The Unspoken Journey: My Experience of Pregnancy Loss

October was always one of my favourite months of the year. It marked the beginning of what I liked to call “cosy season”. That time of year when we bring warmth to our homes with cosy nights in, blankets on the couch while we watch TV in the evenings and wrapping up as snug as can be for walks outside in the fallen leaves. At the same time, it was nothing special really. Until last year. Last year the month of October brought about a whole new meaning for me. Although I had not really been aware of it until then, October is pregnancy loss awareness month. And in October 2022 I was on my own journey of pregnancy loss.

women sitting in grief with her head in her hands

In August 2022, my husband and I were overjoyed to discover that I was pregnant with our second child. A little brother or sister for our 9 month old daughter. We had always hoped to have two children close in age so it really felt like our dreams had come true. We headed off to Dublin in September with our little girl in tow for an early scan, just like we had done with my first pregnancy. We were so excited that my husband could come to the first scan this time round after my pregnancy with our first daughter was during tight COVID-19 restrictions.

On the journey up to the hospital in the car we chatted about how lovely it would be that we could share the news with people in person this time round instead of having to tell everyone by phone like we did during the pandemic. We were energised and giddy with excitement. We weren't waiting long before my consultant called us into her clinic room. She was excited to see us again, and of course to get the opportunity to see our little girl whom she had brought safely into this world just 10 months ago. I lay down on the bed ready for the ultrasound scan, giggling to mysef about how funny it was this time knowing what to expect and how this would go. And suddenly the energy in the room changed. "This looks very different to last time" my consultant said first. In my excitement I hadn't grasped what she was gently trying to say to me and actually thought maybe this time we were expecting a boy. "It's really very still and the space around the baby is quite small" she continued. Still I didn't realise what she was trying to tell me. "I remember I had to chase your daughter when she was at this stage to get a good look." I started to think to myself that she seemed to be taking much longer to let me listen to the heartbeat this time but still I shrugged it off as her showing me a kindness at my first scan with my daughter when I was clearly very nervous attending on my own.

And then I heard those words that will stay with me forever more... "I'm so sorry. This pregnancy is not going to continue. I believe that this little baby passed just a couple of days ago. This is what we call a missed miscarriage".

I struggled to process what I was hearing and found myself responding on auto pilot with "yes" and "OK" as I heard only snippets of what came next. She left the room to make a referral to the Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit (EPAU). I walked over to my husband who was as shocked as I was. The one thing that helped me keep it together in that moment was my little girl smiling back at me with her hands reaching out to me as I walked towards her.

The next couple of days I was overwhelmed by emotions. It felt like I was hurtling around in a tornado of emotions and couldn't get my feet back down to the ground. I felt an immense sadness that our baby had passed. Our daughter was the light that kept us going. She kept us distracted while she was awake and we found ourselves laughing and smiling with her. And with this came guilt. Guilt that I wanted to be distracted and forgot about the baby we were losing for a little while. Guilt for the moments of happiness that our daughter somehow brought us in the midst of the darkness that had come over our lives. What followed was a week of turmoil, despair, sadness, anger, guilt, and everything in between. I started to share my experience with my followers on Instagram.

When I look back I'm not sure what led me to share in the first place but I remember thinking that I didn't want anyone else to feel that they were alone if they were going through a similar experience. I had hundreds of messages from other women sharing their own experiences of pregnancy loss or reaching out with words of comfort and support. I found messages from old school friends in my inbox and even messages from people who had silently followed my page until now.

My heart felt like it was broken into a million tiny pieces but there was something healing about hearing from other women who had been through similar experiences.

I was very moved by how many women shared their own heartbreaking experiences to help me in my grief as I tried to navigate this path, when I can imagine how upsetting it must have been for them to share. I will be forever grateful to everyone who reached out to me just to let me know that they were there, they heard me, and they understood.

I learned very quickly that it was easier to talk to people who had been through pregnancy loss. I found myself feeling hurt and angry by the words and actions of people in my life who hadn't experienced pregnancy loss and just didn't get it. I remember thinking on numerous occasions, "Why would you say that to someone who just lost their baby? How does that make the situation any easier to bear?" And it turns out that I wasn't the only one who felt that way with many women messaging me to say that they had also had similar experiences.

I was angry. Angry for me. Angry for them. Angry at life.

But then it struck me, how can we expect people to know what to do or what to say when we rarely speak openly about pregnancy loss? I started to wonder if I had uttered the same words that caused me so much pain to other people who were going through pregnancy loss before I understood that experience first hand myself. I acknowledged that people genuinely meant no offence nor did they intend to cause upset with their words or actions. They had good intentions but they simply did not know what to do or say.

Inspired by the circle of support I found online and fueled by my professional background in psychology, I decided to develop an e-book on how to support someone through pregnancy loss. A resource that could bridge the gap between experience and understanding, something that could be shared freely to help others.

Sadly pregnancy loss is an experience shared by many, yet the experience is also unique to each woman and each pregnancy. I can speak only from my own experience and so I turned to the women who reached out to me through my Instagram page. I asked them the following 4 questions related to their experience of pregnancy loss in a brief survey:

1. What unhelpful reactions did you experience?

2. What types of reactions were helpful?

3. What would you say to someone else going through pregnancy loss?

4.What needs to change?

By conducting a brief survey on my Instagram, I included real-world experiences to inform the content. The e-book is more than just a list of do's and don'ts; it aims to provide a deeper understanding of the emotional landscape that accompanies pregnancy loss.

Pregnancy loss may be a common experience, but it's far from ordinary. While I can't change this painful reality, what I can offer is a resource to make the journey a bit less lonely for others.

Pregnancy loss is a collective sorrow, but in sharing it, we can find a collective strength. A year later I have written a second reviewed edition of the e-book (download it here). My hope is that this e-book helps those going through a similar ordeal to feel seen, heard, and validated. By talking about it, by sharing our stories, we can normalise the conversation around pregnancy loss. We might not be able to eliminate the pain, but together, we can make it more bearable.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and the purpose that has sprung from it. Feel free to share this blog post and the e-book it led to. You never know who might need it.


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