Miscarriage: my healing story

Miscarriage: a story of love and remembering. This is something I don’t talk about very often. Today, I’m changing that.

For a long time I thought my story was complicated - the doctors certainly told me it was. When I was pregnant with my daughter they told me there was a high chance I would miscarry her, because she was a womb twin and I had lost her sibling. (This is more common than people realise, and I am not alone in my experience.)

Even writing “sibling” feels strange. I lost a baby at 12 weeks, and then spent a large part of my pregnancy terrified I would lose Catalina too. Living inside grief and fear was something I had to manage, because I knew I had a duty to care for the baby I was still carrying and I couldn’t afford to lose her.

I was told that positivity mattered and tears didn’t - so I blocked my emotions and went into self-defence mode. I always knew that I would need to feel the pain safely at a later date.

When I gave birth to a healthy, amazing little girl, the relief and love I felt changed me forever. She was my greatest healing.

And yet I was still carrying unprocessed grief, and I couldn’t stop remembering the baby I’d lost. I felt a bit haunted for a while, but in time it got much easier.

The PTSD that followed was a reminder of how much I needed to take care of my own needs, and to choose self-regulation over performance.

My body couldn’t fake it - and I’m actually grateful for that.

It took me some time to feel courageous enough to go in and release the grief I was carrying. I waited until I was ready, and until I could manage the impact so it didn’t overwhelm my family.

I named the baby I lost Sebastian. Every time I see a butterfly, I remember him. When I see my first butterfly of spring, it’s monumental - I always cry hopeful tears of love.

Even though I never met him in the physical world, I know he is still part of me. I feel him around me. (There’s a name for this now: microchimerism. Research shows that cells from a baby — including a baby lost early in pregnancy — can stay in the mother’s body for decades, possibly for life. I find that deeply comforting.)

This week, lit a candle for Sebastian as part of the annual wave of light practice for Baby Loss Awareness Week. I attended my weekly women’s meditation circle and we meditated on the Divine Mother, and the peace I felt is still with me. It’s helped me see more beauty in my day.

So this is my message: if you are struggling in any way after baby loss, please seek support. It is a process, and there is a lot you can do.

Create a space and a time to remember them. Allow yourself to feel. Your healing matters. And if you need support, reach out to me as I can support you on your own personal journey.