Season of Passage

After a long day of filming, I rode the subway home with several cast-mates and crew sharing what they had done for Halloween a few nights earlier. Seated next to my director, I explained that while I tried to make Halloween fun for my children, I wasn’t a fan. When asked why, I made a brave choice for myself. For the first time, I quietly shared the story of my miscarriage on Halloween 12 years earlier. I had never spoken those words aloud to anyone but my husband and doctor. He encouraged me to make a short film, which I quickly dismissed while realizing the thought terrified me. Not only had I never made a film nor written a script, no one knew of my miscarriage. Why would I ever want to share that, especially so publicly? Who would ever want to hear about it, much less watch a short film about it? Turns out more than I could have ever imagined.

When I tentatively started sharing my story with women, exploring whether they might be interested in seeing a film about miscarriage, I was floored by the overwhelming response I received, not only to see this story on the screen, but how many women had experienced a miscarriage. Complete strangers were compelled to tearfully share their stories and their attempts to move on, but the truth was they still carried the pain of loss secretly. There was very little healing going on.
Why such a universal response? In short, we all somehow feel we are to blame. We mis-carried our baby. Maybe if we hadn’t lifted that heavy box, been so stressed out, waited so long, ran so hard, ate that food, or any other reason we can come up with, maybe the baby would have survived. We felt a whole range of emotions: sadness, anger, embarrassment, frustration, shame, desperation, guilt.
As we shared our stories, we started feeling better. We shared hugs and tears, smiles and relief, expressing gratitude for being heard and understood. Men, too, shared how difficult it had been - both the initial loss and the helplessness they felt watching their partner suffer during the challenging emotional journey afterward.

In her book, “Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar”, Cheryl Strayed said,

“The healing power of even the most microscopic exchange with someone who knows in a flash precisely what you're talking about because she experienced that thing too cannot be overestimated.”

I set out to write a simple and truthful story about a day in the life of a woman and show what can happen during a miscarriage. Every story is different: it happened at work, at a birthday party, the grocery store, the boardroom, in the middle of the night. But all of us has a universal experience. I want women to feel understood in a flash, to inspire them to share their stories, remove the taboo of miscarriage, start the healing, and to see they are not alone.