Content warning: pregnancy loss & infertility 🖤

Being a mother doesn’t define me, but it became a much larger part of my identity than I ever imagined. When did I become a mother? The most obvious answer would be the day my first child I was born. But as a mother now, in my heart I feel it began before.

When I started blogging, my main goal was to teach myself about crypto and simultaneously break down barriers to entry for other women, who are underrepresented. (If you’re looking to learn all things crypto, click here.) I specifically had moms in mind because I personally give so much to my family, which doesn’t leave much time for me to dedicate to learning new things. I think a lot of other moms are like me in that regard (hi to the other “default” parents out there 👋, who statistically, are usually mothers), which makes mothers even more likely to be left behind in the crypto gender gap. Given that my targeted audience is mothers, I knew I would blog about motherhood and family topics in addition to crypto.

All this to say, I wanted an NFT PFP (ProFile Pic) that somehow nodded to motherhood. I found some amazing women-focused projects, but nothing that clearly integrated motherhood in it’s most honest expression.

I finally stumbled upon “The Raw Motherhood Collection” by The Women Collective, and it’s safe to say that art has never spoken to me like this before. I’ve never seen the most vulnerable and excruciatingly difficult, yet beautiful and precious memories from my adult life so well represented.

The collection accurately depicts postpartum reality and captures the whole spectrum of highs, lows, successes and challenges defining some of the earliest stages of motherhood. A mother that’s pumping. One that’s breastfeeding. One that’s crying. Another that’s smiling. One that’s clearly exhausted. A mother nursing with a towel still on her head, because sometimes you have to abruptly end your shower to feed your little monster. Many still in bulky maternity underwear. One with glittery tiger stripes. If only they glittered IRL! C-section scars, nursing bras, and coffee, coffee, coffee! I couldn’t stop scrolling through their entire collection on OpenSea. I knew I wanted one, but…which one?

Then I stumbled upon a mother, holding an angel baby and a calla lily with glittery tears falling down her face.

Confession: I’ve never had such an emotional response to art. This was the first time that a piece of art stopped me in my tracks, took hold of my heart, choked me up and actually made me cry. I needed to buy it.

I don’t often think about how my first pregnancy ended dramatically in a miscarriage, just over 3 years ago. My miscarriage involved two trips to the hospital, one of which was overnight. I was about 8 weeks, but ultrasounds could not rule out for certain an ectopic pregnancy. There was discussion around potentially using a drug to end the pregnancy if that was the case, or D&C if it was determined to be a standard miscarriage. Option 1 would make me very sick and Option 2 was a surgery.

They both seemed like bad options. I wanted option 3, a healthy baby, but no one could offer that up. I was highly emotional, shocked and completely devastated.

In retrospect, at least I had options to ensure my own health, which I took for granted at the time. As an American woman living in a swing state, it seems entirely possible that in addition to the grief and devastation of pregnancy loss, women who find themselves in a similar position now may lack the options I had to ensure their own health. But I digress…

At the time, the logical part of me said, “At least it happened early. This isn’t technically a baby yet. There was something wrong, so it’s terminating. You can try again.” The emotional part of me was hurt and outraged by the logical me, and grieved the loss of a future I had planned. I wondered…will this happen again and again? Will we be able to have children? Is something “wrong” with me?

In case you are wondering, the “logical” things I tried to tell myself to make the situation better are all things you should NEVER say to anyone in response to a miscarriage. One of these days I hope we will be as kind to ourselves as we are to others.

We are told not to announce pregnancies until 12 weeks. Why? Because so many pregnancies end in miscarriage in the first 12 weeks. Well, guess what happens when you miscarry and nobody knew you were pregnant? There’s no one to tell. No one to update, because nobody knew.

And that’s the point, right? Don’t weigh anyone else down with your emotional burden. I always thought, before I experienced it, that it was meant to spare the pregnant person from having to talk about their loss. Maybe that’s true, too, depending on your personality and how you like to cope.

Not-fun fact: Did you know an estimated 25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage, often without the pregnant person knowing they are pregnant?

Why don’t we talk about it? No one should have to go through it alone. And sure, you might have your partner, but likely they are also suffering and processing in their own way at their own pace.

It really does take a village.

The world doesn’t pause for miscarriage. If you have a job with benefits, you could use vacation days. Me? As luck would have it, I had a rewards weekend through work at a resort the day after I was released from the hospital. I considered staying home, but I went anyways. I preferred to stay busy instead of staying home to cry. I made my best effort to schmooze with colleagues while bleeding heavily poolside in shorts instead of a swimsuit, since you can’t get in the water in the midst of a miscarriage. I had to sneak away during the retreat to LabCorp to have my hCG levels checked. Nobody knew what I was going through. New Zealand is onto something with paid leave for miscarriages.

My daughter was conceived just two months after our loss, and a world where I didn’t miscarry is a world without my little girl. I don’t want to live in that world, which is probably why my miscarriage doesn’t cross my mind frequently. But this collection took me back and brought up all the big feelings.

I’ve had friends struggle with infertility and miscarriages. Many had to wait much longer for their rainbow baby than we did. Some are still waiting. While the situation isn’t uncommon, it still really sucks if it happens to you.

When does the journey into motherhood begin? That’s a matter of opinion, but I think most mothers would agree that once it begins… whether you carry your child physically in your arms or carry them in your heart…it never ends.

We are never just one thing. We are mothers, yes. We are grieving. We find joy. We make jokes. We laugh. We cope. We carry on. But we do not forget.

To anyone whose loss isn’t irreconcilable with the life they love today. To anyone who loved and lost at any stage. To anyone who made plans that fell through. To anyone still trying and hoping. To anyone who does’t want to forget.

I see you, and you’re a mama, too. 🖤