Holding feelings and honouring grief: why we all have a role to play 

I was overjoyed to find out I was pregnant. But, it became very clear very quickly that this was not straightforward.

It was a rare situation that was not in the experience of the clinicians around me, and so I was kicked from consultation to consultation with sympathetic smiles and no answers. I tried to fill the gaps in knowledge and actions by desperately trying to decipher scientific papers, calling and emailing anyone in the health system or academia who would listen, and searching for the few examples in the world where this had been documented.

We eventually found someone willing to give us some clear advice, and while clear is kind, it was also heartbreaking. 

My TFMR was required for my own health, and despite fighting so hard to find any other option possible, it continues to require a conscious effort to not feel like I failed my baby. For anyone who has experienced a first trimester loss, they will know that the number of weeks has absolutely no bearing on the love, life or future that you dream for your child.

An early pregnancy is still a baby. TFMR is not a choice. I did not fail. I do have the right to grieve.

Recognising trauma and allowing myself to grieve is sadly a lesson I’ve learned more than once. 6 years ago, I was laughed out the door of the GP when I asked if my symptoms could be linked to my IUD. 2 days later, I was rushed into emergency surgery to have my fallopian tube and an ectopic pregnancy removed. The post-surgery prognosis of 2 weeks to be ‘back to normal’ gave no indication of the need to process the trauma of the experience, and it took me years to realise I had the right to grieve this too.

I could go on for years about the reforms needed in our health system to provide the adequate care, compassion and advice to support parents navigating uncertainty, trauma and loss. But if there is one thing that makes these experiences harder, it is the societal expectations. Not only are we (and this applies to partner’s too) grieving, but we are also having to question what emotions are appropriate, how long we are entitled to grieve for, and doing all this in silence.

I have been so surprised that 6 years on from my first experience, openly talking about pregnancy loss and infertility is still something that feels actively avoided, grief is still not a word associated with pregnancy loss, and navigating triggers still remains impossibly difficult. 

A year on from my TFMR and I am starting to learn to feel justified in my grief and not embarrassed by it. I have found spaces, like therapy and TWGGE, where I am given space to speak about what I need and what upsets me without questioning whether I am overreacting. The TWGGE community does this for each other- we can speak our baby’s names and confidently state what we feel and need, recognising each others grief, joys and fears. Other organisations offer this too, the ectopic pregnancy trust forum is another place where I’ve felt seen and heard. 

But, I am convinced that we should have the space to grieve beyond the quiet, closed spaces of therapy and web forums.

Beyond important weeks and months allocated to Baby Loss Awareness. Pregnancy loss is overwhelmingly, sadly, common and I believe that as a society, we have to start to honour the grief surrounding pregnancy loss and infertility, without requiring a happy ending or providing an alternative solution. We need to start to recognise and accommodate the huge array of feelings that people have about their loss in every day, and in every space.  

What would that look like?

Given the number of pregnancies lost each year, I think we could start to assume there will always be someone we are talking to who has experienced pregnancy loss or infertility. We could take steps to think about triggers just because that’s the safest thing to do. And when we know there has been loss, we can give our family, friends, colleagues the space to be sad, angry, happy, or feel nothing at all, and take the time to name and recognise the loss as many times as that person needs, avoiding the temptation to find silver linings or making assumptions about their future. 

Phrases I have found extremely helpful from others include:

‘I haven’t forgotten what you are going through. Is it something you’d like to talk about?’

‘How is your heart and mind? Be as serious or as jokey as you need’

‘I am sorry you lost your baby, I loved them too. How can I refer to them/would you like to talk about them?’.

The key has been routinely checking in, recognising that grief changes shape, but that it is as much present now as it was one and six years ago. 

What if you are the one who has experienced loss?

No matter what your circumstances, no matter how long ago, no matter what anyone says, your feelings are valid. We might not be able to change our health system to reduce the number of avoidable losses (one day…), or change the societal taboo (yet!), but we can start with our own communities. 

Surround yourself with people who stand with you as you speak our about your loss, cry alongside you, hold space for you as you start to navigate triggers and remind you of the reasons to keep putting one foot in front of the other as you learn what life is after loss. I’ve found this in a female cycling group which gave me a reason to keep going, the kindness of dear family and friends, the other worlds of books, and the feelings that only music can capture.

Nothing takes away the grief or loss, but everything can help to disperse the weight. 

And know that if your internal voice or others in society start to question or criticise how or what you should be feeling, come back to the places where your experience will not be categorised nor have to be justified. I hope society will catch up, but until it does, remember that strong, happy, sad, grieving, hopeful women exist, and places like TWGGE are there to bring you that affirmation, validation, recognition and love that you so deserve. 

You are not alone.