Baby Loss Awareness Week 2025: Sharing our stories

Image taken on film by Claire Lawrie for MNVP project at Whittington Trust, Early Pregnancy waiting room, 2025

Recently, we gathered stories from members of the Womb and Bloom group about their feelings, thoughts, and experiences of early and late miscarriage. We felt it was important to share these voices on our platform — and what better time to do so than Baby Loss Awareness Week 2025 (9th–15th October).

By sharing our stories, we hope to remind anyone going through loss that you are not alone. We hope you find comfort, connection, and perhaps some supportive information through the words of others who understand.

A huge thank you goes to Jessica Hullinger for editing this collection of stories. Jessica is a journalist by background who trained with Aimee Hamblyn at Developing Doulas and is now transitioning to become a recognised Birth & Postnatal Doula. We’re so happy she has recently joined our group.

Another enormous thank you to Claire Lawrie — dear friend, doula, photographer, and artist — for capturing a beautiful series of film photographs for a project we've been working on for the past five years with the MNVP at the Whittington Trust. Together, we’ve raised money and dedicated much time to collaborating with the midwifery team to enhance the spaces in the Early Pregnancy Unit’s waiting area and bereavement suite. I’m delighted to share that Claire’s images have now been printed and will soon be displayed on the walls.

Please take your time to read these stories, they may be upsetting X

With love, Victoria and all of us at Womb and Bloom.

Roz Webb

NCT antenatal teacher, baby massage teacher

I’ve had five pregnancies and three early miscarriages. Although my miscarriages

were around 19 and 15 years ago, they remain in my mind. There are many things I didn’t know that still bother me, and many things I wish could have been done differently.

I wish someone had told me…

…that miscarriage is really common and can happen to any woman, regardless of

her health or her actions or how easy or difficult it was to get pregnant.

…that even if I’d known that, I’d probably still have felt like a failure.

…that opting to wait for a baby to leave my body naturally might take weeks.

…that opting for a surgical removal might make me feel intensely, frighteningly suicidal

during my next few ovulations.

…that the leaving might take some sudden, huge, and overwhelming contractions

and a lot of blood.

…that the leaving might feel like a small fish falling out of me.

…that pregnancy after miscarriage might be terrifying, and that I’d find myself going up to the hospital for reassurance every week or to stop from going mad.

...that going to work full time would be impossible for a month afterwards

What I wish could be different: 

I wish that it felt more “acceptable” for women to be open about pregnancy in the first

three months. Hiding a pregnancy at what is often the most difficult point, physically and

emotionally, is really hard – and telling people you are no longer pregnant, when they

didn’t even know you had been, adds to the burden.

I wish all women had someone to explain to them how the baby might leave the body, and that they might want to keep them to say goodbye and bury.

I wish that hospitals were more supportive and understanding of pregnant women who have

Miscarried. I wish they acknowledged the fears that arise for these women, and offered them more checks and scans.

I wish that women were supported, right through their lives, in understanding, respecting, and

appreciating their bodies, so a miscarriage feels like a normal part of nature instead of a failure.

Colette Ozanne

Birth and postnatal doula, Mizan and massage practitioner

I had met a man I wanted to have a child with, and I had been trying for a few months to get pregnant. My periods tended to be a bit irregular but I felt something that told me it might have happened. I lived in Brighton and lived near a women's clinic, so rather than buy a test, I went there and asked for one. 

The gynaecologist was a man, and I had had difficult experiences with him previously when he removed a coil, causing me great pain, and not showing any consideration. I had serious doubts about his intentions. After I did the test, he sat opposite me and told me that if I intended to have an abortion, I should have been more careful when I had sex. I don't remember the actual words he used, but he never once asked me if I wanted to have a child. He assumed I didn't and he was really giving me a telling off. 

I was so shocked I couldn't speak. I should have been happy to know that I was pregnant. I had tried in a previous relationship to conceive and it never happened. I'd had a couple of coils and felt I might have jeopardised my chances of ever having a baby, but I really wanted one. And instead of enjoying this moment, I was crushed. 

I felt so little. I walked home, crying. When I arrived, I went to the loo and it all came out, there and then. I heard a little plop. I was still in shock. I flushed it without hardly looking at it. I knew I had just lost it. I told my partner, who lived in London. We were sad, but we were never able to really discuss it. Later, he blamed me for only considering my own sorrow. We didn't grieve together or do anything to remember this little soul. I wish I had. 

