Trigger Warning: This post includes reflections on pregnancy loss and miscarriage. Please care for your heart before reading.
February 1st is a date I will never forget. It was the morning I saw the word pregnant appear on a test. Standing in the bathroom next to my husband, our hearts racing as we realized this was the beginning of a new chapter. I was only a day late for my period, which was unusual for me, and we weren’t expecting the answer to come so quickly. But there it was: clear, undeniable, life-changing.
We laughed, we cried, we held each other. That morning we went out and brought our very first baby item together – small, simple, but symbolic of the family we were preparing to grow. In those moments, our world shifted. Everything ahead of us looked different, brighter, filled with possibility.
🌿 When the Bleeding Began
Just a few days later, I woke up early to get ready for work. As I went through my morning routine, I glanced down and saw the first drops of blood. In that instant, I knew. Something inside me broke before the day even began.
As a labor and delivery nurse, I’ve spent countless shifts walking with families through their first moments of life. I know what healthy pregnancies look like, and I know what warning signs mean. Still, I put on my scrubs, slipped on my shoes, and headed to work. All the while carrying the knowledge that I was losing what we had just celebrated.
My lab work later confirmed it: I was miscarrying at just under 6 weeks. Early, yes. But still a loss. Still my baby. Still a story that ended too soon.
💌 Grieving in the Quiet
There’s no “right” way to walk through miscarriage. For me, being at home alone felt unbearable, so I went to work. I helped other women bring their babies into the world even as I was losing mine. I cried quietly, I smiled when I needed to, and I leaned on my husband in the moments I couldn’t hold it together.
My husband was my rock then, and he still is.
That week, New Orleans was alive with excitement. The city was buzzing with Super Bowl festivities. Being that this may be a once in a lifetime experience for us, we had plans to attend different events taking place. Not knowing that we would be going through one of the worst times of our lives. We had plans with friends, and I pushed through. I tried to focus on everything around me rather than what was happening internally. I pasted on a smile. One the outside, it looked like I was part of the celebration. On the inside, I was breaking
🌸 The Due Date That Never Came
This week, we would have been meeting our baby. Instead, I find myself here telling my story to whoever is listening. In the depths of fertility treatments, grieving not only the pregnancy we lost but the vision of what might have been.
What would that pregnancy have looked like? Would I have loved or dreaded morning sickness? Would it have been a boy or a girl? What kind of parents would we be right now, with a newborn in our arms?
These questions don’t have answers, but they linger. And I’m learning that this, too, is part of grief, carrying the shadow of “what could have been.”
🌙 The Silence of Miscarriage
Miscarriage is lonely. Not only because of the loss itself, but because we don’t talk about it. We push through our every day routine behind closed doors. We cry quietly in bathrooms, fold away baby clothes we bought too early, and pretend at social gatherings that everything is fine.
We worry that if we share our grief, we’ll make others uncomfortable. That we’ll be seen as a burden. So instead, we carry it silently, and the silence itself becomes another weight to bear.
But silence only reinforces the lie that we’re alone in this. And we’re not.
🌱 What This Loss Taught Me
My miscarriage doesn’t define me. But it has changed me. It has given me a deeper understanding of pregnancy and of just how fragile and miraculous new life truly is. It has reshaped how I hold space for others in my work as a nurse, how I show up for my husband, and how I honor my own story.
It has taught me that grief is not linear. Some days I move forward with hope. Other days, the weight of loss catches me off guard and I find myself crying in the car, on the couch, in the quiet of the night.
It has taught me that resilience doesn’t always look strong. Sometimes it looks like simply continuing to show up.
And it has taught me that love doesn’t end when a pregnancy does. Love lingers.
✨ Why I’m Sharing Now
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. It’s a month that carries a new weight for me now. Sharing this story is my way of honoring the baby we never got to meet, and of breaking the silence that surrounds miscarriage.
If telling my story means one other woman feels less alone, then it’s worth it.
One day, I hope to share our fertility journey more fully, and maybe even a pregnancy announcement. But until then, this is where I am: still grieving, still hoping, still believing that my story matters even in the waiting.
Closing Reflection
If you’ve been here too, I want you to know you aren’t alone. Your grief is valid. Your story matters. And even in the silence, you are held.
“Grief is simply love with no place to go.” – Jamie Anderson