Hello, I'm Nicole! 

Wife.  Mom to a rainbow named Anderson and an aussiedoodle named Gibbs.  Registered Nurse.  Entrepreneur.  Infertility and miscarriage survivor.

One Year

One Year

Let’s talk about feelings.  This is something I don’t normally do.  Which is mostly because I’m scared of crying in front of people.  I tend to let things build up until I have a break down.  9/10 times it's at home.  As I write this, it's been one year to the day since my miscarriage. It could be the postpartum hormones, but this date seems to be hitting me harder than I thought it would.  Every time I read a post about pregnancy and infant loss, I tear up.  I know those feelings like the back of my hand.  

It wasn't my fault, but I felt all too much like it was.

The minutes, hours, and days following my miscarriage all seem to be a blur now, but I remember my first instinct after we left the doctor’s office was to apologize to my husband in the parking lot.  Why? I’m not sure—it wasn’t my fault, but I felt all too much like it was. My body failed our family and what was supposed to be the start of a new adventure.  There are no words to describe what this feels like.  

I have never felt so much emotion as I did when I miscarried…not even when I gave birth to our rainbow baby.  Giving birth was surrounded with pure happiness and unconditional love, which I felt a tremendous amount of.  Miscarrying was an awful combination of sadness, anger, shame, fear and jealousy.      

Sadness that I would never know what this little embryo would develop to be.  That something I loved so much already was torn away in a moment.  There was nothing I could do to control what was happening.  I felt helpless.    

In the big scheme of things, money doesn’t matter.  But I felt so angry that we had spent so much money on months of fertility medications, acupuncture, massages, special teas, and special fertility products for the pregnancy to fail.  I felt angry with myself that I had pushed so hard for this to happen and now I was left feeling this way.  Angry we had worked so hard for nothing.   

 I felt ashamed.  I had to backtrack and ‘announce’ my miscarriage to everyone I had so excitedly told I was pregnant in the first place.  Surprisingly, this didn’t stop me with our rainbow pregnancy—I still told most people early.  I learned that the same people I told I was pregnant were the same people I would want support from if we miscarried again anyways.  I felt ashamed because I thought people would assume this was because of my size.  It wasn’t. I had a missed miscarriage, which is typically because of a chromosomal issue with the baby.  

Fear that I would never get my family.  Other options like IVF and adoption were just too expensive for us at this time in our lives. There was no possible way we would’ve been able to do any of these alternative options.  Fear that maybe my body wasn’t made for this.  Fear that this would somehow ruin my marriage. Fear that I would never feel okay again. 

And to top it all off…there was that evil green monster.  I found myself insanely jealous of anyone and everyone surrounding me who was pregnant.  Every pregnancy announcement made my heart sink.  I couldn’t cope with being around those close to me who were pregnant.  I turned into an awful person who hated everyone around me because they had what I couldn't have.  We were supposed to be hitting those milestones I saw my friends hitting.  We were supposed to have our baby.  We were the ones trying.       

And that’s okay.  All these feelings are okay.  



What's in a rainbow?

What's in a rainbow?

My Journey

My Journey