by Margaret Schay
In the summer of 2024, my husband and I suffered our fourth miscarriage in a row, and while the territory was familiar to me, it wasn’t any easier. Actually, it was worse.
The days following our loss, I felt completely abandoned; total despair overwhelmed me.
I lashed out at God, convinced that He truly did not care for me. I was crippled by the anger I felt towards Him and by the betrayal I was convinced He had committed against me. For two days, I drowned in despair. I completely abandoned hope.
Then, somewhat reluctantly, I took a tiny moment to look inwards and was shocked at what I found.
There “she” was, huddled in a corner. She was so upset that she dared not even let out a sound. She was utterly terrified. I saw “Despair.” She was a part of me that I had exiled many, many decades ago.*
Her pain and grief felt like too much for my system, so there were parts of me that had built a sturdy prison and locked her away. “She’s too needy, too vulnerable, too volatile. Don’t pay her any attention,” these parts had said.
And so there “Despair” stayed for decades, until a few months ago.
The “bars” around her began to break open when I looked within and I saw her from the depth of my heart. She could sense that I deeply cared for her and felt tremendous compassion for her overwhelming grief. She was able to know this even though she was still too afraid to lift her head up from her knees.
Loss sculpture by Jane Mortimer. Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash
She calmed down significantly, and I stopped drowning. My feet found the bottom.
I am still building a relationship with this part within me, but she no longer feels the need to utterly overwhelm my system in order to get my attention. She is a part of me – a part that carries pain and has long taken on the burden of despair. In time, as I gently ask her to share it, I trust that she will reveal more of who she is beneath that burden. This isn’t about analyzing her; it’s about engaging with her, listening with compassion, and building trust.
In Internal Family Systems (IFS) work, we discover that our parts are not the burdens they bear. Rather, they take on roles to help us survive difficult situations, often beginning in our childhood.
I hope to learn more about this part of me soon. Whoever she is, it is good that she is here. There is a place for her in my system, even as she still carries this heavy burden.
And now, when the grief comes and I feel the sorrow in my body, I turn towards this part and acknowledge her. I comfort her. I spend time with her. As I do, I’m reminded of the Good Shepherd; He knows and cares for His sheep, and His sheep know and trust Him.
This part of me just wants to be seen and loved as she is.
All these years I have worked on healing, but I had never known her. I can’t wait to get to know her now.
* In Internal Family Systems (IFS) work, we don’t believe that parts are necessarily male or female in their essence. But it can be helpful to use “he” or “she” when referring to a part because it makes the relationship feel more personal and relatable—like speaking to a friend or child, rather than analyzing a concept. The gendered pronoun is more about connection than identity.
Margaret Schay is a wife, mother, and Catholic Mindset Coach certified through Metanoia Catholic. She is currently training as a Cycle Show Instructor through the Guiding Star Project and is passionate about helping girls and women rediscover the beauty of their feminine design through body literacy, emotional healing, and John Paul II’s Theology of the Body. Learn more about what Margaret offers here, or follow her on Instagram.
Photo by Lauren Collins Photography