Holding On and Letting Go: Sharing My Story of Pregnancy Loss
In honour of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I felt moved to share my own experience with pregnancy loss. My hope is that by doing so, we can help break the stigma and foster open communication about this common occurrence, which is often considered a controversial topic. TRIGGER WARNING: THIS IS AN HONEST AND ACCURATE DEPICTION OF MISCARRIAGE WITH SOME VERY GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS.
To understand my journey with pregnancy loss, we need to go back to one of my past relationships. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but this experience was pivotal in shaping who I am, so it feels important to share. I was young. I was uneducated when it came to pregnancy, birth, and babies. I wasn’t ready to be a parent. I didn’t want to be a mother — ever. So when I found out I was accidentally pregnant, I made the easy decision to have an abortion. At least, I thought it was an easy decision.
When I met my current partner, who had a daughter from a previous relationship, I found myself in a situation I never anticipated. Suddenly, I was part of a dynamic I had never imagined for myself, but the biggest surprise was how much I loved it. I genuinely enjoyed being a step-parent, and witnessing the close bond between my partner and his daughter made me realize something… I did want to be a mother. I couldn’t wait to have children of my own. So, when we found out I was pregnant, we were ready, I was ready. It was everything I never knew I’d always wanted.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
Loss has a way of showing you just how much you wanted something. It makes you ache for what could have been and leaves you questioning everything. What went wrong? Was it something I did? Will I get another chance? And do I even want that chance now? Because what if this happens again, can I physically and mentally handle that? These thoughts consumed me. I started doubting everything — wondering if this was happening because of choices I made when I was younger, when I was unprepared and uninformed. Had I damaged my body beyond repair? Was I somehow unworthy of becoming a mother? I felt lost, confused, and inferior. I experienced a very “period like” miscarriage and went on with my life as if nothing had happened. I didn’t talk about it, I didn’t let myself dwell on it. I had to pretend it didn’t matter, holding on to the hope that I would get to experience pregnancy while simultaneously letting go of the one I had just lost.
In time, I did become pregnant again, and in March of 2019, we welcomed our rainbow baby, Ruby June. She was everything I had ever hoped for — absolutely perfect. With her arrival, all of the previous fears and insecurities I once carried faded away, only to be replaced by new ones. She was here, we had done it. I had nurtured her, allowing her to grow and develop in my womb. I nourished her at my breast, and she thrived. My body had accomplished the miracle of creating and sustaining life, but I still felt like it had failed me. My birth was a traumatic one, an emergency cesarean resulting in postpartum hemorrhage, blood and iron transfusions, and hours in recovery without my baby girl. Again I felt deeply inadequate. But this time, I didn’t push the feelings aside. I knew it mattered, and I allowed myself to confront it. I took the steps I needed to heal and I thought I had moved past everything, but I never could have anticipated what would happen next.
When our daughter was 1.5 years old, we found out I was pregnant again, and I was flooded with emotions. I worried about how it would affect my bond with her — would our breastfeeding journey end? I wondered about the logistics of having more than one child — would having two kids be too much to handle? How would we manage it all? I was also anxious about labor and delivery, especially after my first experience with an emergency cesarean and all that came after.
But those worries became irrelevant when, just before our daughter’s second birthday, I had a missed miscarriage. This time, it wasn’t quick and easy to ignore. It was days of pain, fear, and some of the darkest emotions I’ve ever faced. Because of COVID, I was alone in the hospital, consumed by the terrifying thought that I might not make it back home to my family. I endured days of intense bleeding, with my hemoglobin levels dropping to dangerously low levels, requiring more blood and iron transfusions. I bled through adult diapers layered with overnight pads, and passed clots so large they nearly made me faint. I lived in constant fear that I might bleed out and die — and none of this is an exaggeration. I’m sorry if that sounds too graphic, but it’s the harsh reality of miscarriage for so many people. After days of suffering, I ended up undergoing a dilation and curettage procedure (D&C) due to an incomplete miscarriage. I remember getting prepped for surgery and wheeled into the operating room — alone and afraid.
I was traumatized by my second miscarriage. I was not prepared. When the ultrasound technician found there was no heartbeat, the only thing he said before I left was, “just enjoy your weekend.” That was it. As if I wouldn’t realize I was losing my baby. As if I could simply ignore the reality of what was happening. No one told me what to expect — what it would look like, what it would feel like to have a part of me ripped away. You are losing a life from inside your body. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s unimaginable unless you’ve been through it. But there’s so much that could be done — so much more information, preparation, and support that families deserve as they face this life-changing event. So much more.
