Facing an Unspoken Reality
When people think of pregnancy, they often picture joy, anticipation, and the joyful flutter of new life. But for one in five women in Ireland who have experienced pregnancy loss or stillbirth, the experience is shadowed by fear, silence, and a daunting sense of isolation. I count myself among them. I have been pregnant six times and yet I only have three children to dress in the morning. This is not a failure; it is a stark reminder that loss can touch the most ordinary moments of daily life.
Two Roads, One Heartache
Conceiving two of my children came easily, yet loss followed me like a shadow. The first time, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. A long bleed, fertile hope replaced by numbness, and the ache of self-blame that many carry even when truth tells us otherwise. The subsequent losses carried their own fears—health scares, uncertainty, and the dread of never quite reaching the joy I imagined. Each pregnancy promised a future, and then the future vanished.
The Paradox of Preparation and Protection
As soon as a test turns positive, many of us instinctively try not to let ourselves imagine the future too vividly. Daydreams of the child’s face, the age gap between siblings, the hypothetical first birthday—all of these thoughts arrive, then recede, as if self-preservation is a shield against heartbreak. It feels like suffocation: a life of intense emotion packed into a smile, a life of careful steps taken while spiralling inward.
The Weight of Silence
In Ireland, many still choose not to tell others about a pregnancy until after the 12-week scan, a tradition born from fear of miscarriage. Yet on the days when we most need our tribe, that silence can feel like a barrier. If there is a miscarriage, stillbirth, or neonatal death, community support is precisely what we crave. Saying their names, acknowledging the due date, and letting those affected know they are seen can be a lifeline.
Practical Ways to Protect Your Wellbeing
Some strategies helped me navigate the worst months: unfollowing or muting pregnancy accounts on social media, so I could breathe without the daily reminders of what I had lost. It isn’t about envy; it’s about protecting my mental space when what I needed most was to grieve. Speaking with partners, seeking counselling from hospitals, and recording thoughts in voice notes allowed me to express the inexpressible and to honor the babies who were loved and longed for, no matter how far along they were.
Honor Every Baby, No Matter the Circumstance
All babies, regardless of gestational length, are cherished. Their presence is felt every day in the hearts of their families, through tiny rituals and the remembrance of what could have been. On milestones—the due date, the anniversary of a name, or simply waking with a quiet ache—these memories remain, and that is not a sign of weakness but a testament to enduring love.
A Call to Action for the Community
Talking about baby loss openly expands the circle of support beyond hospital walls and private grief. If you know someone who has experienced loss, reach out with a message on the due date, a text in a quiet moment, or a simple acknowledgment that their baby remains part of the family. Volunteer counselling, share resources, and build a culture where grief is acknowledged, not hidden.
Final Thoughts
The heartbreak of pregnancy loss is harsh and unrelenting. Yet even in the darkest moments, the memory of our babies can become a beacon of resilience. They are carried in our hearts and, in time, in the stories we tell, the support we offer, and the humanity we extend to others walking the same path.
