I Had a Miscarriage Jessica Zucker (top 100 books to read txt) 📖

it, her fear that my pregnancy would end badly, her fantasy that my being a specialist in reproductive health somehow made me “immune”—that “probably nothing bad would happen” to me.

My son Liev was born that winter.

• • •

Traditional psychoanalytic theories envision the therapist as a blank slate on which patients project their thoughts and fantasies, a distant expert interpreting the patient from behind an inscrutable facade. Patients’ concerns are seen as problems the doctor can “fix” through psychological suturing. Contemporary psychoanalytic viewpoints, by contrast, have given rise to a very different understanding of the therapeutic alliance, one in which the relationship itself is ultimately what’s curative. But the therapist’s quasi-anonymity remains a central tenet. Patients might inquire about a therapist’s personal life, but unless it benefits the patient’s growth to answer the question directly, the therapist usually explores what the question means to the patient.

I was originally drawn to the field of psychology as a young girl. In fact, looking back, it seems I was enacting a kind of mock group therapy with my dolls during imaginative play, ever since the fledgling age of five. I’d arrange my stuffed animals around the perimeter of my bed, all of them facing one another in a circle. I would invite the animals to share about their days, discuss books, concepts, and most especially, feelings. An interesting preview of what was to come, I suppose.

Flash forward to my late teens, early on in my college career, when I was introduced to Carol Gilligan’s groundbreaking book In a Different Voice. This revolutionary piece of writing ignited a fire in me—one that set me ablaze on a path to pursue the study and practice of psychology, with a focus on girls and women’s development. Gilligan’s work zeroed in on making women’s voices heard, in their own right and with their own integrity, for virtually the first time in social-scientific theorizing about women. Its impact was immediate and continues to this day. Her work has inspired new research, new educational initiatives, and political debate.

Gilligan believes that the field of psychology has persistently and systematically misunderstood women—their motives, their moral commitments, the course of their psychological growth, and their view of what is important in life. She set out to correct psychology’s misperceptions and refocus its views on the psychology of women. A tour de force, Gilligan’s perspective spoke to me on a fundamental level and set the stage for my vision of a career that took on these vital issues. With a passionate interest in community issues on both a minor and mass scale, I initially pursued a master’s degree in public health, with a focus on international women’s health and an aim of incorporating global perspectives on sexual and reproductive health, international health policy, pregnancy, and access to maternal healthcare. After several years of working in the field of public health locally and abroad—in Nigeria, Senegal, India, Nepal, and elsewhere—I was offered the opportunity to study directly with Carol Gilligan at Harvard University. An opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

To have the chance to study under the very person who founded the field and spearheaded research on moral development specific to women was, in no uncertain terms, a dream come true. I was giddy with excitement and gratitude over how this was all coming to fruition. It was then that I had the chance to really integrate all of my academic and career interests—merging my studies of global reproductive issues with the psychology of women and girls. After completing my doctoral degree—which ultimately granted me the opportunity to work one-on-one with the very population of women on their paths to parenthood whom I’d been interested in for decades—I started taking patients.

Over the years, my patients have asked me a variety of personal questions focusing on a number of topics: my age, my marital status, my satisfaction in my marriage, my family history, my mental-health history, even. Of course, they are curious—how could they not be?—but some have pressed more than others. Questions like these often reflect dilemmas around trust, how they experienced maternal love in their early lives, emotional intimacy, deep-seated shame, and their aspirations for brighter, more stable futures. I should say that even I am subject to these lines of thinking: I was aware that my own therapist, Valerie, had been pregnant once. She had no children, though. She’d never volunteered more than the basics, but I was curious, figuring she’d be such a devoted mother, given how warm she was in our sessions. And so, I asked. “I wanted children and was pregnant, but it didn’t work out for us,” she shared. I wanted to know more, but we left it at that.

Like Valerie, I temper my reaction based on my understanding of the individual asking the question. For some, answering directly can be incredibly helpful, even healing. For others, though, it is best to proceed with caution. I share when I think it will be helpful and decline when I don’t. The last thing I want to be is yet another person who adds to my patient’s layered, internalized shame through shutting them down. But I also don’t want to overstimulate them by disclosing information that may throw them off course in any number of ways, like comparing their lives to mine or taking up their therapy time with personal details that may create more of a disconnect than a bridge. It’s a fine line, and I see it as my job to hold their histories and their growth at the core of my decision-making. When I think that a question might lead us into areas that are not ultimately helpful, I sensitively bring us back to the here and now.

So, when my body changed shape and my protruding belly filled the consulting room, the traditional therapeutic construct got turned on its head. Pregnancy is seen as a community event—strangers reaching for the belly, predicting the baby’s sex, and even dispensing parenting advice. A woman’s value while pregnant is reduced to the