Recent Articles

I felt a kind of loneliness that only women who've had the companionship of life within can understand.

Once you experience the love, the immense volcano of love a mother has for her children, you can never be truly happy again. You’re too afraid to lose it.

I once read a book by a man who had lost a young son. He described his grief as a wave. It didn't resonate in me until I had a miscarriage.

When my doctor wasn’t able to detect the heartbeat after sliding his Doppler over my goop-smeared belly for several minutes, I became a little concerned.

That thing they warn you about: it happened to me. I got pregnant. I was thrilled. I told a bunch of family and friends—and then I lost the baby in my second month. I had to untell a whole lot of people.

When it comes to infant death, especially stillbirth, we are often taught to keep the grief within ourselves. We need to find the language to talk about it—a safe place to share our feelings and emotions among each other.

In the support groups I conduct for women who have experienced a miscarriage, the following are some of the questions asked most frequently.