06/08/2025
Vulnerable Post Alert 💫
Back in October, I suffered a chemical pregnancy. A truly heartbreaking experience where one moment is filled with joy and dreams of the future with a growing family, and the next moment all that suddenly disappears as quickly as it began.
At the same time, the grief about it comes with its own complex layer of guilt and shame for feeling that way. “Was it *really* a miscarriage?” “5 weeks is barely pregnant, it didn’t even implant.” “If you didn’t test so early, you wouldn’t have even known.” “You already have a healthy son, be happy.”
I’m sitting on my patio, sipping coffee as the 5am birds sing. Today would have been my due date. What a beautiful time to welcome a bundle of joy. If only…
I’ve been sitting with grief recently that’s welled up and caught me off guard. I’ve mostly kept quiet about this experience. Most of my family isn’t aware of what happened. But I’ve come to realize that the only thing that seems to help is talking about it. Sharing how I’m feeling with all its complexities and knowing - as sad as it is - that I’m not alone in this grief. It often feels lonely and as if I shouldn’t be experiencing the emotions I am. And so, here we are.
I’m trying to be gentle on myself. Trying to remind myself that although it was a fleeting moment in time, that moment of joy filled with dreams of the future mattered. The daydream of snuggling a newborn on a beautiful June day alongside Luke and Dave was so beautiful.
I’m hoping someday in the future, that dream will come true. For now, I’m holding space for myself, and for all the other moms that have suffered this grief in silence. It f-ing sucks. You’re not alone. I see you and I feel your pain.
I’ll be spending today enjoying some much needed time with my family. Hoping that being surrounded by love helps heal my tender heart a bit. ❤️
Love to you all.
-Sam
