one, either, because in our culture of toxic masculinity, men aren’t supposed to talk about feelings at all. No good comes of keeping all of that inside.

(The rest of this post is written in hetero-normative language. I’m aware, but making it otherwise made it clunky to read.)

I’m not saying that every time we feel something, we need to have a conversation about it. But men (and, indirectly, women) are done a disservice when taught not to talk about things that hurt.

(How many women complain that their male partner won’t open up? How many women have been emotionally or physically injured by a man who sees women as property—whether they articulate it that way or not? These are some indirect consequences.)

People—all people—we need to learn to be more vulnerable. And we need to learn to take care of each other in our vulnerability. Listen. Hug. Be present. Let ourselves hurt when we connect all too well with other people’s pain instead of throwing up judgements in self-defense. Keep the walls down.

This is how we build emotionally healthy people. Of all ages. Of all genders.

Vulnerability is not weakness. Vulnerability is strength—because it’s scary, and we do it anyway.

Ladies, announce your pregnancy at 8 weeks and let us grieve with you if you lose the baby.

Men, find someone who is safe and talk to them about what’s going on with you. If your marriage is volatile, your wife might not be emotionally safe. (Don’t make it another lady who you then connect with…)

Ladies, if your man is finally ready to start to be more open, let him. Even if an eye roll and “finally” is your initial (internal) response. Better now than later (or never), right?