A bit of time ago, someone close to me went through an unwanted pregnancy. 

They navigated it with care & intention, making the best decision they could for themselves. During the process, they reached out to me to talk about how hard it all felt. I asked them, “Would you like me to just listen or share my experience?”

“Share your experience?”

I’ve said before, “we had a horrible miscarriage.” But that sentence has always felt… contained. With two wonderful children running around now, I’ve often felt this quiet, unspoken pressure to let the cloud pass.  To move forward. To be grateful.

But when I shared my full story with them, the messy, horrible, they said, “This was so helpful.” So, here is my story.

If you need to skip this because it feels too heavy, I understand. 

—the “spoiler alert”—is this:

We should normalize talking about miscarriage & pregnancy loss but not in a way that minimizes it.  The conversations around it, the difficulty of experiencing it, & at the same time, we have to be mindful with our language—

not to cause shame, & not to minimize the loss with statistics.

Hold space without explaining it away. Speak with care. 

Because that baby mattered. 

When Matt & I started trying to get pregnant, we did a few things “wrong.”

Like me going 100% cold turkey on coffee & cutting out foods before a positive test.

We also did a lot of things “right.”I met with an OB-GYN ahead of trying.
I got a lot of hormonal bloodwork. I was deemed healthy, at the time. 

& then. . . we were pregnant!
& then. . . COVID hit.

The excitement for our first 8 week appointment was put on hold- well switched to a virtual hello & I could come in at 10 weeks instead, but no Matt.

Though, I kept checking in with my OB-GYN. 

As someone with an Eating Disorder, I knew my body. My ED was focused not on restriction, or food manipulation, but obsession with measurements, numbers, & workouts. I knew my baseline- & I knew when something was off-

So, I asked a lot of questions. I kept saying, ‘things are feeling differentf’ & I was told, “lots of women….”

Lots of women get morning sickness. It’s probably that.
Lots of women feel something like morning sickness. It’s probably indigestion.
Lots of women don’t know how to handle new pains. Don’t worry.
Lots of women have bleeding. It’s probably spotting. 

“Lots of women.”

When our 10 week appointment became a 12 week appointment, I turned to the internet-

I started reading about deficiencies, possible thyroid issues (something that runs in my family), progesterone levels. What could be monitored. What could be managed. What beta hCG levels could indicate. & I asked for bloodwork. Specific tests.

“Lots of women think they’re different. You’re not.” 

At 12 weeks, I walked into the ultrasound alone. 

Because of COVID regulations, Matt had to wait in the parking lot. He was only allowed on the phone later in the appointment. 

I talked to the Dr about my symptoms & struggles. I laughed & said, “Twins run in my family… Maybe that’s why everything feels so off- it’s just a double punch in there.”

“Oh, it’s not twins. You don’t even have one in there. You lost the baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, you have the full sac & parts, but there’s no heartbeat. It happens to lots of women sometimes because of hormonal issues, chromosomal development, etc. I’ll let you have a moment. Then, I’ll write you a prescription for an at home pill- easier than in the hospital right now because COVID.” 

& she left me with the nurse. 

When I picked up the prescription, all I had were the directions on the back of the bottle. I tried calling the OB-GYN with questions.

I was told, briefly, “When you take it, you’ll have some pain for a few hours, then you’ll pass it.” (note: the word IT)

When my friend asked me what it was like, I told them the truth.

Not the “lots of women” version. My specific what happened to me. What my mindset was. What physically I felt. What emotionally I felt. 

& I shared the things I wish someone had told me.

The questions they could ask, to prepare, even just a little. Like: 

• The OB-GYN may not be able to tell you exactly how long the pain will last, or how long the process will take. . . but ask where they think you are in the process. i.e what to expect you might pass: size- sac- amount of blood to worry about- 

Because I was told I would “pass it.” But no one told me what that actually meant. What it might look like. What it might feel like. & that part… was a gut punch.

• No one told me what to do at that moment-

I told them, think about what would feel better: if they prepared something ahead of time, like a small box, or have someone they trusted there- whether to hold space outside the door or step inside to help them let it go

• & I had no idea what came next; how painful it was to walk past Baby Max’s nursery-
• How we would tell our family-
• How to ask our family not to say things like, “it wasn’t meant to be- god knew something would be wrong with the baby-& you can try again”-
• How to ask for no-hugs because my body felt like it had betrayed me- 

& for me, it didn’t just end there. 

I wanted children. I wanted to try again.

The mental toll was heavy. 

I wanted to try right away. I wanted Max back. 

I had already made a change, I switched OB-GYNs immediately. After writing a very intense letter to my previous OB-GYN’s Director about my experience, I found someone who actually heard me.

They helped me through the check-ups & recovery steps of the miscarriage, supporting me & giving me space to advocate for my history with kind responses.

& when we did get pregnant again. . . I held the secret for longer & I questioned every feeling. My OBGYN let me come in for more frequent check-ups & got us to a safe point with the same meds I had previously attempted to ask for. 

But I never truly felt safe, until my babies arrived.

I always felt ‘what if”

The experience reshaped how I moved through pregnancy.

There were so many cloudy days along the way. 

When I found out both of my babies would likely come early, in a strange way, I welcomed that. It eased some of my anxiety, like getting to the finish line sooner meant I had made it. 

& we did, we had our babies.

Alma, one month early. Max, two months early.
Alma with a hernia & Max in the NICU.

Those days struggles are a different story. Postpartum is a whole story of its own.

But I will say this, when it all hit me, I found myself becoming contained again.
Because so much of what I heard was, “Well, you were able to have this baby.”

So I tucked the fullness of my miscarriage away. Somehow, my loss invalidated the support I needed in those moments. Yes, I was grateful my babies were here. But that didn’t make it all feel okay.

So if someone you love goes through a miscarriage—

Don’t try to make it make sense.

Don’t rush them forward. 

Let it be as heavy as it is.

& remind them they don’t have to carry it alone. 

Be gentle with your words.

Be patient with their grief.

support for coping & learning how to support those experiencing pregnancy loss

Postpartum Support International — support groups, helplines, and therapist directories

The Miscarriage Association — practical guidance and emotional support (helpful regardless of location)

Realness Rising: Grief Support