Sharing my journalling from my Yoga practice. Today it’s been about healing the womb and yoni.
Here are some helpful thoughts if you lose your pregnancy;
“It’s not your fault. Let go of blame.”
“Pray for forgiveness anyway, for yours and theirs.”
“Buy a souvenir or trinket like an engraved ring, for all your family not just you.”
“You may not be available to hear their suffering until you dealt with your grief.”
“Love your womb and ovaries and Yoni as if it was your Child’s womb or Mother’s Womb.”
“Solidarity is power, mix and talk about pregnancy loss.”
Mountain Pose (Tadasana) Understanding the healing power of yoga with this posture. Especially around the Yoni(Vulva) area. Seeing the shadows around the inner legs as Mountainous gives a sense of peace and healing. Imagining the shadows disappearing feels empowering.
Unexpected reflection upon pregnancy loss. It’s not the physical miscarriage that’s heartbreaking. Giving birth consciously to a dead fetus probably was the worst experience of my life. I consciously birthed “Mummy Baby” breathing “Sat” and “Nam” (Truth is my name) from Kundalini yoga, with no pain relief and blood everywhere. Trying to shield a partner and child from this death. Then being attached to the phoetus, not wanting the phoetus to be buried, and then seeing the phoetus being buried in the garden unexpectedly and having to deal with this psychologically.
It’s like all the love, hopes, and dreams you had for when the child was born, faded into the soil. Then, being in so much physical and emotional distress. It’s like dying when the fetus dies, and dying in every sense emotionally. The level of despair and grief that makes you want to scream every day and night for all of eternity.
It’s the affect it has on your family too. Knowing that your child loved their brother or sister, and your tummy for ages, you felt like you let them down. Feeling like you did something wrong to cause it because of giving birth to a little ball of blood. That maybe you weren’t a good enough mum or human to have the child born to you. Feeling that the fetus should have had a proper burial, but didn’t, and not being able to honour the dead properly, due to your grief. Remembering despair so bad that you felt like dying for death in ways only other women suffering from miscarriages could understand. Not even beginning to think of the word miscarriage at the time, because that wasn’t what it was meant to be. It was meant to be creation.
It’s like the dead haunt you, why didn’t you even honour my spirit enough to bury me properly? I came into your life to teach you lessons and you didn’t acknowledge my birth or death with a burial. Only a ring that was engraved with the day I was born and died. You prayed and prayed for a good rebirth of the baby. (Om Mani Padme Om), Buddhist Prayer, and you connected with the spirit of the unborn child, that was perhaps never meant to come into fruition, but the dead child still haunts you.
It’s like why aren’t we talking about the elephant in the living room as a collective sisterhood. When we feel like our hearts were unexpectedly ripped out due to yet again a third baby loss. Why can’t we love each better with compassion and understanding. It’s like the more aversive and marginalising and undermining we are about people who have these experiences the more we disown the difficult parts of our self or our collective consciousness.
“It’s like celebrating their existence or what you thought their existence would or could have been anyway”.
“Plant a tree and love the baby as if it is a tree.”
“I am worthy, I am deserving of my own loving kindness.”