It seems like almost a lifetime ago that I looked down at my first positive pregnancy test. I couldn’t believe that it happened so fast. My husband and I had just passed one month of marriage, and there we were expecting a baby. I remember how elated we both were and full of gratefulness. 

After we told a small group of close friends and family, the bleeding started. “No . . . this can’t be,” I thought. Not our baby. Not me. I Googled so many things and found reassurance in the fact that some women bleed through their pregnancies. But, in my gut I knew. The dream of this baby was over. Taken from me almost as fast as it was given. 

I blamed myself. My body. My eagerness.

I had never felt such sadness or out of control. It hurt when well-meaning loved ones would assure me I would conceive again. Or when they would act like I shouldn’t be sad because it was such an early loss. A loss is a loss, and I still grieved my baby regardless of how many weeks gestation had occurred. 

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Two months passed and the same thing happened again. This time we didn’t tell anyone right away, and I felt so alone in my grief. The second miscarriage really enhanced my doubts, made me question my body, and caused me to wonder if I would be able to sustain a pregnancy past the first trimester. 

Of course, at the time, so many people I knew were expecting. Close friends, family members, co-workers, and announcement after announcement was hitting my social media pages. I was happy for all of these women, but a deep sadness and emptiness filled my heart. 

What am I doing wrong? Will I ever be a mother? Why me? These questions burned inside me over and over. And I started wondering if I was allowed to grieve such early losses. Why couldn’t I just be stronger?

I started to feel like I wasn’t worthy of my grief. 

I have grown so much since that early season in my marriage. In those early stages of trying to conceive. I wish I could go back and tell myself that my grief was worthy. That early losses are still dreams lost. That I didn’t do anything wrong. 

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But since I can’t go back in time, these are the truths I want to pass along. We are always worthy of our grief. And if you have ever experienced a miscarriage, I want you to know I see you. You’re not alone, and I hope you take the time you need to grieve the baby you never held in your arms but will forever hold in your heart.