You Have Every Right to Grieve Your Miscarriage

home insemination Kit

I was nearly 12 weeks along when I experienced a miscarriage at work while preparing to pick up my little one from daycare. As I got closer to the nursery, I felt a strange mix of energy and pride, reminiscent of the joy I felt after giving birth to my two daughters. But just like that, it was over.

Earlier that day, a scan revealed a blighted ovum that hadn’t developed past 7 weeks. I was neither surprised nor upset. I could clearly recall the day my pregnancy symptoms disappeared, and frankly, this unexpected third child was coming just after our youngest, who was only a year old. We hadn’t planned for another baby, and I was still breastfeeding, yearning to reclaim my body. Plus, I had just started a part-time job that I loved. The timing was just awful.

I quickly texted a few friends who knew about my pregnancy, brushing off their concerns. “It wasn’t even a baby,” I reassured them. “I’ve got two healthy girls, and this wasn’t in the plan.” I convinced myself of my own words.

I felt like I had dodged a bullet. I thought about the new jeans I could buy and the summer vacation we could plan. Most importantly, I felt grateful that I could keep my new job. Lucky me, right?

But then the unexpected happened. Two days later, I found myself sinking into a deep sadness, feeling overlooked by everyone who thought I was fine just because I said I was. Keeping it together at work felt like an added weight. I wanted to cry but feared I wouldn’t be able to stop. “I’ll cry tomorrow,” I kept telling myself.

All the silver linings I had envisioned evaporated, leaving behind a heavy gloom. For the first time, I felt ambivalent about everything—not the jeans I thought I wanted, nor the body I believed I had regained.

Every glance at my family reminded me of the absence of someone who could have been there. Despite my insistence that it wasn’t “really” a baby, I deeply felt the loss. Once we find out we’re pregnant, we immediately start to imagine that new life, even if we try to push it aside. Would it be another girl, or would this time bring a boy? How would our youngest adjust, still so small herself? And how would I manage? But deep down, we know we’ll find a way, and for every worry, there are twice as many dreams.

In my otherwise normal life, I realized I actually looked forward to the idea of a third child—often viewed as a risk or a luxury. That child could have been a gift, teaching us that small things don’t matter as much—after all, if two out of three kids have brushed their teeth, that’s a win.

Instead, the miscarriage robbed me of that gift. The rest of the year loomed ahead, filled with hollow milestones I tried to ignore. The future felt uncertain. I didn’t have the assurance of trying again; it felt like too much of a leap. I decided I’d rather wait for another chance at that gift.

I never discussed my miscarriage with anyone because I didn’t know how to express it. What words could ease my pain? It wasn’t until I received a generic letter from the health visitor saying, “please accept our condolences,” that I acknowledged I even had the right to grieve. I held onto that letter for months; it was the only reminder I had of my brief pregnancy.

I was told it would take time to heal, and slowly, I began to feel like myself again. I found the courage to confide in my boss, shared my ambition to write, published a book on Amazon, and started my own blog. My miscarriage began to make sense—or perhaps I just needed it to.

Yet the question about a third child remained. It wasn’t until we took control of our future that I began to heal. Two years later, we welcomed our third child—a boy, restoring the balance. Some days, we manage just fine; other days, not so much. But there are certainly more hopes than worries.

My miscarriage doesn’t haunt me anymore, but I often wish I had known how to handle it better. I wish I had taken the time to grieve. I wish someone had told me how crucial that grieving process is because a miscarriage is never truly over. Just like that, and it shouldn’t be dismissed.

You absolutely have the right to mourn.

For more insights, check out this related article from our other blog post. If you’re exploring your options, resources like Make a Mom provide valuable information, and Johns Hopkins Medicine is an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.

Summary

This heartfelt piece reflects on the complex emotions surrounding miscarriage and the right to grieve such a loss. The author shares her personal experience of losing an unplanned third child, the unexpected aftermath, and the journey toward healing. Ultimately, it emphasizes that grieving is a necessary process that should not be overlooked.