The Silence of Loss

Here’s the truth about pregnancy loss:

It’s incredibly common. As many as 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage. While most happen before the first 20 weeks, for a myriad of reasons many also happen later. No one likes to talk about pregnancy loss, but that means that no one is talking about it to the people it’s happening to. 

Regardless of when loss happens, most of us who experience it go through it alone. Sometimes when it happens early, this is because we haven’t told anyone, or because of social expectations that “early loss isn’t a big deal”. When a loss happens later, often the people around us are uncertain of how to support us emotionally and physically. In the aftermath of either scenario, the silence - both from ourselves and those around us - can be deafening.

Here’s another truth. 

I have been pregnant five times. 

Of those, four were losses. One was voluntary and another required emergency surgery. All were traumatic in their own way.  Of five pregnancies, I have one living child.

Why am I telling you this? 

Because “how many pregnancies have you had?” and “how many living children do you have?” are two of the first questions expecting parents are asked when seeking care and support. Yet, grief care and support are not part of standard prenatal (or postpartum) care.  

One last truth about pregnancy: voluntary termination is experienced as a loss for many, regardless of why or when the decision is made. 

The common thread between each of these truths is that it is uncomfortable to talk about losing babies. And of course, why wouldn’t it be?  Who wants to even think of such things? 

Yet for the great majority of us who have or will experience pregnancy loss, the silence of discomfort is its own form of solitude. One that is detrimental to our healing as we navigate the aftermath, physically and emotionally without support. 

I am a full-service Doula because I believe Doula support is for every part of pregnancy; good or bad. 

If you need support or resources while healing from (or preparing for) loss, I’ve created a community space for us to share. Come to listen. Come to speak. Come to know you aren’t alone.