NOBLE MOTHERS: MICHAELA TAYLOR
Here at The Noble Paperie, we want to become a brand that is more than just selling products. We want to support and inspire this community. And we want to do this by lifting up other women that are willing to share their journey through loss. These women are Noble Mothers: they are making an impact in the miscarriage, pregnancy and infant-loss, and infertility communities. We are excited to share our next Noble Mother with you — Michaela Taylor. Below, you will find her story.
My motherhood journey started for me in January of 2019, when I looked on in disbelief at a positive pregnancy test. I waited all day for my husband to come home from work so that I could share the exciting news with him that we would be welcoming a baby into our home in the following months.
A few weeks passed and I started to encounter some complications. This meant endless scans, each one encouraging us that our little life dancing around on the screen was absolutely healthy…until one day he was not. After giggling with my husband at the acrobatics on the screen, the sonographers manner completely changed and the room fell silent, we both knew immediately at that moment that something was wrong.
I pleaded and begged to be given any kind of information and finally, the words fell off her tongue "There is a problem with your baby's brain". We made our way out into the waiting room, sitting between families who would later be passing by with black balloons filled with hidden pink or blue confetti. We heard the familiar mumble of heartbeats from under scan room doors. I was asked to choose some photos of my son, but I just couldn't face it.
We stumbled to our car and sat for the longest forty minutes our lives as we came to the understanding that this pregnancy was not going to end in the way that we wanted it, or expected it to, at all. Through a sea of tears, my husband drove us to a friend’s house. We were met with cups of tea, prayers, and true friendship, before heading back home—a place that would become the place a place to grieve.
The next day, we were called in to see a consultant who would let us know the extent of the diagnosis. It felt like hours that we were in that scan room, and that's because we were. Each and every detail showed that our son was incredibly unwell. The consultant advised an amniocentesis. This procedure involves inserting a needle through your stomach to collect amniotic fluid, which can then be analysed for abnormalities. Although we didn't leave that day with a diagnosis, we left with the honest truth that our baby was most likely, not going to survive.
Four unbearable days followed while we waited for a call—one that we desperately wanted to receive, yet were utterly terrified to answer at the same time. While out walking my dog and clearing my head, my phone began to buzz in my pocket and I picked up to the familiar voice of our screening midwife. I could tell instantly from her voice that earth-shattering news was about to devour me, but I asked her to proceed anyway. What followed were words that have been buried into my depths, "I am so sorry, but your baby is incompatible with life'.
Just two days later, our son slipped into the world silently, while I was supported by my husband and two incredible midwives that would later become an increasingly integral part of my life. To this day, I still don't know how I managed to endure labour knowing that the outcome would not result in a healthy, crying, and wriggling baby, but I did know that the love that I felt would last a lifetime. We spent hours cradling our son, and admiring his tiny features that looked so perfect. This of course made it more difficult to accept that he was so unwell.
The journey that followed has been anything short of easy. It has been a journey filled with trauma, uncertainty, deep grief and intense pain. But it has also been filled with so much love. I never knew that it was possible to love someone so much and so deeply, and that's why I understand that the grief is a lifelong journey. Every day isn't awful, and the joy often outweighs the sorrow, now that I am just over a year on. I now truly know that grief is so intense, because the love that we carry for the person that we lost is intense too.
Five months after giving birth to Zachary, I took a pregnancy test while my husband was downstairs getting ready to leave for work. I had done this many times previously and was ready to stare at yet another single line and feeling like my body had failed me, but this time as my phone blasted out that my three minutes were up, two solid red lines stared back at me. I raced downstairs to tell my husband that we had a little miracle on board.
As I am writing this, I am 36 weeks pregnant with a healthy baby girl. This journey has been especially challenging as I have faced pregnancy after loss, extra appointments due to my previous pregnancy, and being in the midst of a worldwide pandemic. But this time has also been so joyful. I am so ready to hold my baby girl in my arms now, to look at her perfect features and to tell her all about her big brother when she is old enough to understand.
My journey to motherhood has not been one that I had expected, and was definitely not one that I had wanted, but I wouldn't trade it now. I understand how bizarre that seems, but the journey that I have taken has allowed me to grow into the woman that I am today: to help others that have and will walk this treacherous path, and to carry on Zachary's legacy in a beautiful way.
1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage and 1 in 8 couples are walking through infertility. With so many women being affected by these issues, there is power in telling your story. What was the turning point for you to feel safe enough to share your own journey?
A. For me, I just knew that I had to share my story; it was a need that was buried deep within me. I could not let this tragedy happen to us without something beautiful coming from the ashes of it. I started to share little parts of our story on social media, attended a support group, and met many women who had faced the same unthinkable pain. It was there that I found my story helping others, and that Zachary had a purpose that lived on well beyond the day that he was born.
