The Loneliness of Miscarriage

It’s been four years since the miscarriage of our daughter Serenity. Her birthday, on March 21st, was especially hard this year.

Violet came into our lives so soon after we lost Serenity, thankfully, and my awe and wonder of her was a little bandaid over the gaping wound in my heart.

I thought I was moving on and the sting of her loss was lessening. It has, but there’s still moments where I don’t understand why I feel like I can’t breathe. Then I am brought back to the time where every breath was a labor, the crushing weight of her loss an anvil on my chest. It’s like my body begins to mourn without my knowing.

Miscarriage is such a tricky thing to mourn. No one knew her. Only I had felt her life inside of me, knowing her in a most intimate way. I can still feel that last kick, it always makes me wonder if it was her final flip or twist that got her cord around her neck so tight. It was such a dramatic, twisty feeling.

Being the only person who knew her in any way is excruciatingly lonely at times. The sadness of her loss is always there inside me, ready to spring forward at the slightest trigger. It’s uncomfortable for people to listen to. It’s painful and awkward to hold space for someone who’s mourning. So many people don’t know what to do or say. I don’t want to put people in that place. I keep so. much. inside. It’s hard to not believe that bringing her up is somehow burdening the listener. So I mostly remain silent, letting my pain wash over me in private moments when I can.

This pain has taken me to strange places. First I coped by going into productive mode. I started eating right and exercising, my mom and I cleaned every single nook and cranny in my house. Determined to honor her by not allowing her loss to ruin me,  I tries to make her legacy something positive. It worked for a time, but grief catches up to you, even when you don’t realize you’re running from it.

I spent a time angry at her. I believe our soul chooses our family and I wondered why she had backed out of the deal. It might sound nonsensical but there’s so much that runs through your head when you’ve experienced loss. I’m glad I am through the angry time.

Despite the storms of emotions that come and go, I always want to honor her on her birthday. This year, I made a candle for her shelf and we had a woman from For a Moment Portrait Services draw her. We have many photos of Serenity but have never felt right sharing those on the internet or with people we aren’t extremely close to. This was such a nice way to be able to share her while still being respectful of her. It’s a way to keep her memory alive because sometimes, when I am feeling so alone in this, I want to scream from the rooftops “SHE WAS ALIVE EVERYONE!! PAY ATTENTION!”.

Thankfully, for everyone’s sake, I know it’s not socially acceptable to scream anything from any rooftop. Unless you’re stuck up there, then scream away.

So this is my proverbial scream. Miscarriage is so damn lonely. Look at my daughter, she was real…and beautiful.





  1. I think of you, and I think of Serenity so often.
    I am always honored and love reading your heart’s thoughts.
    I probably wouldn’t and don’t know what to say either – but I’d love to give you space to mourn her as long as you need to – forever, even – and it is never a burden.

    sending you love, this spring.

  2. , I remember it well, I walked into the shop and hugged Bruce and cried, seems like yesterday. Don’t know what to say to comfort you, probably nothing would, but just know my heart is broken in a little way too. ❤️

  3. I can’t imagine. This vulnerable post
    Takes a lot of courage to put out there. Well done, and sending my love.

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