The sadness came and went and returned occasionally many years later. I had a baby two-and-a-half years later. But I knew I could have had one in November that year. My daughter could have been a second and not a first child. The mind so easily brings up these what-ifs.  And I always felt that there was nothing wrong with me or this embryo/baby, that the cause resided with this man. And that didn't help. Now I realise that this could have been the reason why I decided to have my first child at home, so that nobody – and especially not a man – could tell me what to do, or blame or control me in any way.

Lynn Murphy 

Active birth teacher. Yoga practitioner. 

I had an early miscarriage at approximately seven or eight weeks, on the 28th of August, 1987. So around 37 years ago. I can still see in my mind’s eye the events as they unfolded over a bank holiday weekend, like stills from a film. It was pretty dramatic, as I knew very little about miscarriage. There was a lot of blood, loss, and pain, obviously made worse by my sheer fear of what was happening. 

The pregnancy was not planned, but we were happy to embrace it. Due to our naivety – and hence panic – about pregnancy, I was taken to hospital. My care was abysmal on so many levels. I saw what I believed was a baby, which was dismissed as nothing. When they finally scanned after the bank holiday weekend, after I had miscarried, the midwife present asked me: “Are you sure you were pregnant?”

I often mention this first pregnancy and loss, as it had a deep impact on my life from that point forward. It was probably a catalyst to my future path supporting women. I was very depressed for a long time, found the experience very traumatising, and believed I was probably not going to get pregnant again. I had no idea at that point how common miscarriage was. There was no support out there. Thank god for my partner who was deeply understanding, as well as very sad himself. 

Beautifully though, our son Nye was born on the same day I lost that baby, just 3 years later. I always believed it was the same baby, coming back to us now that we were ready and waiting.

Aimee Hamblyn

Birth and postnatal doula and healer 

I had two miscarriages, one at 10 weeks, another at 12 weeks. With one of the babies, some of the tissue continued to grow, so what came out was about the size of an egg, but round. And that was like a quick labour, with building of hormones, a trance state, and very instinctive movement and sound.

I wished I'd buried the embryo/tissue and regret that I didn't. I bled a lot with the first, less with the second. Rest is obviously so important for recovery after.

I have to say that support from my doula sisters is what helped me with both my miscarriages. Vicky really loved me through the second miscarriage, and also early pregnancy and all that entailed. I had a closing the bones ritual with both of my miscarriages.

I have often been met with a lot of negativity in the birth world for speaking so openly about baby loss and abortion. It has been healing in a way to have open and raw conversations about this topic, which is not spoken about enough. 

Charlotte Mindel

Somatic therapist 

I had a loss at seven weeks that my body initiated (no medication). I suspect growth stopped at around five weeks. For a night, I had lucid energy, and heavier cramps/contractions, perhaps cramping a day either side of that. The bleeding was heavy for about three days, and then continued, lighter, for maybe three to six weeks, though I can’t quite remember. I never went to hospital, my body cleared it all in its own time. If I'd felt worried, I would have gone for support. I stayed connected to what felt right.  

I only realised after the fact that I was having contractions. I hadn't had any confirmation of the pregnancy, so I didn't know it was a loss until it became quite obvious. These were nothing like the contractions of giving birth. It was more of an ache and a pulling than pain, and I didn't take painkillers. What helped me was loads of rest – I pretty much didn't get out of bed for three days, my body was exhausted. And loads of support from my partner to take care of everything else.

I feel the routine suggestion of going to a&e is not supportive of the woman's experience. I was told on the phone by the hospital maternity unit that if I was bleeding, I should go to a&e. When I said that didn't feel necessary, the person on the phone said, "maybe you aren't bleeding then."

Tara Rivero Zea

Acupuncturist 

Sadly miscarriage is so common, and we don’t really talk about it much because it’s so sad. I have had five miscarriages, all before 12 weeks. The bleeding was very heavy. It helps to be kind to yourself, sleep, and rest. Lots of iron-rich foods to build blood and yin, and acupuncture. I did a ceremony. Even just lighting a candle and saying goodbye can help. Many people believe the soul does not fully incarnate until much later in the pregnancy, and that also helped me a lot.  