Over time, I felt a grace upon me that allowed me to speak to other bereaved parents and bring comfort. I spoke with health professionals about how to better improve bereavement care, I contacted charities and became an ambassador and volunteer speaker. And most of all, I just learned how to live in the mundane while carrying on Zachary's legacy.
Every time I see that someone being helped, it spurs me on to continue sharing my story. I will be honest, and say that sharing my story hasn't always been met with positivity, but often think a bit of opposition shows that we are doing something right! I will always speak of my son, and will always passionately seek to help other bereaved families.
Everyone grieves differently. What has helped you to heal and process your grief?
A. From the very start, I spoke about how I was feeling and the emotional state that I was in. I accepted help from family and friends and I let people know what was and wasn't helpful to us. I learned who I could really trust with my unstable emotions, those who would stick by our side like family, and wouldn't feel uncomfortable around us.
I have always allowed myself to feel what I have needed to, whether that has been the intense wave of grief that has taken me underwater and I have needed a hand to pull me out of, or whether that has been celebrating being able to meet and cuddle my son. My husband and I continue to keep a real, open, and consistent line of communication of how we are feeling about the situation. We let each other know when we are struggling; we allow ourselves to cry; we allow ourselves to laugh—and we don't let things go unsaid.
Each day that I move forward, more joy comes and a little more sorrow leaves. There are still days when grief absolutely floors me, but I know that this is only possible because of how much I loved, and still love, my baby boy.
Was there ever a time someone said something insensitive to you about your pregnancy, pregnancy-loss, or infertility? Knowing what you know now, how would you respond?
A. Unfortunately, there have been many times where something insensitive has been said to me about our situation. I try to balance my reply in a way that meets my relationship with them, and I try to understand their intentions.
Sometimes people say clumsy things, but they have the most well-meaning intentions. For example, in my following pregnancy, I faced people saying, “When you're a Mum”… which deeply hurts that they feel I do not qualify as a mother because my child resides in our living room, in an urn, and not in a Moses basket.
The most hurtful thing, was when we started to return to our social circles and friends actively avoided us. What we needed the most at that time, was to be embraced, and at the very least, just acknowledged. I have had it both ways; I have also had people be incredibly supportive when I fell pregnant again. In essence, what I am trying to say is that people will say and do things wrong. Grief is messy and complicated for everyone involved, not just the person that is grieving. I've learned to correct when I've needed to, and to let go when I've felt that's right too. In a season of grief, you have to find your people. They become your family. You have to protect your boundaries.
Every woman who opens her heart to have children is a mother. What is your favorite thing about motherhood? What has loss or infertility taught you about motherhood?
A. I love being a Mum. My favourite thing about motherhood is the overwhelming love that you never even knew was possible. I love talking about my boy, and I can't wait to tell my little girl all about her big brother. I feel like I have a deep appreciation for my children and the journey that I have faced to get to where I am today.
How are you using your gifts to lift others up who are walking through pregnancy loss, infertility, or other pregnancy-related issues?
A. I don't know if I necessarily have a gift, I have never considered myself to be particularly well-versed, but my writing seems to bring comfort to those around me who have and will experience this pain. Setting up my blog and dedicated Instagram was such a big step for me: to share my heart and let others in on my ongoing journey. I have such a deep desire and passion to show others that even amidst the deepest of pain, we can still find joy.
I am also a parent-volunteer for an incredible charity, Beyond Bea that provides bereavement training to health professionals. I am able to share my story and help this group in turn help others. I also work with Aching Arms as a volunteer, preparing bears to go to hospitals which will be placed in the arms of a mother who leaves the hospital without her baby in her arms.
Grief and loss, especially with miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy-loss, can feel very isolating. What is something you would say to yourself in the first days after your loss?
A. The first days may not be what you expect them to be. I found myself in a state of shock for the first week. I knew everything that had happened, but my body would not let me fully process any of it. Especially in the early days, you must allow the right people into your home and into your thought space. It’s okay to admit that you need help. Ask for what you need: food, cleaning, a listening ear, a text to check in every so often. People often desperately want to help but just don't know how to. Also, you will probably feel every emotion under the sun in early grief, this is fine, allow yourself to feel them all. If you have a partner, then ensure that your lines of communication are kept clear and open; not talking about how you both feel will hinder and harm you.
Thank you, Noble Mother
Many thanks to Michaela for having the strength and bravery to share her story with this community. If you would like to submit your own story for our Noble Mothers series, please fill out our submission by clicking the button below.
There is power in the story.
Here at The Noble Paperie, we want to continue to support our community while lifting others up. Are you a mama or do you know one who would be a good fit for our Noble Mothers series? Feel free to comment here, or drop us a line at hello@thenoblepaperie.com. We would love to hear what you think!
xoxo,
