I Had a Miscarriage by Jessica Zucker (classic books to read .TXT) 📗

anything to celebrate or to even like or appreciate about my body at this point. I feel so betrayed by it. It feels like it can’t possibly belong to me, or it wouldn’t have strayed so far from what I want so badly,” she explained. “It’s like I’m a stranger in my own skin. I feel physically unrecognizable. I’m infuriated and on the brink of defeat.”

And for those who do not identify as the gender they were assigned at birth, who do not ascribe to the gender binary, or who have body dysmorphia as it relates to their identity and/or sexuality, this feeling of bodily betrayal is often compounded. From being misgendered by medical professionals to the physical signs and symptoms of pregnancy warring with their gender identity, the body becomes something of a minefield.

I heard a lot about the feeling of being at war with one’s body from a relatively new patient, Taylor, who identifies as gender nonbinary. As a trans person, they do not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. How their body has functioned throughout their life—be it the onset of puberty, menstruation, and the development of breasts—has felt like an affront to their true identity, a seemingly cruel reminder that who they are does not align with how they present. However, Taylor was pursuing artificial insemination because they believed experiencing pregnancy could be a chance to revel in the ways in which their body was made—capable of housing a baby—and perhaps even feel more connected to a form that, for them, oftentimes felt alien. With a history of body insecurity, self-esteem concerns, and percolating questions about what raising a child might look like, Taylor thought it wise to seek therapy before embarking on the journey to becoming a parent.

Taylor spoke of their theoretical future pregnancy in powerful terms, imagining that carrying a child would correlate with finally feeling “ownership” over their body, often describing the very idea of pregnancy as “primal.” While Taylor told me that this attitude was often a surprise to their friends in the trans community, who sometimes find the physical act of carrying a pregnancy quite fraught with potential to fuel feelings of dysphoria, to Taylor, the thought of being pregnant offered respite from the years of body dysmorphia—obsessing over perceived “defects” or “flaws” in the body—and gender dysmorphia—the conflict between biological sex and gender identity—that had plagued Taylor since they could remember.

Taylor had considered pregnancy to be a chance at truly appreciating the profound ways in which their body was constructed—reproductive parts and all. They speculated that pregnancy could perhaps provide a transformative opportunity to look beyond the ways in which they felt betrayed by their body and, instead, get lost in its inner workings. Relish it, even. In preparing for pregnancy, Taylor had become engrossed by the mechanics of it all. After a lifetime of being unable to accept themselves physically, Taylor was beginning to get curious about and integrate the profound ways in which their body could potentially create life. And all the ways it could go wrong too.

Taylor lamented about pregnancy loss, before having experienced pregnancy at all. They opined that the possibility of miscarriage would no doubt transport them right back into childhood self-hate which centered around loathing their body. Quite literally hating the skin they were in.

“It will work, right? I’ll be able to get pregnant, don’t you think?” Taylor asked me, tentatively hopeful. Leading up to their scheduled intrauterine insemination procedure, we spent several sessions discussing Taylor’s deep desire to experience pregnancy and the fears shrouding that aspiration. Hours before actually attempting to get pregnant, Taylor came face-to-face with debilitating panic in my office.

“What if it doesn’t work?” they queried with desperation. “What if the science I’ve been putting so much faith in doesn’t yield what I want it to?” Taylor’s body lowered on the brown leather couch as they picked at tiny feathers poking out of the embroidered pillows.

We remained in silence together ever so briefly.

Witnessing their hope juxtaposed with anticipated “failure” reminded me of so many people who have sat in that exact spot—literally and figuratively—plagued by worry and sometimes optimism, imagining the worst while hoping for the best.

“I wish I knew the answer. I sincerely wish I could tell you what will happen,” I said, as I thought to myself how game-changing it would be if I could somehow ensure a dreamed-of future for my patients. But I’m not a fortune teller. I can’t know. I don’t know. Nor am I really sure that anyone can.

Suspended in sheer vulnerability—wanting something so badly but not having a semblance of control, nothing to ensure it will come to pass—is the place of humanity. These are the heart-opening moments we wish we could evade, but can’t.

“Though I can’t predict the future, I hold so much hope that it’ll happen for you. I know how much you want this. I understand how meaningful this is to you. You are ready to become a parent,” I said.

Taylor clutched the pillows on the couch once again, looking for any additional loose, pokey feathers to extract.

I waited. And then I watched as Taylor’s body crumpled in what looked like resignation. I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d quickly ventured into a dark and muddled place—prematurely concluding that pregnancy wouldn’t be something that could come easy.

“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned their headspace was descending.

“I don’t think so.” Taylor’s words barely made their way out of their lips. “I can’t absorb another disappointment. I need this to happen without drama.”

I understood, as I’d heard this sentiment vocalized so many times. It was then that I urged myself to gently press them to consider the possibility of this process going smoothly. For sometimes it does. So far, there was no proof it wouldn’t.

“Why do you think it might not happen? What information do we have that indicates pregnancy won’t happen the way you hope it will?” I wasn’t attempting to shift or erase their feelings, but instead expand