Romy Finbow

Birth and postnatal doula 

I had an ectopic pregnancy, which was discovered at around six weeks and I was thankful that I began miscarrying as opposed to it rupturing. The bleeding went on for a while, so I tried to eat iron-rich and blood-building foods to help with the blood loss. Mine was quite painful, but like a pulling sensation. It felt similar to ovulation pain around my ovary but more intense, and radiating around to my back, so a hot water bottle was very comforting. 

Victoria Lemmon

Student midwife, Birth doula & Active Birth/Hypnobirth teacher

We were blessed to conceive our daughter naturally in 2009, and after her birth, we knew we wanted to grow our family. After six long years of trying to conceive again, our second round of IVF was successful and we were expecting identical twin boys. They were mono-mono twins, a rare and high-risk type of pregnancy where the babies share both a placenta and an amniotic sac. Though filled with excitement, I carried a quiet worry throughout. During one of Lynn Murphy’s pregnancy yoga classes, I mentioned that something didn’t feel right — my fluttering belly now felt heavy and still. A private scan confirmed our worst fear: both boys’ hearts had stopped beating. I was 19 weeks pregnant.

The next day, at our local hospital, our loss was confirmed. I chose to stay at the hospital and was admitted to the labour ward. Our daughter, who was seven at the time, had known about the pregnancy for weeks. We wanted to protect her from any confusion around me, carrying babies that were no longer alive. My husband went home each night to explain what was happening and answer any of her questions. She was mainly concerned about where the babies would go, which, as it was her first experience of death, raised a lot of questions for us about how we wanted to answer her questions. 

I stayed in the hospital on the labour ward for three days, waiting for labour to begin. It was emotionally painful, but it gave us space to grieve and begin our healing journey quietly together. We talked, walked, and released two helium balloons in the park, each with a prayer for our sons. A dear friend gave me reflexology during this time and messages flooded in from our friends and family. I’d had a distant relationship with my father for some time, and he was ill, but he called every day to check in and offer support, something I am often comforted by now he too has passed over.

When the midwife I’d been hoping for returned on shift, I went into labour. She cared for us with such tenderness, preparing tiny baskets, blankets, and a cold cot for the boys. They were born peacefully and calmly. The contractions I felt were strong but manageable and continued with regularity for some time. We were given a memory box from the ForLouie charity— something we still treasure with our children today. It was full of things to help us as a family to process our loss. We planted seeds, released balloons again with our daughter, and wrote letters to the boys. 

We had a funeral service in the weeks after our loss, and my husband and I attended alone. It was another very special way to honour the short lives of our babies. Ritual and acts of service offer a profound pathway to healing after the heartbreak of all loss. Taking time to honour the lives that were briefly carried but deeply loved allowed space for grief to be acknowledged and gently held. Creating a ritual, whether it’s lighting a candle, planting a tree, writing a letter, or simply speaking their name, can be a really powerful way to validate the depth of love and loss, providing clarity, peace, and the strength to move forward. Every woman, birthing person, and family deserve the opportunity to honour their baby loss at every gestation of pregnancy. We need to keep these conversations open to create a culture where loss is no longer hidden but embraced with compassion, reverence, and support.

Gokce Acar

Psychic medium & Reiki healer

As a psychic medium of 25 years, I’ve had countless encounters with women who have lost their babies, either through miscarriage or abortion. And no matter what, they were sad and feeling guilty and in need of healing.

Here is the summary of the psychic connections I had with the babies throughout these sessions: 

• None of them blame the mother. Quite opposite: There is so much love and ongoing connection to their mothers. 

• They are actually very happy on the other side. No heavy or hard feelings whatsoever. 

• They all promised to come back again, either in this lifetime, as another pregnancy, or in the next life. The mother-child connection never ceases, and as a mother, you never truly lose your baby. 

• They all wanted their mothers to be happy and understand that they are not truly gone but just exist in another dimension. The motherhood bond is stronger than time and space. 

Book recommendations from birth and abortion doula Sara Bakr:

What God Is Honored Here? Writings on Miscarriage and Infant Loss by and for Native Women and Women of Colour 

I have made my way through this book very slowly and only read a chapter at a time to fully honour each story, make sure to have a box of tissues as you might shed some tears like I did for the women and their families. 

Ghost Belly by Elizabeth Heineman 

She walks us through the story of her stillbirth. I had to listen to this one on audiobook as I couldn’t keep my eyes dry for long enough to get through the pages.