At nearly 12 weeks pregnant, I experienced a miscarriage while at work, just before I was set to pick up my toddler from nursery. As I made my way there, feeling the unmistakable dampness on my tights, a wave of energy, reminiscent of the joy I felt after giving birth to my two daughters, washed over me. It was over in an instant.
That morning’s scan had shown a blighted ovum, one that hadn’t progressed beyond 7 weeks. Surprisingly, I felt neither shock nor sorrow. I could trace back to the day when my pregnancy symptoms had faded; this unplanned third child seemed to arrive too soon after our youngest, who was just a year old. We hadn’t planned for a third; I was still nursing and yearned to reclaim my body. I had also just started a part-time job that I had long hoped for. In short, the timing was far from ideal.
I quickly texted a few friends who knew about the pregnancy, brushing aside their concerns. “It wasn’t even a baby,” I reassured them. “I have two healthy girls, and this wasn’t in the plan.” I believed my own words wholeheartedly.
I thought about the opportunities ahead: new jeans to purchase and vacations to plan. Most importantly, I felt fortunate to maintain my newly adjusted job. How lucky I was!
However, the emotional aftermath was unexpected. Just two days later, an overwhelming sense of sadness washed over me. I felt abandoned by those who assumed I was fine because I had insisted I was. Keeping a brave face at work only magnified my distress. I longed to cry, yet feared that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. “I’ll cry tomorrow,” I promised myself.
The optimistic thoughts about not being pregnant evaporated, leaving behind heavy feelings of loss. For the first time, I felt indifferent about everything. The jeans I had coveted lost their appeal; I realized I hadn’t actually reclaimed my body at all.
Every time I looked at my family, there was an undeniable sense of absence. Despite my insistence that it wasn’t really a baby, I felt its loss profoundly. Once pregnant, the possibilities for that new life flood our minds, whether we acknowledge it or not. Would it be another girl, or would we finally have a boy? How would our youngest adapt, still so much a baby herself? And how would I manage? Deep down, we believe we can handle it, and for every worry, there are countless hopes.
In my otherwise typical life, I recognized that I was excited to challenge the norm with that third child, often seen as a risk or luxury. It was a gift that taught me that the small details don’t matter—if two out of three kids have brushed their teeth, it’s a win for the day.
But miscarriage took away that gift. The year stretched ahead, filled with empty milestones I would try to ignore. The future felt uncertain; attempting for another child seemed too daunting. I resolved to wait and hope for another blessing.
I never spoke about my miscarriage, uncertain of how to articulate my feelings. What words could possibly provide comfort? It wasn’t until I received a generic letter from a health visitor expressing condolences that I began to accept my right to mourn. I clung to that letter for months, the only physical reminder of my pregnancy.
Recovery took time, as I gradually began to feel more like myself. I found the strength to confide in my boss about my experience, shared my aspirations to write, published a long-awaited book on Amazon, and started my blog. Suddenly, the miscarriage began to take on meaning, or perhaps I simply needed it to.
Yet the question of a third child lingered. It wasn’t until we made proactive decisions about our future that I began to truly heal.
Two years later, we welcomed our third child—a boy, restoring the hormonal balance I didn’t know I craved. Some days, we manage quite well; other days, it’s more challenging. But now, there are more hopes than worries. I was right about that.
My miscarriage no longer haunts me, but I often wish I had known how to grieve properly. I wish someone had emphasized the importance of that process. Because a miscarriage isn’t just over—it needs to be acknowledged, and so does your right to grieve.
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Summary:
Losing a pregnancy can be an emotional experience that often leaves individuals feeling isolated. This article discusses the journey of grieving a miscarriage, emphasizing that it’s vital to acknowledge your feelings and the right to mourn. It highlights the unexpected emotional fallout that can arise even when a pregnancy wasn’t planned, urging readers to embrace their grief and understand the significance of their loss.