Content note: this article contains discussions of baby loss and miscarriage.

It’s a stark statistic: one in four pregnancies end in loss. It’s often why so many women cautiously wait until their first NHS scan before sharing their news. 

When my first pregnancy ended suddenly and painfully, I found no comfort in the fact that miscarriages aren’t uncommon. I felt betrayed by my body, furious at its inability to continue something that was already so loved. I kept the news largely to myself, finding it hard to share with people who had no idea we’d been trying to conceive. 

A few months later, I was pregnant again. While my husband was thrilled, I was racked with anxiety, each symptom – or its absence – sparking panic. This time, I told even fewer people, guarding my heart. When I started spotting blood, something that can happen in healthy pregnancies, an early scan confirmed my worst fear. I was blindsided. A surgery was scheduled, and when that didn’t work, I had to repeat the procedure three weeks later. At this point, I had been pregnant for five out of the last eight months.

The second loss broke me, and although my husband and family rallied to provide round-the-clock support, I found myself unable to hold in the horror. I grieved openly and told anyone who asked how I was doing. I felt an extreme need for people to know a baby had existed. And a strange and serendipitous thing started to happen: although no one I spoke to had experienced a loss themselves, I was increasingly offered introductions to friends of friends. There was an underground network of women who knew just how I felt.

Over phone calls, voice notes and Zoom chats, I connected with women I’d never met before over the specific, visceral agony of miscarriage. Both the immediate grief and the grief over an imagined future. The end of a sort of innocence: that a positive pregnancy test doesn’t always lead to a baby. These women had also trawled the internet for stories of hope. Some had asked for medical investigations; others felt it was just terrible luck.

One day, I was recommended Facebook groups – a surprise, as I rarely used the platform. 

The Miscarriage Association set up its private, moderated Facebook group in 2011 for anyone affected by pregnancy loss. The charity’s national director Ruth Bender Atik says: “For many people, this is the only place where they can truly share their feelings without having to worry what family and friends think, a place where they feel validated. For others, just reading people’s posts and others’ responses is help in itself – again, reducing the sense of loneliness that so many people feel after pregnancy loss.”

I also joined the aptly named The Worst Girl Gang Ever. Founder Bex Gunn set up the community in the spring of 2020 after a missed miscarriage. “We had over 1,000 women join the Facebook group overnight,” she says.

Both The Miscarriage Association and TWGGE have separate groups for women trying to conceive after loss and pregnancy after loss. These were lifelines for me when I became pregnant for a third time. My mind was often a dark place, especially in the early weeks of the third pregnancy. I started spotting again and was certain it was the end. The communities became my crutch alongside Tommy’s free midwife contact service, which I used before I was assigned my (brilliant) NHS mental health midwife. “For some, they’re a place where you can better understand your own feelings by talking to others about theirs,” midwifery manager Kate Marsh tells me. This rings true to my experience: over the course of the pregnancy, my behaviour online went from anxious commenter to someone able to confidently provide emotional support.

My favourite posts were the graduation announcements — a new child born, filling me with hope. And in December last year, I shared a picture of my son, Robin. Strangers cheered and celebrated his existence, and I left, hoping everyone else would soon have a baby in their arms.

Connecting with others brought me immense relief and I was able to go at my own pace. As Gunn puts it: “Our aim is to reach you, whether you’re emitting war cries in the trenches or silently listening in the dark.” 

Amina Hatia, midwifery manager from Tommy’s, adds: “There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, and no set timescale – bereavement can cause different symptoms and affect people in different ways.” Some people may find it too painful to be reminded of loss online.

Talking about miscarriage remains taboo, and I think that amplifies the sense of isolation. But recently, I learned that a child’s DNA never leaves their mother. As I hold my son, I also carry the fragments of the siblings he’ll never meet. I’ll forever be connected to those pregnancies, and that thought brings me some peace.

The Miscarriage Association

● Phone helpline

● Live chat service

● Private Facebook communities:

○ One for anyone affected by pregnancy loss

○ One for people who are pregnant after loss from 0-13 weeks

○ One for pregnancy after loss from 14+ weeks

Tommy’s

● Midwife contact service

● PregnancyHub

● Facebook community

The Worst Girl Gang Ever

● Podcast

● Miscarriage and support Facebook group

Images: Getty