We were elated — the pregnancy test was positive and everything was perfect. A perfect little family, a perfect little heartbeat, a perfect little future. Though my tummy didn’t yet show the evidence of the tiny person growing inside me, my glowing face and joyful heart couldn’t hide it. Everything felt full — alive with hope and joy.

It’s funny how things can change in an instant. A normal trip to the washroom, a spot of blood. A routine ultrasound, but no heartbeat. The expectation of little hands and feet fluttering inside replaced by stillness. We were heartbroken. No longer filled with the hope of a little one, our hearts were flooded by uncertainty and emptiness.

It soon became evident that this little baby I had hoped and prayed for was no longer growing in my womb. What followed was far more traumatic than I had been warned. I had to go through the difficult and emotionally traumatising experience of birthing my miscarried child. My grief wasn’t helped by a number of cold health care professionals ("don’t cry, it’s not a big deal") and insensitive comments from friends and family ("be strong, you’re fine, move on, you can try again soon, it wasn’t a baby yet anyway").

I felt like a failure as a woman and as a wife. I was sure that was how others saw me, too.

The subtle guilt heaped on me by others, and by myself, helped even less. Questions filled my mind. What if there is something wrong with me? What if I’m never able to have a baby?

I was grieving not only the loss of my child, but also the loss of certainty about my future. I felt like a failure as a woman and as a wife. I was sure that was how others saw me, too. The loss of my baby was the most physically and emotionally painful event I’d ever been through. I was overcome with guilt, loneliness, uncertainty, failure, and grief.

Finding hope and joy again took time, but there were some things that helped me along the path to healing. I realised it was good for me to grieve and to celebrate my baby — that I should not ignore the loss and push it aside. It also helped to realise that talking about my loss could become a blessing, which led me to seek out the many, many others who had also struggled through similar grief. The biggest help was when I realised that, despite the emptiness and uncertainty I had experienced, God could heal my heart and fill me with hope again.

You don't have to journey alone through the pain of a miscarriage. If you need a listening ear to help you grieve in healthy ways and to find hope for your future, simply fill out the form below and a free and confidential mentor will connect with you soon. You can leave your real name or a fake one. It's totally up to you.

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