This is a personal miscarriage story from a doula—and from a mother. As someone who has supported countless women through birth and postpartum, I never imagined I’d be writing this from the perspective of my own loss. But I believe there’s strength in vulnerability, and healing in being witnessed. Whether you’re currently navigating pregnancy, have experienced a miscarriage, or are holding space for someone who has, I hope my story brings comfort, clarity, and connection.
Holding Space for Loss
Miscarriage is a word that carries weight. For many, it’s a quiet grief—one that society often rushes past or doesn’t fully acknowledge. As a doula and a mother who has walked this path, I want to hold space here. For you, your baby, and your story. Let’s find comfort, validation, and healing together.
Understanding Miscarriage
Most miscarriages happen because of chromosomal abnormalities that prevent the baby from developing properly. It’s important to remember: you didn’t cause this. Exercise, food choices, emotions, or even ambivalence about the pregnancy—none of these lead to miscarriage.
Miscarriage, or early pregnancy loss, is the spontaneous loss of a pregnancy before 20 weeks gestation. It’s more common than we often talk about—occurring in about 1 in 4 known pregnancies. This number increases to 2 in 4 pregnancies for women over 40 years of age.
Sometimes there are signs like spotting or cramping. Other times, the body continues on as if still pregnant. That silence can be the hardest part.
My Miscarriage Story: A Mother’s Intuition
Today I’m going to share with you my personal miscarriage story from the perspective of a mother, and a doula.
My period was two days late when I took a pregnancy test. Positive. Then another—also positive. We have four beautiful children and had felt our family was complete. This little one was a surprise. I felt a mix of trepidation and excitement.
But something felt… off. I wasn’t feeling the weight in my womb like I had before. There wasn’t nausea or fatigue like with my previous pregnancies. I wondered if it was because I was physically stronger now—my core and pelvic floor in great shape from the last few years of strength training.
Still, the feeling lingered.
When spotting started around 8 weeks and 5 days—on my sister’s birthday—I just knew. My intuition whispered: this is a loss. I grieved that whole day and the next without confirmation. But I also needed confirmation.
My midwife came to our first appointment that Monday. She found some signs of the pregnancy but had trouble finding a heartbeat. That evening, a private sonogram showed our baby measured at 6 weeks and 2 days—no heartbeat. I should’ve been 9 weeks and 1 day.
Our baby had passed two weeks earlier.
The Process of Letting Go
Spotting turned into bleeding. I kept going to work. I went to the gym. But by Thursday, contractions started. This was labor—early active labor. My sister called out of the blue, and we stayed on the phone through the whole process.
We talked about books. About work. About everything and nothing. It helped me stay present and grounded.
Then the contractions slowed. Stopped. I don’t remember much blood during labor, but more came after. I bled my lochia for about three days, then it tapered into light spotting for nearly a week.
Two weeks later, I was already feeling signs of ovulation again.
Honoring Miscarriage
We told our children about the miscarriage and loss once we had confirmation. They made pictures for the baby as their own way of processing the miscarriage. Together we decided to name the baby Rorey—a name we all loved as a family, a name that is neutral and held meaning to us.
It was important to us to honor our miscarriage, our loss. To release the dreams we had for this child we never got to meet.
We held a small cremation ceremony at our fire pit. Our kids decorated a box in Rorey’s honor. I read a poem by Mary Cathleen called “For My Little One.” My husband read a verse from the Bible. Together, we said goodbye.
It was sacred, healing and gave us all closure.
“I never saw your twinkling eyes
Or touched your precious feet.
I never shared a tiny yawn
Or rocked you fast asleep…”
– Mary Cathleen, “For My Little One”
If You’re Going Through This
If you’re in the thick of loss right now – I see you. You are not alone. You are a mother—no matter how brief your time together was.
Here are some ways to honor your pregnancy, miscarriage and loss:
- Name your baby
- Hold a ceremony or ritual
- Write a letter
- Plant a tree or flower
- Include them in your story
- Give the barista your baby’s name so you can hear it called
- Share your story
- Do yoga: Gentle Yoga for Miscarriage Recovery – A grounding flow created to support emotional healing and physical restoration after pregnancy loss.
Support Resources:
Chasing the Rainbows: Offers loss education, connection, and grief resources
Postpartum Support International: Hotlines, trained support groups, and local professionals
Birth It Forward Warmline (Kansas City): A safe, local space to be heard and find resources
- Learn more about the Birth it Forward Warmline in this post: The Power of a 24/7 Warmline
A Doula’s Heart
Miscarriage is a birth. A birth of love. Of grief. Of letting go.
Rorey will always be part of our family story. If you’ve lost a baby, they are part of yours, too. Let us speak their names. Let us remember them, together.
If you’ve experienced pregnancy loss, you are not alone. Your story matters. I invite you to share it—if and when you’re ready. You can email your story to the Birth It Forward Warmline or call just to talk. Whether you want to be heard, held, or simply witnessed, we are here.
Thank you for holding space for me, and for honoring my personal miscarriage story. 💛
With all my heart,
Brittney
