published August 16 on old blog
Part 1 talked about how my miscarriage labor experience fueled me to start writing again, though it took four years after the experience. (Click here to read that part.) In this second part I talk about the different, unexpected ways its led me to writing opportunities.
There are so many angles to the stories of my miscarriage and birth experiences that I’m still producing articles on topics tangentially related. Perhaps the most unlikely was an article I wrote about my cat, sent to a publication about cats, because of the way she featured in the story of both my pregnancy losses, being my substitute baby of sorts. Another recently sent, in response to a call for articles on fertility issues, I tell the part of my story of how Levi’s existence is so miraculous, in part requiring the telling of how God granted his survival of the same thing that caused me to miscarry the second time.
I’m also really invested in getting an article published locally about how different local practitioners and birth facilities handle pregnancy loss—both miscarriages and stillbirths. Central PA is a perfect study in some very interesting comparisons illuminated by a Harvard anthropologist who wrote about how differing cultures handle pregnancy loss. I’ve got more than enough local women who are willing to share their stories in this article-- experiences covering the range of possibilities and situations. I realize my own experience is just one of many types. I tried to cover miscarriage labor more broadly in When Miscarriage Means Labor.
I’m tinkering, in my head, with another article on the importance of pregnancy classes and the different kinds available, illuminated by the stories of women who went into labor and found themselves unprepared or underprepared by the narrow focus of the type of class they chose. From the grief angle, I’ve been working on an essay about the difficulty of losing a child when your spouse doesn't share your world view, leaving you essentially to grieve on your own for a baby who’s father doesn’t even recognize her enough to mourn her. (The story has a good ending in real life, as my husband’s views changed over time, due to our experiences, and in credit to God’s amazing breakthroughs).
A fellow writer who hails from my alma mater Messiah College, Janel Atlas, also has published on the topic of pregnancy loss, after her experience of stillbirth. (Incidentally, she has a book on the topic coming out this fall from Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, entitled They Were Still Born.
I remember in one of her articles on dealing with the loss, she quoted her husband saying something to the effect that he didn’t get why she felt the need to tell everyone, even perfect strangers, about her experience. That resonated with me, because I feel that same push. Maybe at first it was just to be heard, recognized, understood, and then it was to find community—to locate the people who knew the experience first hand—like a bat sending out signals everywhere, just to sense the vibrations coming back from contact. But now, after I’ve processed through a lot of the attendant grief, I’m at a place where I feel driven to write about my losses and trauma from them because there’s a severe lack of useful information on the issues I had to live through without any preparation or anyone, even in the midst, offering any help or guidance.
Other writing I've published:
When Food Producers Mislabel The Food You Buy; What Labels Can You Trust?
Cell Tower Radiation of No Concern for Pregnant Mothers or Childhood Cancer?
Part 1 talked about how my miscarriage labor experience fueled me to start writing again, though it took four years after the experience. (Click here to read that part.) In this second part I talk about the different, unexpected ways its led me to writing opportunities.
There are so many angles to the stories of my miscarriage and birth experiences that I’m still producing articles on topics tangentially related. Perhaps the most unlikely was an article I wrote about my cat, sent to a publication about cats, because of the way she featured in the story of both my pregnancy losses, being my substitute baby of sorts. Another recently sent, in response to a call for articles on fertility issues, I tell the part of my story of how Levi’s existence is so miraculous, in part requiring the telling of how God granted his survival of the same thing that caused me to miscarry the second time.
I’m also really invested in getting an article published locally about how different local practitioners and birth facilities handle pregnancy loss—both miscarriages and stillbirths. Central PA is a perfect study in some very interesting comparisons illuminated by a Harvard anthropologist who wrote about how differing cultures handle pregnancy loss. I’ve got more than enough local women who are willing to share their stories in this article-- experiences covering the range of possibilities and situations. I realize my own experience is just one of many types. I tried to cover miscarriage labor more broadly in When Miscarriage Means Labor.
I’m tinkering, in my head, with another article on the importance of pregnancy classes and the different kinds available, illuminated by the stories of women who went into labor and found themselves unprepared or underprepared by the narrow focus of the type of class they chose. From the grief angle, I’ve been working on an essay about the difficulty of losing a child when your spouse doesn't share your world view, leaving you essentially to grieve on your own for a baby who’s father doesn’t even recognize her enough to mourn her. (The story has a good ending in real life, as my husband’s views changed over time, due to our experiences, and in credit to God’s amazing breakthroughs).
A fellow writer who hails from my alma mater Messiah College, Janel Atlas, also has published on the topic of pregnancy loss, after her experience of stillbirth. (Incidentally, she has a book on the topic coming out this fall from Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, entitled They Were Still Born.
I remember in one of her articles on dealing with the loss, she quoted her husband saying something to the effect that he didn’t get why she felt the need to tell everyone, even perfect strangers, about her experience. That resonated with me, because I feel that same push. Maybe at first it was just to be heard, recognized, understood, and then it was to find community—to locate the people who knew the experience first hand—like a bat sending out signals everywhere, just to sense the vibrations coming back from contact. But now, after I’ve processed through a lot of the attendant grief, I’m at a place where I feel driven to write about my losses and trauma from them because there’s a severe lack of useful information on the issues I had to live through without any preparation or anyone, even in the midst, offering any help or guidance.
Other writing I've published:
When Food Producers Mislabel The Food You Buy; What Labels Can You Trust?
Cell Tower Radiation of No Concern for Pregnant Mothers or Childhood Cancer?
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