This is what inspired me to write about my experience with pregnancy loss — to let others know they are not alone. I want people to realize that there are communities and resources available to support them through their grief, no matter how they choose to process and navigate it. I eventually found these resources on my own, but there was a period after my second miscarriage when I convinced myself I would never get pregnant again. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t bear the thought of going through that pain again or risking my life, especially when I had a daughter to live for. I felt heartbroken, terrified, and torn. I was feeling selfish — selfish for not wanting to try again, and selfish for still wanting to, despite everything.
With time and the support of those around me, I gradually moved past my fear. I educated myself on everything related to pregnancy and birth, and eventually decided I was ready to try again. Almost exactly a year after my second miscarriage, we conceived our second rainbow baby. Surprisingly, I wasn’t consumed by fears of another miscarriage this time. Instead, I was completely focused on my goal of having an unmedicated, vaginal birth — determined to avoid interventions and achieve a successful VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). And we did it! On December 17th, 2022, we welcomed our son Grant into the world in what the doctors called a “medically insignificant” birth. No epidural, no interventions — my water broke naturally, and I delivered my 9lb 5oz baby vaginally, without any hemorrhaging or complications.
Yet, even with everything going smoothly, there wasn’t a moment during labor where I didn’t think it would end in another cesarean. Even as I pushed, I kept telling myself it wasn’t working and that any second, I’d be wheeled into the operating room. Sometimes, your thoughts can really be your own worst enemy, despite your attempts to remain optimistic. This is another reason I’m so passionate about connecting with others who have experienced profound loss, grief, and fear — to be a safe space for them to share their thoughts. Because sometimes, no matter how much work you put into healing, the negativity you’ve fought so hard to manage can resurface and take hold. And when that happens, it makes all the difference to have people around you who truly understand. That kind of support and shared understanding is invaluable and can bring comfort when you need it most.
I found comfort in writing — it became a way to process the complex emotions surrounding my experiences. Sharing my story and talking with others was equally powerful in my healing journey. There are also many online resources available for families struggling with pregnancy and infant loss, which I will list below. Ultimately, it’s about finding what works best for you and your family.
The key message I want to share is that you don’t have to suffer in silence. Reach out to your support systems. Contact hospitals, labor and delivery wards, midwives, doulas, or all of the above. Search for local support groups through Google or Facebook. Find the help you need.
My rainbow babies are growing up, they are now almost 6 and almost 2. I am done having babies of my own, and after much deliberation and conflict within myself, I am okay with that. My experiences have shaped who I am today, and while I still grieve my losses and wonder who those babies might have been, I am deeply grateful for my daughter and son. I wouldn’t change a thing about them. I often wonder if they’d be here, becoming the incredible little people they are, if I hadn’t gone through those losses. Life’s path is unpredictable, and it’s only in hindsight that you can truly see how far you’ve come.
I’ve found my passion in supporting individuals and families through the most transformative times in their lives. I’m dedicated to helping people achieve autonomy in birth, ensuring that their experiences leave them with memories of strength, resilience, and the beauty of childbirth. I work with families to minimize the mental load in postpartum — to ensure that both their physical and mental health are taken care of in the postpartum period and making the transition smoother as families welcome their new baby.
It’s an honor to be trusted in these intimate moments, to offer support when it’s needed most — whether as a shoulder to cry on or a pillar to lean on. I am forever grateful for my own journey, both the highs and the lows, because they’ve led me to this purpose. And if you’re reading this, thank you for being here with me. Together we can continue the ongoing process of overcoming grief and loss, together we can make a difference.
If you or someone you know is struggling with pregnancy or infant loss, refer to the following list of resources and reach out to those you resonate with. Remember, you are never alone.
1. Pregnancy and Infant Loss (PAIL) Network
Website: pailnetwork.sunnybrook.ca
The PAIL Network offers peer support to families who have experienced pregnancy or infant loss. It provides one-on-one peer support, group sessions, and specialized programs for both parents and extended family members. PAIL is part of Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre.
2. Bereaved Families of Ontario
Website: bereavedfamilies.net
Provides support for families dealing with the loss of a child, including pregnancy and infant loss. They offer group support, resources, and virtual events to connect grieving families. Local chapters are available across Ontario.
3. Empty Cradle
Website: emptycradle.ca
An Ontario-based organization offering support and education for families who have experienced pregnancy or infant loss. Services include support groups, peer connections, and awareness initiatives for bereavement care.
4. Pregnancy After Loss Support (PALS) Canada
Website: pregnancyafterlosssupport.org
While international, PALS has a presence in Canada and provides resources, online support, and peer groups for families navigating pregnancy after a loss. They also offer virtual support meetings and educational materials.
5. Perinatal Mental Health – Ontario
Website: pmhpodirectory.ca
This is a directory of mental health professionals specializing in perinatal care, including pregnancy and infant loss. It connects families with therapists, support groups, and health professionals across Ontario.
