Miscarriage is often an invisible loss. It’s a grief that many struggle to understand, and one that every woman experiences differently.
For some, it may be dismissed as “just” an early loss, no heartbeat, no development. But it’s not that simple. The woman’s entire being has already begun creating space for new life. Her hormones, her body, her heart have shifted towards welcoming this baby. When the pregnancy ends, whether through a blighted ovum, a chromosomal issue, or another reason, the loss is immense.
It may be small in the eyes of the world, but it is not small to her.
She will remember the estimated due date. She may wonder, as the years pass, how old her child would be. What they would look like. What life would have been like. If her grief is not witnessed, heard, or honoured, the loss can remain with her for the rest of her life.
For a woman who hasn’t yet had a child, miscarriage often brings haunting questions: Will I ever become a mother? Can my body do this? Is something wrong with me?
For a woman who already has children, the doubts can be just as piercing: Why didn’t it work this time? What is wrong with me?
And then there’s society, with its cruel label of “geriatric pregnancy” after 35. This is absurd. I have supported women who became first-time mothers at 46 and 48. It is not always about age but we’ve been conditioned to believe it is.
What matters more is tuning into ourselves. Taking time to be still. Asking not “What’s wrong with me?” but rather:
- What does this mean for my life journey?
- What is here to teach me?
- What do I need to heal?
These questions can open a gentler and more useful path forward.
Over the last 30 years of supporting women through pregnancy, birth, and loss, I have witnessed how deep and long-lasting this grief can be. Each woman carries it differently, sometimes quietly, sometimes visibly. but always deeply. And I know that when her story is held, honoured, and witnessed, something shifts. She may not stop grieving, but she can begin to carry her loss with more compassion and less loneliness.
I know this grief personally, too. My mother had two miscarriages and a stillbirth before I was born. Though I cannot consciously recall her losses, I feel them deep in my body, having grown in her womb after that sorrow.
I also know the pain of wanting another child and not being able to conceive again. At some point, I had to accept that my womb, in this lifetime, would not carry another baby. This realisation was a grief like no other. Coming to terms with “I will never…” is a process, one that can take time, compassion, and deep grace.
For those who lose a baby later in pregnancy, at or after 20 weeks, the grief is no less but often more layered. By then, the mother has already dreamed of her child’s life, imagined their features, their personality, and her role as their mother. The loss is not only of the baby, but of the future she had begun to live into.
After miscarriage, the body itself grieves. Depending on the stage of pregnancy, a woman’s body may continue to look pregnant even after it is not. Living in a body that longs to be pregnant but no longer is, while still appearing pregnant, is a complex and rarely spoken aspect of loss.
And when a woman becomes pregnant again after loss, it is rarely with uncomplicated joy. Studies show higher rates of anxiety and depression in subsequent pregnancies. The fear of loss lingers.
If you are reading this and have known miscarriage, stillbirth, or any pregnancy loss, I want you to know: I see you. I feel you. You are not alone.
This grief is real. It is worthy of compassion. And while it never disappears, it can be carried differently, with peace, with acceptance, with honour.
Healing Through Ritual and Bodywork
In many cultures, women have long been held through ceremony after birth and after loss. One of the ways I support women is through the Closing the Bones ceremony.
This ancient ritual involves being gently wrapped, rocked, and held with scarves. It creates a sacred space to acknowledge what has happened, to honour the woman’s body and womb, and to bring her energy back into herself. It is deeply supportive after miscarriage or stillbirth, offering not only physical containment but also emotional and spiritual closure.
Alongside this, I also offer the ancient art of belly binding. Traditionally used in many cultures postpartum, belly binding supports the body physically by helping the womb and organs return to their place, but it also offers emotional comfort. To be wrapped, held, and supported around the belly, the very place that feels empty after loss can be profoundly healing.
These rituals remind us that the body remembers, the womb remembers, and that it is possible to create new pathways of peace and acceptance.
This is why I offer Birth Integration Sessions, a gentle way to support women in healing after miscarriage, stillbirth, traumatic birth, or termination. Through this work, whether through conversation, ritual, or bodywork, we create new ways of holding the story, so that the woman can find grace, compassion, and wholeness again.
Because we carry these experiences in our wombs, in our hearts. And we all deserve to find peace. If you feel called to be held in this way, you are welcome to reach out and step into this sacred space of healing.