“A woman knows the architecture of her own pain. Do not ask her to draw you a map.” –Warsan Shire

 

My Interpretation: We should not have to prove what we already know. We should not need permission to name our pain. Our bodies speak clearly. It is the world that refuses to listen. This quote & post are my manifest of/for any woman who has had their pain dismissed as if it were a simple “misunderstanding.”

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Series 4 – Post 2: The Grief Spiral

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Here is what they do not tell you:

When you have endometriosis,

you know the difference –

Between a period,

a flare-up,

a clot,

a loss.

& I knew.

Instantly.

My body screamed it at me

before the test confirmed it.

The cramping.

The clots.

The weight behind the bleeding.

It was not menstrual.

It was miscarriage.

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But because I am a woman –

 & because I have been trained to doubt my own instincts –

I took the test.

Not for me.

For him.

To prove I was not just being “emotional”

or “overreacting.”

& even then,

he questioned it.

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You know what is more humiliating

than bleeding out in your bathroom?

Standing in a Walmart,

blood in your underwear,

asking an 18-year-old employee to unlock the pregnancy tests.

As if I am doing something wrong.

As if I am some impulsive teenager

trying to steal shame off a shelf.

I am a grown-ass woman.

& I had to ask permission

to confirm a miscarriage

I was already having.

That is the system.

That is the rot.

We gate-keep a $12 test like it is a sacred relic –

while ignoring the woman shaking in aisle 5

holding a pad,

a test,

& her last shred of composure.

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Let me be clear:

I knew.

My body knew.

My soul knew.

But I still had to “prove it.”

Still had to swallow my pain

just to be believed.

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& in case anyone is wondering what

“The miscarriage no one saw”

looks like:

≫Changing pad after pad.

≫Pulling clots from your body while Googling “what is normal.”

≫Answering toddler questions while your stomach turns.

≫Making dinner while wondering if it was your fault.

≫Crying in the shower, then smiling in the living room.

≫Texting a friend “I think I lost the baby” & then deleting it.

≫Standing over the toilet – knowing – & having no one else see it.

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& after all that?

You still get asked to explain yourself.

You still get told “maybe it was not really a pregnancy.”

You still get side-eyed

if you say “miscarriage”

without a doctor’s note.

As if a broken heart needs official paperwork.

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So no,

this post is not soft.

It is sharp.

Because this kind of grief

is not always wrapped in flowers.

Sometimes it is wrapped in receipts,

in stained underwear,

in an unlocked test

handed to you by someone

who has no idea

you are bleeding for two.

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Sometimes the grief

is not just the loss-

It is the way we are treated while we are losing.

This was the miscarriage no one saw.

But I did.

& that

should have been

enough.

Xoxo ♡