Solstice: Reflections on My Early Birth
Surrendering to grief and love.
Last week on the solstice I had an early birth*, at 12 weeks and 5 days gestation. My longest pregnancy to date and very much wanted, with nearly 5 years spent dreaming and preparing. A little spark of hope blossoming in the dark. There was so much potential and possibility.
After our 12 week scan confirmed what we intuitively knew, we waited and trusted. A pause that seemed to stretch on forever. We’d planned on birthing at home, and it felt right to stick with that. I knew that my body would release this pregnancy in its own time – and it did. So wise and strong. How could I ever question its innate capability?
And still, whenever I think of what was lost, when I slow down and sink into my soft animal body - the waves of grief swell and the tears come. Both exist, the grief and the trust. The love and the pain. Brutal and beautiful.
I share this part of my story because in the solitude of this experience, I want to acknowledge the common threads of grief and loss that remain part of pregnancy, birth and family building for many people. I also know how important it is to share nuanced stories which explore queer family building and birth. Stories that make visible the messiness and complexity that often comes with creating our families.
Every pregnancy - regardless of gestation - ends with a birth. Some earlier than others. Some with live babies, some without. And if we truely want to honour birth, then we must also honour death and rebirth.
If you’ve read this far, thank you for witnessing me and listening as I fumble my way through with language that falls short (I’ve shared on the following slides some words that come close). Grief can be hard to look at, but it’s even harder for those IN it. I appreciate you holding space for all of this / me. x
*I use the term ‘early birth’ in place of miscarriage, as I feel this language better encompasses (at least for me) the experience of pregnancy loss / release
29.12.2022
