By Marissa Khosh 
No one tells you about pregnancy after recurrent loss. No one tells you just how hard it is. No one tells you that it’s not an exciting time. No one tells you that it is filled with grief and pain. No one tells you it will be one of the hardest things you’ve ever done.
When you become pregnant after recurrent loss, you know it will be challenging in many ways. But you don’t know that you will feel numb when you see that positive pregnancy test. You don’t know that you will avoid making an “announcement” at all costs. You don’t know that everyone will be celebrating except you when the news is finally shared.
When you go to your first ultrasound, you know it will be anxiety-inducing. But you don’t know that memories of previous traumatic ultrasounds will slam into you at the exact moment you enter the ultrasound room. You don’t know that your hope of feeling connected to your baby when you see him or her up on that screen will go unfulfilled. You don’t know you will leave that first confirmation ultrasound still saying, “If this baby makes it . . .” even though you saw a strong heartbeat.
When you successfully make it into your third trimester, you know you will feel relief. But you don’t know that the end of pregnancy still won’t come soon enough. You don’t know that preparing for labor will be scarier than it has ever been. You don’t know that you still won’t have the motivation to finish the nursery or enjoy buying things for the baby.
No one tells you about pregnancy after recurrent loss. No one tells you just how hard it is. But do you know what else no one tells you? No one tells you that these changes you feel in yourself that feel negative are meant to change you for the better. No one tells you that no matter how long this difficult time lasts, it is not as endless as you believe it to be. No one tells you that when you come out on the other side, you will be a different person to be used for a good purpose.
You would never choose this path of childbearing for yourself. Sometimes, you desperately wish you could go back to the innocent girl you once were on topics of conception, pregnancy, and birth. Sometimes, you wonder if your own actions have messed up your motherhood journey. You might even wonder if you deserve this.
You often feel alone and misunderstood in this dark place. You feel guilty that you are not happy. You are ashamed to not be celebrating your baby’s life for however long it lasts. But your heart just can’t take it anymore. Your heart simply does not know how to embrace something you have learned to be so incredibly fragile and seemingly unlikely to stay. Your heart has been shattered too many times and has learned how to survive only by holding itself together with an impenetrable wall.
No one tells you about pregnancy after recurrent loss. No one tells you that you are not as alone as you believe. No one tells you that your complicated thoughts and emotions about this pregnancy that you are afraid to voice are not so unique. No one tells you that the happily pregnant woman across the room that you are jealous of . . . she is just like you inside because she has lost more than she lets on, just like you.
Oh, precious mama, how desperately I want you to know what no one tells you about pregnancy after recurrent loss: You are not alone. And it is okay for you to be struggling with your emotions toward this pregnancy. It is okay to give yourself space. But it is also okay to confide in those you trust.
And it is okay for other women who have not gone through pregnancy after recurrent loss to not completely understand what you are going through but still support and love you through this. It is okay for you to not make an announcement. It is okay for you to wait to tell family and friends until it is the right time for you–even if that time is when you are more than halfway through your pregnancy.
No one tells you about pregnancy after recurrent loss. So I’m going to tell you. There is a light coming your way, even if the tunnel is too dark and narrow for you to see it right now. But until you can see that light, I want you to remember you are not walking alone.
by Jenny Albers 
by Alyssa Devall 
