How Celebrating Motherhood After My Miscarriage Has Given Me Freedom to Heal

I started writing this article five different times. As a writer, I wanted to create a cohesive outline, but there are no guidelines for writing about miscarriage. 

I took a pregnancy test before midnight on New Year’s Eve 2022—it was positive. Talk about the best way to end a year and start a new chapter. I curated the Pinterest boards, chose a baby name, sent invitations for our clementine-themed baby shower, and wrote an article about pregnancy and mental health. 

Our 19-week ultrasound was supposed to be an anatomy scan, but it became the appointment when we found out our baby girl, Nora, had no heartbeat. 

The next months were a blur; I remember being exhausted 24/7, eating blueberry muffins for an entire month, and deflating my pilates ball as I sobbed saying, ‘I don’t need it anymore’ before falling asleep inside the walk-in closet with my dog.

Finding Out My Friends Were Pregnant After My Miscarriage

After I miscarried, I found out three of my friends were pregnant, and all of them were having girls. I felt my pregnancy was a lie as if it had never happened. The hardest thing about miscarriage is that to everyone else, you lost a pregnancy, but only you live with the memory of losing your baby. Nora was my first baby, and she will always be my daughter.

At first, I thought the best way to protect myself this season was to close the door on all things pregnancy and motherhood, including my friends. But losing my baby didn’t erase who I became after seeing those two lines on the pregnancy test. So instead, I decided to be present and allow motherhood, in all its unique forms, to be part of my healing journey. 

“Losing my baby didn’t erase who I became after seeing those two lines on the pregnancy test. So… I decided to be present and allow motherhood, in all its unique forms, to be part of my healing journey.” 

Leaning into what seemed emotionally impossible—being a present friend—reminded me about the beauty of motherhood. I didn’t have much to share while celebrating my friends’ pregnancies after miscarriage, but I knew staying behind the scenes was not my place.

Finding Strength in Supporting Others

During my physical recovery, I sat in bed texting with a friend as she waited in the ER for blood results to confirm her baby was safe. I’ll never forget her text saying, “I know I can talk to you right now.” That message made me realize that along with the grief, I had found strength. 

I cried tears of joy and heartbreak as another friend navigated pregnancy after a previous loss. Every time we spoke I felt I was holding my breath for her, and I was reminded there is space to hold joy and possibility while honoring grief. 

“I was reminded there is space to hold joy and possibility while honoring grief.”

There’s also space for the healing process to be confusing and messy. Remember this is a new path and none of us know the way. For me, it looks like not sending a text because I don’t want to remind my pregnant friends of loss and fighting back anxiety at social gatherings while my husband holds my hand. I have cried in more parking lots than I can count and constantly apologize to my therapist for rescheduling appointments.

I’m Still Grieving and Healing

Mother’s Day emails have landed in my inbox, reminding me this will be the second May without Nora. I don’t know what it’s like to be a mom but I have a mother’s heart, and if you’re reading this after losing your baby, I know you do, too. 

“I don’t know what it’s like to be a mom but I have a mother’s heart, and if you’re reading this after losing your baby, I know you do, too.” 

I heard women who experience a miscarriage are given a flashlight to light the path for others—this article is my small way of turning on that flashlight. 

If you asked me a year ago to describe how I felt about pregnancy and motherhood, I would instantly say numb. I felt numb walking past the baby section at Target, numb as I saw couples with a stroller, numb as I read pregnancy announcements. 

Last week, I walked into a local store and saw baby clothes. I grabbed the tiny hanger and thought, “This is beautiful for Nora” as if my brain had forgotten she is not here, we are not expecting her. My next thought was, “This is beautiful for a baby,” and for the first time, I considered the future. 

Pausing, embracing my feelings, and allowing this season to be real—as difficult as it has been—allowed me to take one step forward. Honoring the baby I lost but still love has given a unique meaning to motherhood and has inspired me to celebrate those who are called moms and those of us who love like them.