The focus of this blog isn’t really about sharing information, tips or strategies, although I will add in some ‘what to say / what not to say’ suggestions and some links to resources. Rather, this is more of a personal sharing about our miscarriages. I started this blog back in August, feeling that this could be helpful as a way to support openness about pregnancy loss, as a topic that is often not discussed or not even acknowledged sometimes. Since then there has been some very high profile sharing of loss, and the deep despair and shock of loss; and I really want to recognise the wonderful strength of sharing, and how that openness around emotions and experiences can help others. Of course, some people will want to talk about their experience, and some won’t; as with so many things, reactions to pregnancy losses are different for different people.

A quick note on terminology; I’m using the word miscarriage simply as that was the description for our three pregnancy losses, and it’s the word I tend to use when talking about them. The term early pregnancy loss covers the loss of a pregnancy prior to 20 weeks; some people prefer this term, and its inclusion of the word loss does make it less cold.

The reason that I’m writing about miscarriages now, more than 10 years after our first one, is that I’ve had many counselling clients find it helpful if I share that I’ve also experienced something that they are struggling with. Things that come up a bit for my clients and that I choose to share are that I was adopted, grew up in a single parent family (prior to being part of an awesome step/blended family!) and have been married once before. While there is definitely a line in counselling between empathy and over-sharing, I’m comfortable that it’s useful to share these big things that we have in common, while acknowledging that how we experience similar events is different for everyone.

One of the most personal things to share is miscarriage, and again the response to such a loss varies with each individual, with some people finding talking about it helpful, and others preferring not to. 

One of the things that really stuck out for me after our first miscarriage was the reluctance of anyone to mention miscarriage, or even loss. My manager at the time, wonderful and supportive though she was, explained my absence from work by telling the team I had a gastro problem. When I got back after a few days recovering from a D&C, I felt that I couldn’t contradict her, and didn’t want to seem ungrateful for her efforts. But as a result, I felt kind of like the loss of our pregnancy was something shameful that could not be spoken of, like I’d done something wrong.

This feeling of having done something that caused the miscarriage is quite common, with many myths out there about stress, exercise, and sex. (While severe stress may possibly have an impact, general everyday work stress, regular exercise with your doctor’s approval, and continuing a healthy sex life are not linked to pregnancy loss). While I knew logically that I’d miscarried as there was something gone wrong with the baby, and that my being in my late thirties was a big factor, I still had the feeling of having done something so wrong that I wasn’t allowed to talk about it.

After our second miscarriage, I asked for testing. I had to be a bit assertive about this, as usually it’s only offered after three losses – but I was able to make a case that, due to my age, I needed to know sooner rather than later! Getting conclusive results that there had been a chromosomal abnormality actually didn’t make much difference to my feelings of guilt; I really do feel that the guilt and shame was more to do with the taboo of speaking about miscarriage, and the habit in many cultures and societies of not sharing news of a pregnancy until the ‘safe’ time, generally after twelve or thirteen weeks. How to tell people that you’re grieving the loss of a pregnancy that they didn’t even know about?

Returning to work after the second miscarriage I was a mess. I cried. All the time! But not in the office; when I felt the tears coming I would get out of there fast and go cry in the Botanic Gardens. After a few weeks of this I had a longer break from work, on the advice/sign-off of my GP. When I returned, a colleague asked in a cheery voice ‘oh did you have a lovely break?’. I was a bit taken aback, and asked if she knew why I’d been off? ‘Oh yes’ she said, all the while grinning kind of oddly; I think she was scared I would cry again and thought ‘jollying me up’ would help (it didn’t – in case you were wondering!).

But what do you say to someone after a miscarriage? While people respond to their early pregnancy losses in different ways, there are a few general dos and don’ts.

·      Do acknowledge the loss. Something like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, or ‘I’m so sorry this happened’.

·      Remember it’s ok to be sad; you may feel you need to cheer the person up or help them to stop crying. However their sadness is natural, and if you can just be there with them while they are sad, that is enough.

·      Don’t ignore it – pretending the loss didn’t happen can feel like pretending it doesn’t matter, and it does matter. Also, you won’t remind someone of their loss by talking about it; they haven’t forgotten.

·      And don’t minimise the loss with ‘at least you weren’t too far along’, or ‘at least you can try again’. I completely understand that people are casting around for something to say, and that their intentions are so good, I know I’ve said some of these myself. And now I hope I know a bit more and have learned how to better support others.

One that came up for us after our third miscarriage was ‘at least you know you can have a baby’.

Our third pregnancy went pretty smoothly and our first child arrived safe and sound, and we’re so very lucky. We knew we’d like to have two kids if we could and, being that I’m an older mum, we tried and got pregnant again fairly quickly. Unfortunately I miscarried again, and this time it was complicated by having to having to try to stay cheerful in front of our one year old, and then feeling a bit guilty that I probably wasn’t as sad this time, but also that I wanted to give him a little brother or sister, and feeling guilty about that too. Feeling guilty about feeling guilty, basically! And also sad, and really not sure if I could go through it again.

Happily for us, we did then go on to have another bubba. This doesn’t happen for everyone and I try to be aware that while someone who doesn’t have children may have chosen not too, there is also the very real possibility that they have tried and tried. Someone with one child may have decided to stick with a solo child, or they may have wanted a bigger family. I don’t always manage not to jump to conclusions, but I’ll keep working on being open to everyone’s experience being different, and helping them to talk about it, if they want to.

If you have experienced a pregnancy loss and want to talk about it, please reach out to me, to a grief and loss counsellor, or to a trusted friend or family member. There are also some wonderful organisations such as SANDS, and Bears of Hope, who have information, support groups, counselling, and workshops.