I didn’t blame myself, I’d learned to love myself - I just grieved my babies

In March 2018, I made my first public social media post about my miscarriage journey, sharing how I was 1 in 4 women. It was flooded with comments about how brave and inspirational I was. So many people shared their own stories about miscarriage which made me realise I was not alone, but this subject was still very taboo.

This was the day my healing began. I used my pain and turned it into my passion. Ever since then, I have been raising money for charities to support families like mine, I have done events, sponsored walks, and most recently hosted a glass walk.

July 2016, I woke up in so much pain

I had never experienced anything like this. I stood up and a gush of blood poured from me. The pain in my lower abdomen was excruciating, my knees felt weak, my body was sweaty. I slowly walked towards the bathroom, grabbing hold of the walls as I pulled my heavy weak body upstairs. Numbness, not understanding what had happened, my mind raced with questions.

Over the next few days, I knew something wasn’t right. I was tired, weak, and extremely low, so I took myself to the doctors where they confirmed I was pregnant.

I was referred to the Early Pregnancy Unit (EPU). Sitting in the waiting room you could hear a pin drop. A dull, intense silence addled with nerves and anxiety filled the room – it was torture. I began to sweat. My name was called. Heart pounding, I entered the dark room. I was informed that I had miscarried. I felt numb. I later found out I had been around 8 weeks pregnant.

As this news began to sink into my weakened body I was devastated. I felt broken, torn apart, and began to self-sabotage, telling myself I was “worthless as a woman”.

I began to hate my body

I hated myself for not being able to carry a baby. I hated myself for not knowing I was pregnant. I hated myself for being overweight. I hated every inch of my skin, slowly slipping into comfort eating.

I did not know how to talk to anyone, so I kept these thoughts inside my head. I was fighting my inner demons over loss, grief, and self-worth. Only now do I understand the importance of looking after yourself and reaching out for help.

The next few months went by in a blur; I lived my life on autopilot. Work, home, and sleep. The negative self-talk continued to occupy my days.

Around 6 months later I found myself heading back to the EPU. I felt sick as I gave my name to the gentleman at the desk. As we took our seats in that same room, with that same dull silence, my heart raced. The room had the same layout, the same nurses, and the same numb look on the patients’ faces. Inside the dark black room, those same words: “I am afraid there is nothing in your womb.” I lay motionless as tears filled my eyes, my partner's hand gripping mine a little tighter.

My body had failed me again

I felt so low, I had never been in such a dark place! I knew something had to change. I could not carry on using food as my security blanket, I couldn’t stay in that dark rut. I remember waking up and wanting it to be bedtime. I felt so lethargic and despondent each day. I would look in the mirror and physically recoil at my reflection – I loathed my worthless body. I needed to learn to love myself. That is exactly what I did.

I went on a self-love journey to love myself and grow my confidence back

On 15 November 2018, I got those 2 lines on a test, all my dreams were finally coming true. I spent lots of time resting; I didn’t do anything to jeopardise the baby. I knew getting through these next few weeks was the hardest part. Each time I went to the toilet I’d be overcome by fear. Each time I felt a twinge I would stop still in silence.

2 weeks went by, and I found myself in that familiar dark room. I had some bleeding but no pain. So, I held my faith in the universe, lying on the hard narrow hospital bed, my eyes firmly shut, longing for a voice to say, “We have a heartbeat.” Those words never came. There was no heartbeat. Just silence.

During the next 3 months, the anguish remained. While my body didn’t experience any physical pain from this loss, the emotional pain was excruciating. I had to go back to that same hospital, daily, weekly, then fortnightly for 3 months as the hormones from the baby did not want to leave my body. Each visit was a reminder, each visit was a kick in the stomach. My heart was broken, my only difference the third time around is I didn’t blame myself. I had learned to love myself; I just grieved my rainbow babies.

On 15 November 2019, 1 year on from that test we got married

During our wedding ceremony we honoured our three angel babies with names, this was part of my grieving process. We called them Joy, River, and Rain.

We were also very lucky to be able to share our rainbow baby news on our wedding day. Our rainbow baby is now 3 years old and fills our family with joy each day.