You present to the world a brave face. Outwardly, a look of optimism and strength is worn like armor. Confidence and an unwavering belief that your time will eventually come is the only thing you can speak about with a fake smile plastered on your face. As they say, “good things come to those who wait.”

Underneath that facade, what goes unseen and unspoken, is a complete loss of self worth. Buried in you now lives an immeasurable amount of shame, embarrassment, and isolation that lingers for months after miscarrying a baby or (in my case) multiple babies. Always suffering in silence because you don’t want anyone to look at you like you’re broken or someone to be pitied.

There will be days when you will wake up, put on your “brave face” and fake it so well that you actually convince yourself that you’re alright. You’ve healed, you can move on. Until you pass by the mirror and stop to look at yourself – really look at yourself – and don’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. You’re disgusted. You feel like a failure as a woman. Your body has failed you, and your husband, and your child and now you just look… ugly. You look ugly, and sad, and tired.

You start questioning how your husband must see you now. How could he possibly find you attractive? He tells you over and over how beautiful are are – he strokes your hair, your cheek, down your thigh but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. It just feels like pity.

You see other women with their children and wonder what makes them superior. What have they done in life that’s allowed them to accomplish something that you cannot? You reek of failure and you swear everyone else notices it too.

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I’m having one of those days.

My instinct now is to say “okay, I’m fine, just venting!” But I’m not. I’m not fine and it’s not just venting. I’m in pain and I’m tired of suffering alone in my own head. There is only so much opening up you can do with some people before you start to feel like an annoyance. A broken record. My head gets so tangled up that I can’t distinguish one feeling from another and I start lashing out like a wounded animal.

Writing is the best way to express how I’m feeling and to untangle my thoughts. Going back and reading it over and over again feels validating somehow. Like yelling in to the void – maybe someone can hear you, maybe not, but the yelling itself feels good so I’m going to do it anyway.