Adrienne Prentice (37 - she/her), Evelyn (2), and Jack (4 mo)
Washington, DC
"What did I do?" Those were the first words out of my mouth when the doctor confirmed my HCG levels were too low and I'd lost my pregnancy. The words alone shocked me because they were riddled with guilt and shame. I was a proud and confident woman. I knew the statistics - 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was. I was surprised it happened to me. I was surprised at my own reaction. And I was mostly surprised at how connected I was to this little baby at only 8 weeks pregnant. The heartbreak is like nothing I've ever experienced. Nothing anyone said or did made me feel better. (And the many well-intentioned but dense comments certainly didn't help.) There is no explanation. There is no proof positive reason as to why I never met that baby. The only thing that seemed to make me feel some sort of release was to share my story.
I started bleeding in a Wawa bathroom somewhere in the middle of Virginia on the way home from a beach vacation where we had just told all our friends and family about the pregnancy. I continued bleeding for 20 days. 20 days. Just when I was feeling lifted and positive, I would go to the bathroom and crumble again. I was at work when I got that call from my doctor and I somehow managed to scurry out of the office and held back all the ugly tears until I made it on the metro. Strangers held space for me that day. Then I got angry and screamed. Then I didn't want to get out of bed. I'm no expert but these are stages of grief. Because, despite only being 8 weeks along, what I experienced was a loss.
The more I shared my story, both publicly and privately, the more stories I heard in return. Other people's stories (not advice or pep talks) helped me process my feelings and I finally found some comfort. I learned I absolutely loathe the word miscarriage-- my body didn't "mis" do anything. What I learned was that I wasn't alone. I wasn't silly or self-involved or soft to be so tore up over a pregnancy that only lasted 8 weeks. Most of all- I learned it wasn't my fault. That baby was due on Valentines Day 2019. They will always be in my heart.
How has parenthood impacted your body image?
I don't ever look at my nude body in the mirror. Honestly- maybe once a month- I'll catch a glimpse as I hop in the shower. I haven't weighed myself in 20 years - I close my eyes while I'm on the scale at doctor's appointments. I never talk about calories or dieting with friends. Am I knowingly putting my head in the sand? Yes. Sometimes it's a mechanism to help maintain confidence. But I'm also scared that if I start paying attention then I will see something I don't like. So, somewhat tragically, I never really took the time to form an image of body.
Becoming a mother has taken that to a whole new level. My body's purpose is to serve my children. My body is a function. It is a vessel. It grows and nurtures babies. It takes me through the motions of my day- from the middle of the night shuffle to the nursery to the breakfast dance parties to the playground to the bedtime stories and everything in between. All wonderful moments devoted to my children that I wouldn't trade for anything.
But this is not where I want to be. I want more than fleeting glances in the mirror. I want to know and appreciate and love my body more. I want to see more than breasts that nurse and arms that carry and snuggle. I want to see a body that can give and receive pleasure. I just don’t know how to get there. I heard that hormones (and libido) start to level out at 6 months postpartum. So hopefully, in a couple months, I will get my groove back. I want to be more invested in honoring my body’s strength, resilience and power. To serve and to please. My children, my partner and me.
What was your postpartum experience?
I am fortunate not to have experienced a PMAD, but motherhood rocked me to the core. I’ve since learned about the term “matrescence” and I had a mean case of it. Matrescence is the transition to motherhood and, like adolescence, your hormones, identity and body are turned upside down.
Pre-Evelyn, I had a very successful career as an attorney. I worked with high profile clients at big law firms and led teams across continents. I strongly identified as an ambitious professional woman working my way up the corporate ladder as the youngest VP at a Fortune 10 company. While I was pregnant and on maternity leave, my company reorganized and I was excluded from the interview process. On my first day back to work (at 8 weeks postpartum), I was laid off and offered a severance package. Then three days later told that I would not receive any severance. All VPs in my department were interviewed except for me- I was the only female VP. No one could tell me why I wasn’t interviewed. It certainly wasn’t because I lacked the qualifications. It was because I was a woman. A woman who also chose to become a mother- motherhood penalty at its finest. I begged for answers and was ignored. During this time, I also learned that a male peer told others that I was “difficult and unlikable” and that the only reason I was promoted was because I slept with my boss – both absolute garbage.
I wanted to fight and to sue. Put them in the newspapers. But I didn’t…because I was tired. I was losing sleep at night – nursing my newborn and silently screaming. Stressing over spilled milk and my professional identity. The best thing for my family was to settle this dispute. So I did. Ugh.
I share this because my career was stolen from me at the exact same time that I became a mother. It left me feeling lost. And guilty. Why wasn’t being a mom enough for me? Why couldn’t I be fulfilled just focusing on this tiny baby?
It’s because motherhood is not binary. I am a whole person with values and hopes and dreams who is also a mother. It’s not a waste of time to spend an entire day just staring at my precious baby. And it’s also OK to take multi-day business trips to nourish my professional identity and create opportunities for my future. I still sometimes feel like I half-ass everything…like I’m not a great mother, partner, daughter, friend or professional. Sometimes it’s a time issue- I don’t have the time to be a good one of those people everyday. But more often- it’s that I feel like there isn’t enough “room” for me to be all of those people. This time around, with my second baby, I’m owning my multi-faceted self more. I bring my baby to business meetings and my daughter knows that mama “works” in the basement. It took a long time for me to get there. And I’m still practicing.
What is your truth?
You matter. You have permission to invest in yourself.
Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?
I don’t want to be a hypocrite! I often preach and encourage women to love themselves and share their story. But I recognize that it takes courage to be this vulnerable. I want to be an example to others in my community and especially my daughter. I want to start conversations with my family who don’t understand. Being vulnerable is a muscle that I want to flex in the hope that maybe it will get easier. And I have seen the power of women supporting each other. This 4TBP movement is special and I want to be a part of it- a part of something big that can positively influence mamas everywhere to be and celebrate their whole and beautiful selves.