Between 2015 and 2018, my husband and I faced seven miscarriages. Each one
was a different kind of loss, yet the response from the world around me was painfully
similar: “Don’t be sad, it wasn’t a real baby yet.” “At least it was early.” These were
the words people said, in an effort to comfort me, I suppose. People cared, but they
wanted to wrap my grief in a box and label it as something smaller, easier to handle.
In doing so, they unintentionally dismissed the depth of my sadness.
It felt as though society had quietly agreed that my pain shouldn’t be acknowledged.
So, I did what I thought I had to do: I went back to work the next day. Every time,
without fail—except for one miscarriage, the most physically taxing, which landed me
in the hospital. Still, I went back as soon as I could, lipstick smile, high heels
marching, determined to prove that I was fine. That I could handle it. I pushed down
the grief and convinced myself that if no one else was letting me feel any emotional
pain, then maybe I wasn’t supposed to feel it either.
What I didn’t realise then was how deeply this pattern of trying, losing, not grieving,
and soldiering on would take a toll. By 2018, my body, mind, and soul collapsed
under the weight of my silent suffering. I broke down at work. Three years of ignoring
my emotions, of pretending I was “fine,” had finally caught up with me. I took three
months off, the longest break I’d ever had from work.
During that time, I began therapy, where I finally had the space to explore what I was
truly feeling. And for the first time, I was allowed to feel. It was a revelation to me that
sadness was valid, that my losses were real, and that it was okay to grieve. Anger,
grief, sorrow, and confusion—emotions I’d suppressed for years—started surfacing.
They were messy, uncomfortable, and yet so necessary for my healing. I learned
that these emotions weren’t something to avoid; they were something to honour.
In therapy, I discovered the power of introspection, of looking inward and naming my
experiences. I started reflecting on the societal expectation that we quickly move on
from miscarriage, as if it were merely a bump in the road and not the deep, personal
loss it truly is. For years, I had heard phrases like “this isn’t a viable pregnancy” at
every scan in the early pregnancy unit. The words felt clinical, detached. They lacked
empathy, understanding, and the space for me to truly process the life-altering event
that miscarriage is. The healthcare professionals cared, of course, but they were
insufficiently equipped to offer the kind of emotional support I needed. Of course, at
the time, I didn’t even know I needed it.
After months of therapy and self-reflection, I had an epiphany: this was the work I
wanted to do. I wanted to help others who had gone through—or were going
through—similar losses. I wanted to be the person who says, “Your pain is real, and
you deserve to feel it.” In 2023, I qualified as a counsellor, and this year, I am adding
Sands’ Training for Counsellors and Therapists to my practice.
As we approach Baby Loss Awareness Week – an alliance and campaign dedicated
to raising awareness, I want to highlight how important it is to open up the
conversation about this often-silenced grief. Baby Loss Awareness Week is an
opportunity to share stories, to create a safe space for those who have experienced

loss, and to break the stigma surrounding it. Many of us have carried our pain
quietly, feeling like we couldn’t share it. But this month—and every month—let’s
make room for that grief, and let’s make sure no one has to go through it alone.
To all the individuals and families who have experienced the heartbreak of
miscarriage, I am here for you. I see you, and I hear you. I know the depth of your
pain, the weight of your grief, and the complexity of emotions that follow. I want to
help, to listen, to hold space for whatever you are feeling—whether it’s anger,
sadness, confusion, or a mixture of all these emotions.
Acceptance of your feelings is key, and I want you to know that they are all valid.
Every tear, every thought, every feeling you’ve pushed aside because you thought
you shouldn’t feel it—it’s all valid. Grief deserves space, and you deserve to heal.
My journey through loss brought me to a place of deeper understanding, and now, it
is my mission to offer that understanding to others. I want you to know that you don’t
have to go through this alone. Together, we can work through the pain, the grief, and
the complexities of miscarriage. It’s hard, but it’s OK, to feel, and I am here for you.