A Different or a First State

A LITTLE PLUS, THEN A MINUS

I became pregnant. As soon as we saw the little plus sign on the pregnancy test, we were so happy that we told everyone we met or spoke to.

Many people then asked us: Do you know why no one announces it before the end of the first trimester? What will you do if the pregnancy does not succeed? We answered that we would simply tell everyone it had not succeeded.
Is the news kept secret because we fear other people’s opinions, because we do not want to explain the other side of the story later, or because it is a taboo subject?

And that is what happened. The pregnancy was not successful. At the first examination in the seventh week, the doctor shook her head because she could not see an embryo and planted a great doubt in me. While we waited to see how the pregnancy would develop, we confirmed the news to a few more people, although we kept quiet about the possibility that I might not be pregnant for much longer. It was one thing to tell people close to me, whom I guided through the whole story and who shared the experience with me step by step. Strangers, acquaintances, and observers who like to add their opinions were something else.

Bad News with Good Intentions

I did not like the doctor when she said it was concerning that the fetus was not visible in the seventh week, but her honesty and “cold reaction” prepared me for that possibility. One part of me understood that the pregnancy might realistically not succeed, while another part hoped it was simply too early to see anything.
When I returned for another examination about ten days later, the doctor was again serious and reserved. She sent me to the hospital for a better ultrasound and a second opinion. They examined me there and allowed another week to see how the situation would develop. Throughout that time, pregnancy symptoms were still very present, together with a mild, all-over sense of waddling like a penguin.

While waiting and swinging between hope and letting go, the healthiest position I could take was to make peace with “nature’s plan” and remain grateful.

I joked that I had a Schrodinger’s pregnancy, carrying an embryo that was alive and dead at the same time, and that only opening the “box” would reveal which one it was.

The people close to me, with whom I share things as I learn them myself, knew the whole situation and the strong possibility that the outcome would not be what we wanted. They even reminded me not to hope too much, that statistically the possibility was significant, “especially at my age” of 40. Acquaintances watched us from a distance. They had heard something and turned their heads; we waved as we passed and continued on our way.

Finally, I arrived at the examination where it was decided that the pregnancy had to be terminated because of a chromosomal error, they said. My first reactions, disappointment and grief, were still colored by peace. The hospital staff were very kind because they knew how difficult such news can be for women, but they quickly moved to the practical matter: the details of ending the unsuccessful pregnancy.

Leaving the hospital, I felt calm and reflected on the great service my doctor had done me through her cool attitude, seriousness, and professionalism.
I had not liked it at the time, but now I was grateful. She had prepared me.

The Craving Mind

Learning that a wanted pregnancy is not viable, at any stage, is a sensitive experience. Pregnancy is an uncertain period, and something unexpected can happen at any moment. An attitude in which a pregnant woman is prepared for “all possibilities” is useful and not pessimistic at all. It is simply an objective acknowledgment of natural laws and the fact that some cells do not have the potential to develop as they should. 

I believe all pregnant women face that uncertainty, especially given how many pregnancies end unsuccessfully.

I want to mention how much it helped that I did not believe cravings disguised as thoughts such as “everything will be all right” and “it will not happen to me.” I did not give in to imagining that Nikola would have a little brother or planning how we would organize everything when the baby arrived. Instead of feeding those wishes, I trusted the will of nature, which is greater than me and makes that decision. In other words, I did not cultivate a “craving mind.”
For years, through meditation, I have trained myself to recognize the craving mind and not follow it, not believe it or react to it. In this real-life situation, I could see that this practice makes the difference between calmly accepting difficult information and panicked disbelief that can lead to an unstable mental state.

Had I convinced myself that everything would turn out exactly as I wanted and planned, without considering the realistic possibility that it might not, my disappointment would have been profound. 

The termination itself was an unpleasant experience. Yet in the hospital, where I met women facing serious problems, I was grateful that my reason for being there was relatively safe and that I could quickly return home to my husband and son.

PITY OR COMPASSION

The procedure was followed by an emotional period and a sudden drop in hormones. I needed time to withdraw into my own quiet. Then I felt the difference between people who pitied me and those who showed genuine compassion. I could sense who was reacting from the “gladiator phenomenon,” a gratification in another person’s misfortune and an elevation of oneself through the thought: I am not in that situation; it would not happen to me.
True compassion came from the people close to me, whom I chose to tell what was happening, who listened when I explained how I genuinely felt, and who sincerely wished me well.
Only then did I understand why everyone says that a pregnancy should not be announced until it is “safe.”

While all this is happening, purely because of the chemistry in your body, you do not have the capacity to release inappropriate comments calmly. Your shield is gone.

Another problem is that a pregnant woman can identify too strongly with the loss, as if it were her defeat or something she personally failed to achieve. That attitude gives rise to shame and even guilt, especially under the magnifying glass of cutting remarks.

I invite you to become aware of the difference between pity and compassion in yourself. Pity says: I am better than you. Compassion says: we are the same; we stand on equal ground. This creates a profound difference between truly helping and supporting someone and merely making the situation harder with our advice and comments. If we want to help, the rule is to wait until we are asked or shown that we are needed. Until then, we can remain present with thoughts of support, love, goodwill, and a warm cup of tea.

We were completely open about our story. Whenever anyone asked how things were, I told the truth. With this text I am saying: this is what happened.
When we live honestly and act from right intentions, without shame, we do not need to fear gossip because we have given it no fuel. If gossip still arises, it belongs to the weakness of the person creating it, and we can leave it there.

Conclusion

This text is a diary of the event, written from a need to bring it to a close. It is also support for women going through the same thing. We are not guilty or responsible, there was nothing we could have done differently, and we need to make peace with that. Finally, it is an attempt to answer the question of why people do not announce a pregnancy before it is considered safe.

My responsibility as a yoga teacher is to end with the thought that we do not practice yoga and meditation to achieve “eternal health.” We practice to relax into the reality of natural laws and understand that we must accept what we cannot change. We train to recognize the craving mind without strengthening it, become aware of the intentions behind our actions, choose those that do not cause harm, and grow in genuine compassion.
Meditation is not an escape into a craving for safety or eternal happiness, far away from the fear of impermanence.

Through practice, we relax into everything impermanence carries and open ourselves to fear, so that we can live our life honestly and as well as we know how, right now.

Every ending is a new beginning. This is one more experience that needs no label. It was allowed to come and pass, and it can remain impersonal.

Photographs: Evie-s, Unsplash, and our private collection.