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Writer's pictureSarah Horne

Pregnancy loss is part of life — so let’s talk about it

Guest Author- Written by Laura Tuck


Today was my original due date.


It’s like an out-of-body experience — looking at a screen, holding your breath, and hearing someone tell you “I’m sorry, but there’s no heartbeat.”


But there was a heartbeat only a few weeks ago? But it’s getting close to that magical 12 week marker? But this can’t be happening to me?


The hope you’d been holding onto — that this was all just a big, scary mistake — is shattered.


And that’s not even the worst part. Because it suddenly dawns on you that you have no idea what’s about to happen next.


People talk about miscarriage in general (more than we used to, which is a step in the right direction) but unless you’ve been through it, you kinda have no idea what an actual miscarriage involves. The nitty gritty details, so to speak. 





So you ask people you know who’ve been through a similar experience, and find an incredible amount of support from random pockets of your world. 


You realise you’re part of a weird little club. 


A club that no one wants to be part of — but a club nonetheless. The amount of love and support and empathy you feel from these amazing women who’ve walked this path before you blows your mind.


But it doesn’t make the experience any less traumatic. 


And it is traumatic. It’s heartbreaking. It’s an experience no one should have to go through. 


(You can’t even imagine what it’s like for the people who have to go through it multiple times, or further on in their pregnancy.)





Life feels hard for a long time. You don’t magically feel better when things get back to ‘normal.’ You work, socialise, go to the supermarket, look after your toddler. But it’s always there in the back of your mind — and often shoved in your face multiple times a day, as everyone around you seems to be magically falling pregnant.


You realise you can feel happy and sad at the same time. Happy for others enjoying their baby news moment, sad for yourself at having to accept the fact that life as you pictured it now looks different… at least for now. 


You wonder who that little soul was, or might have been. Was it a boy or girl? What was their personality going to be like? Would they look like me or their dad?





The next few months are a rollercoaster of emotions and hormones. 


Songs make you cry. Dates on a calendar make you cry. Realising that your body knows what to do (whether you like it or not) makes you feel grateful, in a strange sort of way.


And your almost 3-yr-old ball of human sunshine? You stare at them with a new level of appreciation. Your heart breaks every time they talk about ‘the baby’, but their chubby little hands & goodnight kisses are a reminder that magic still exists. 


(And when there’s no small human around, you grab your cat or dog. They’re equally as smile-inducing).





Experiencing a loss is utter shit. But it’s true what they say: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.


You realise you are strong. You're fortunate to have so many good things in your life. You can keep moving onwards and upwards. 


And maybe, if you’re really lucky, there’s a little rainbow waiting for you on the other side of all this.





If you find yourself part of this weird little club one day, I want you to know that you’re not alone. 


I promise. So reach out to people, talk openly. There’s so much love and support waiting for you if you’re willing to be vulnerable. 


Or if someone you love has experienced a loss (chances are someone close to you will — 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage) try to show up for them any way you can. 


Looking for some ideas?


  • Acknowledge their loss. It’s better to say something than nothing at all — don’t pretend it didn’t happen. 

  • If you don’t know what to say, be honest. “I don’t know what to say but I’m here for you” is perfectly fine!

  • Listen & validate their feelings without trying to find a silver lining. Comments like “at least you didn't know the gender” or “at least you’re still young” mean well, but they’re not helpful. 

  • If you’re pregnant, don’t feel weird about it. Your friend will genuinely be happy for you (remember the ‘feeling happy & sad simultaneously’ thing?). But try to be tactful with your delivery… don’t yell out ‘I’m pregnant!’ the first time you see them. Support them, hug them, let them talk it out before sharing your news. 

  • Little gestures mean a lot. You could drop off some baking, offer to walk the dog, arrange to pop in for a chat over coffee, send a voice note. Literally anything.

  • Keep checking in. Miscarriage isn’t something you just ‘get over’ after a few weeks. There’s no time frame for grief 

  • Bonus points if you can remember their original due date and send them a little message at this time. 




Talking about such a big, crappy life event can feel uncomfortable, so don’t beat yourself up if you don’t know what to say. 


But try to remember — this is a sad time. It’s not an awkward time. Miscarriage is part of life, it’s not some taboo topic. It’s a mentally & physically challenging experience that will affect everyone differently, but if you take anything away from this post, I hope it’s this:


Doing something is always better than nothing.


Your ‘something’ may feel small, but it could be the brightest part of their day. So on behalf of the weird little club — thank you <3




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