Let's Talk About The Words We Use

"It's a miscarriage of justice!"

That phrase has echoed repeatedly in my mind. And the more I sat with it, the more it began to mean something deeply personal. The prefix “mis-” is defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as “wrongly” or “badly.” So when we say “miscarriage,” what are we really implying? That I carried my baby wrongly? Incorrectly? Badly?

Because I didn’t. In fact, my body held on fiercely. So much so that, more than a week after the surgical procedure, my breasts still ache and my pregnancy tests are still very much positive. (I'll save my newly developed trust issues with my body for another post.)

But I’m not the first to bring this up. There are countless articles and pieces of research exploring the terminology we use to describe pregnancy loss. During my own reading, I came across even more jarring and clinical terms, words and phrases that made me wince, and I completely relate to why so many people find the language used to describe their experience triggering and so upsetting.

One of the questions I’ve been asked is, “How did you know you lost the baby?” But I didn’t lose the baby. I know exactly where it is. It’s still inside me. It just... died.

And yet, that phrase - "lost the baby" - seems to be the most socially accepted and palatable way to describe what’s happened.

As someone who thinks a lot about language (yes, I consider myself a bit of a linguist), I’ve found myself questioning all the words tied to this.Take the word "abortion", for example - one that appears on a fair amount of my medical paperwork. On a purely linguistic level, it means to stop or to terminate, and that’s exactly what happened: the pregnancy stopped. My baby stopped living.

Most of the post-surgery information I was given is under the umbrella of "recovery after abortion." And yes, I get it. Medically speaking, that’s what happened.

But is that the word I want to use? Absolutely not.

But the alternatives don't feel much better. None of the language we use seems right. None of it feels kind, human, or reflective of the experience itself. And maybe that's the point.

Maybe the fact that we can't agree on terminology - the fact we can't even find words that we're remotely comfortable with - just shows how unnatural, how unwanted and how painful the experience is.

We didn't do anything wrong.

We didn't fail.

So why does the language make it sound like we did?

Because, calling it a miscarriage?

That, in itself, is a miscarriage of justice.