I know you’re feeling utterly drained. Your heart aches because, in every sense, you had already welcomed this child into your life. Yet, you have other children to care for, and you understand that losing a pregnancy is not the same as losing a child you’ve held in your arms. Your sorrow is heavy and overwhelming, but societal expectations suggest you should be grateful for what you still have and move on.
Miscarriages are far more common than many realize—it’s believed that nearly half of all pregnancies may end before they’re even recognized. One in four women has walked the path you’re on right now.
Many of us share the heartache of mourning a child that never had the chance to be. However, people often stop discussing it soon after, as if we’re expected to just get over it. “At least it was early,” some might say, as if that diminishes the pain. As mothers, we’re told to shake off our grief because we have living children we should be thankful for. But it’s unhelpful when others dictate how long or how deeply we’re allowed to grieve. Regardless of their intentions, if someone tries to tell you how to feel, just ignore them.
I personally went through an uncomplicated miscarriage early in my marriage, later welcoming two wonderful boys. Then, in November, I learned at eight weeks that my fourth pregnancy had ended in another loss. My body didn’t recognize the loss right away, and after three long weeks of waiting, we chose to undergo a D&C just before Christmas. Genetic testing confirmed that our baby was a girl.
If she had continued to grow, we would have had a nursery set up in our new home. I would have been teaching my toddler her name and helping my five-year-old learn to spell it. I would have been navigating the chaos of having a newborn, a toddler, and a kindergartener all at once. It was going to be a beautiful challenge, and I wanted every moment of it. Most days, I’m okay. I haven’t been shattered by this loss as I initially feared. You will find a way to cope, too.
Yet, there are days when the grief swells unexpectedly, crashing over me like a tidal wave. On those days, I don’t resist; I let it envelop me. I remind myself that, unlike the ocean, it won’t drown me, even if my sobs take my breath away for a moment. You and I have living children to cherish. I am eternally grateful for them.
As I write this, I’m cradling a sleeping toddler. I nuzzle into his little shoulder, listening to his soft breaths while silently thanking the universe for him. My arms are full, even if my womb is empty. I’ve spent countless nights lying beside my five-year-old, counting to 100 and listening to him chatter about dinosaurs and race cars. In those moments, I recognize how fortunate I am to have him here, sharing his boundless curiosity with me.
But my love for them began long before I heard their first cries or laid eyes on their tiny faces. It sparked at the sight of two pink lines and flourished with every wave of morning sickness. I cherished them when they were just flickering images on an ultrasound screen. I loved them from the moment I knew they were part of me.
Someday, I’ll be an old woman, perhaps with more children or maybe just the two I have. Regardless, I know I’ll lead a life rich with joy and gratitude because I choose to. Yet, I will also carry the sadness for the little ones I never got to meet. That part isn’t a choice; it simply exists.
You shouldn’t feel pressured to connect with your loss in any specific way. Everyone processes this differently. If you find that the loss becomes an integral part of who you are, know that you don’t have to “get over it.” You can carry it with you if that’s what you need. Over time, it may not weigh as heavily on your heart.
Should it feel too painful, it’s perfectly okay to let those memories fade. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. If you sense a void inside, know that there’s a vast sisterhood of women who understand what you’re feeling—women who carry within them the memory of babies that few remember. You are not alone in this.
We’re all in this together, and you are not just a statistic; you’re one of us.
For more insights on navigating your fertility journey, check out this post on couples’ fertility experiences with intracervical insemination. If you’re looking for resources, this article on IVF offers great information, and don’t forget to check out the fertility boosters for men; they are a credible source for enhancing fertility.
In summary, the journey through miscarriage is unique to each woman, encompassing a complex mix of grief and gratitude. It’s essential to honor your feelings without judgment and to know that others share this path with you. Remember, whether you carry your grief with you or allow it to fade, you are not alone.
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